CHANGING THE PLAYER: Charleston Pirates #1 by Chance, Jacob (digital e reader TXT) 📕

“Okay, this conversation has gone off the rails. Let’s get back on track.”

“Doc, please don’t make me talk about this,” he says with a smirk, so it’s clear he’s joking.

“Flynn, I want to help you.”

He downs the rest of his beer and places the empty bottle on the floor in front of the couch. Turning to me, he says, “We can have this conversation, but I need to be more comfortable.”

I shrug. “Do whatever you need to.”

He peels his sweater over his head, throwing it to the far end of the couch, and my heart responds with a rapid round of applause behind my rib cage.

Whoa, is he going to strip down? It takes my brain longer to catch on.

“You didn’t even notice I wore one of the sweaters you picked out.”

Oh, I noticed. How could I miss the way it hugged his bulging biceps?

“I saw, and it looks great on you.”

“Nope.” He turns his head from side to side. “It’s too late to dole out an empty compliment.”

“Save it, Shaughnessy. You have no shortage of women showering you with compliments. I’d rather insult you and keep you grounded.” I poke the side of his upper arm. “Are you comfortable enough to continue our conversation?”

“Not quite,” he says. Turning away from me, he slings his legs up onto the couch and lowers back-first toward me.

“What are you doing?” I cry out as his head settles on my lap.

“Getting comfortable.” He sighs contentedly. “Now all I need is for you to rub my head.”

“Wh-what?” I sputter, convinced I misheard.

“You heard right. I like head massages. Hair stroking is good too.”

“Fine,” I grit out. “But you better loosen those lips and start talking.”

He wiggles his lips from side to side and puckers them up temptingly. Threading my fingers in his hair, I yank hard on the thick strands.

“Ouch, you bloodthirsty vixen.”

“Speak, or I’ll do it again,” I threaten.

“I never figured you for the dominant type, but it’s the quiet ones who are always the most surprising.”

“Flynn,” I growl.

“What do you want to know, doc?”

He can call me whatever he wants if it means he’ll open up to me. “Have you ever given any thought to where your reckless behavior stems from?”

He sighs like he’s Atlas holding the weight of the world on his wide shoulders. “Are you sure you want to have this conversation?” he asks. I have an inkling he doesn’t want to talk about such private things.

“Flynn, I told you I want a baby so badly that I’m going to have a stranger’s sperm inserted into my uterus. After that, what you have to say should be far less embarrassing.”

“Oh, fuck, you’re right. Why am I worried?” he teases, and I giggle. “I don’t feel any head massaging going on.” He reminds me that my idle fingers have been buried in his hair for minutes now.

“So bossy,” I mutter before I move my fingertips in small circles on his warm scalp.

He groans with pleasure. “That’s what I’m talking about, doc.” He wiggles around, adjusting his position, putting him a little too close to my lady parts to think clearly. I place a pillow under his head and resume his scalp massage. “You asked me if I had thought about why I was so reckless, and the answer to that question is, yes, I have. Many times.”

“And?” I push him to tell me more, like any good psychiatrist would, all the while continuing my momentary second career as a massage therapist.

“I’ve already told you some of the details of my upbringing. It feels weird to rehash it.”

“It’s worth going over it again if it helps,” I tell him.

“Yeah, I guess. I’m just trying to figure out how to explain without coming off as sounding whiny and ungrateful.”

“Just get the words out. I’m not going to think less of you.”

“I think my reckless behavior began in my youth as a way to get my parents’ attention.”

“Were you seeking their approval?” I ask.

“I wanted their attention, their love, their approval… all the things most children are given and they take for granted.”

“So you started acting out to get that attention,” I offer.

“Exactly. And as I got older, it became less about my parents and more about the way it made me feel.”

“How does it make you feel?” I question, hoping he’ll continue to share. We’re making progress.

“When I’m in the moment, it makes me feel alive and strong, like I can do anything. My ‘fuck the world’ attitude moves front and center, taking over.”

“What happens later that night or the next day?” I ask.

“I’m usually embarrassed and drowning in self-loathing.”

My fingers begin toying with his brown hair. It’s softer than I expected. “What pulls you out of those down times?”

“I hit the gym extra hard and punish myself physically.”

“Have you spoken to your parents about how you feel?”

“No. We don’t talk about emotions in my family. My parents would rather remind me of every single fuck up I’ve ever made.”

“Pfft.” I blow air from my mouth. “You’ve accomplished so much at such a young age. You need to focus on your amazing achievements and forget about your slip ups. We all make them. But we don’t all break numerous national records like you have. And let’s not forget, you’re only five years into your career.” My hand slides down to cup his cheek. “No more dwelling on the past or what you wish you did differently.”

He tips his head back so his eyes can meet mine. “What about you?” he asks.

My brow furrows. “What about me?”

“Don’t you think it’s time you celebrate your accomplishments?” He turns my own words back on me.

“I’m not quite at the level of achievement that I want to be.”

“Nadia, you’re amazing at what you do. You’re one of the most sought after sports agents in this country. Take the compliment.”

“Okay,” I reluctantly agree. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you for reminding me that my past doesn’t define me. Of course I know that, but it’s