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

“Things got out of hand last night. Maybe we should keep the time we spend together to a minimum,” I explain.

“Why would we do that? I like spending time with you and you like spending time with me. It seems silly to deny ourselves the pleasure of each other’s company.”

He’s right. And as much as I know I should say no, there’s an overpowering urge to say yes.

“Nadia.” His voice deepens, sucking me in even more. “We’ll be out in public the entire time. Nothing will happen that you don’t want to.”

He’s going out of his way to make sure I’m good with the plan. How can I say no?

“Okay,” I mumble.

“What?” he teases.

“Okay,” I say louder.

“That’s better. The first time, you sounded like you were being forced to go out with me. I don’t want to feel like I’m forcing you.”

“Even if you are?” I ask.

“You don’t really feel like you don’t have a choice, do you?” he questions, sounding concerned.

“No.” I giggle. “I was only messing with you.”

“Does six o’clock work for you?” he asks.

“Yes. I’ll be ready. What should I wear?”

“Dress casual. Wear something you wouldn’t mind getting dirty.”

“How dirty?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he replies.

“I really thought you were going to say something cheesy like ‘how dirty do you want to get.’”

“That would be too predictable. I have to be sharp with you and save my cheese for the moments it’ll be most impactful.”

“Back to the ‘how dirty are we getting’ question. I really need to know the answer. There’s a scale of dirtiness.”

“Really?” He sounds intrigued. I can picture his expression.

“Of course. Are we talking about taking a walk or are we talking mud wrestling?” He laughs before I continue. “See what I mean? That’s a huge difference, but both will get you dirty.”

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s closer to a walk than mud wrestling.” I hear the humor in his tone.

“I can work with that. I’ll see you at six.”

“I’ll be there.”

17

Flynn

Helping Nadia from my truck, I take her hand and sling my backpack over the opposite shoulder.

“Still not going to tell me what we’re doing?” she asks.

“You’ll know in about a minute anyway.” I look down at her beside me. Dressed in tight jeans, sneakers, and an oversized fleece pullover, she still looks beautiful. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail makes her look like she could be a college student.

Her head turns toward me, her eyes scanning me in a quick sweep from my backward-ball-cap-covered head to my toes. I hope she likes what she sees. I’m in jeans tonight, not the khakis she picked out. I’ve also forgone the sweater wearing for a Terriers Football sweatshirt from my alma mater, Boston University. And I wear it with pride. God, I loved everything about my college days.

“We’re going to White Point Garden?” she asks.

“Yep, have you been here before?”

“You know, I’ve never actually walked around inside the park itself. I’ve only seen it from the Battery.”

“This is one of my favorite places to come in the evening. People never seem to recognize me when I’m here.”

“It’s beautiful,” she comments.

I lead her to a large white gazebo and we climb the steps. Luckily, it’s empty. But if it wasn’t, I had a backup plan in mind.

Beyond the street closest to us, the blue sea unendingly stretches out. Nature is all around us no matter where we look.

Releasing her hand, I unzip my backpack and pull out a thin blanket. Nadia jumps right in to help me spread it out on the concrete floor. “Thanks for helping. You can sit down and relax. I’ve got the rest.” Dropping to my knees, I take out the sandwiches, drinks, and chips that I’ve brought.

“When did you have time to plan all of this?” she asks, stretching her legs out on the blanket in front of her.

“We always have the day after a game off. I slept in, did some laundry, and ran some errands.”

“You do your own laundry?” She seems shocked by this.

I smile. “You don’t think I’m capable of washing my own clothes?”

“No, I just imagined you had a cleaning lady who helps you out.”

“I do have one, but she only comes every couple of weeks, so I’d run out of underwear if I didn’t know how to do laundry.”

She aims a look of confusion at me. “Can’t you just buy more pairs?”

“I suppose I could, but how many pairs of boxer briefs should one man own? I go through two pairs a day at the least because of practice and gym time. I already have more than the average guy does.”

“I guess I figured you’d buy whatever you want, whenever you want. As your agent, I know exactly how much money you make, and you can afford gold-plated underwear if you want.”

“No, thanks on the gold-plated underwear. I can’t imagine that would be very comfortable.”

“Definitely not,” she agrees.

I hold out my hands. “I have two grinders for you to choose from, one is meatball and cheese and the other is steak and cheese. Which would you prefer?”

“What’s a grinder?” she asks.

“I’m sorry, it’s a Boston thing. It’s a submarine sandwich—you know, a sub?”

“Oh, okay.” She narrows her eyes like she’s giving her decision a lot of thought. “I’ll take the meatball, please.”

I hand hers over and set mine down on the blanket in front of me. “You get a bag of chips and a bottle of water.” I set both down in front of her.

“Thank you.” She opens the white paper surrounding her sub. “This looks amazing and like a mess. It’s an amazing mess and I’ll probably be wearing it soon.”

“That’s why I brought these.” I set a stack of napkins down between us.

“Good thinking.”

“These days, I seem to do my best thinking where you’re concerned.” Raising my sub to my lips, I bite off a large chunk.

“I have nothing to do with that. You’re just making better choices,” she comes back