Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (ebook and pdf reader .txt) 📕

me see you,” she murmurs as she slouches on my bed. From the mug she’s carrying, a drop of coffee spills over and slides down the ceramic, headed straight toward my freshly ironed bedcover.

I get a napkin from one of the many dispensers I keep scattered around our apartment and scurry over to shove it into her free hand.

She takes it and wraps it around her cup just in time. “Thanks. You look gorgeous.”

I smooth the blue lace dress that Cora claimed would conjure a “darling look that harkens back to simpler days” and glance into the mirror.

Hope is right. The shade fits my skin tone and eye color. Also, I can probably pair it with that adorable pair of old-fashioned heels I pilfered from Mom’s basement before she carried her boxes to the yard sale last month.

So, if it isn’t the dress, why do I feel this queasy buzz in my belly?

Hope takes a loud slurp from her coffee. “By the way, I can lend you stuff, too, just so you know. For the next time, perhaps?”

Hope’s wardrobe is even less suitable for picking an outfit for a romantic dinner date than my own. My friend owns nothing but power suits or comfy but worn-down clothes she can’t seem to part with, like the faded T-shirt she’s wearing now that reads: “I’m a lawyer. To save time, let’s just assume I’m never wrong.”

Still, it’s her intention that counts, so I smile. “Sweet of you, thanks. But we’ll see if there will be a next time.”

Hope furrows her brows. “Why would you say this?”

Indeed, why would I?

Bill is a catch. Any other women from my clinic, or perhaps even random strangers, would confirm this. He’s smart, handsome, successful, and above all, he clearly seems interested in me.

So then why am I this uncertain about our upcoming date?

A low voice from somewhere deep in my soul whispers one word, but because it sounds too much like the name I’ve been trying to keep out of my thoughts, I kill it immediately.

Hope studies me, then after another blaring gulp, adds, “Do your jitters have anything to do with our football player?”

A grunt escapes from my throat.

Jeez, do I have a mini-Hope-spy implanted in my brain? “I plead the fifth to this question,” I answer.

Hope giggles. “Refusing the answer is as much of a tale-telling sign as admitting the truth.”

She’s right, dang it.

I had believed I’d exorcised all dubious emotions for Wyatt, but I’d only buried them. And not too well, either.

I sigh and sit down beside her. “Fine. If I’m honest, I’m not sure whether Wyatt has anything to do with it. Maybe. Or perhaps I’m just nervous because I haven’t been on many dates lately, and if things go wrong, I’ll have to see Bill at work.”

“Do you like Bill?”

“Yeah,” I say, but Hope catches the doubt in my voice.

“Do you like him more than you like Wyatt?”

I grab a pillow and fiddle with its zipper.

Hope puts her hand on mine until I peer up at her. “Answer me. If you compare your attraction to these two guys, which one is stronger?”

“I can’t answer that,” I snap. “It’s entirely irrelevant. I’m going on a date with Bill. Wyatt and I are history. Also, he’s—” I stop quickly before I can blurt out that he’s my patient.

Hope pats my skin. “Listen, I know what Cora said before she left. But letting your brain decide who’s the best guy for you doesn’t work.” She points at her chest. “And I’d bet anything, it isn’t working for Andrew and her either, but she’s too afraid to admit it.”

I raise and drop my shoulders. “Letting my gut run the game isn’t much better either. I did that with Wyatt, and it left me heartbroken.”

Hope furrows her brows. “For the record, I’m still mad at you for keeping this a secret. I remember that period well. You were a wreck, and we didn’t know what was going on with you.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur and place my hand on her knee. “I just didn’t want to worry anyone.”

“Ellie,” she meets my gaze, “the people who love you don’t mind helping you or listening to you. You always do it for us. There is no need to play the savior with everyone else but isolate yourself when you’re in need. Promise me you won’t do it again. Promise me that you’ll tell us everything.”

I lift my palm to my chest. “I promise.”

Should I tell Hope that I’m working with Wyatt?

No, that’s not the thing she meant. Also, I signed the non-disclosure deal. Not that Wyatt would sue me, but his agent might.

Hope takes another big sip from her coffee and moans as she swallows. “Ah, I just love this brand Eva got us. What’s it again?”

“It’s a Nicaraguan cigar blend, her hubby’s favorite.”

“Well, I think Nathan and I are coffee soulmates then. I love it. I could drink it all day.”

“But you probably shouldn’t, not unless you want to spend the entire night with glazed eyes, staring at the TV because you’re unable to sleep.” I grin at her, relieved that we’ve moved on to a safer topic.

Hope shrugs, a line of annoyance suddenly tugging between her brows. “I have nothing better to do anyway.”

That’s when I remember that Hope was also supposed to be gone by now. “Isn’t Mitch coming to pick you up?”

“He canceled our trip. He has to travel to Tucson.”

The fact that Hope sounds disappointed about not going on her getaway means she’s more involved with Mitch than I’d thought.

Convincing Hope to take time off from work is comparable to selling a vegan ten pounds of spareribs. My friend thrives on her career. She doesn’t mind the long office hours or putting her private life second.

Like Wyatt.

Instead of giving in to my first instinct and scolding myself for bringing his image into an unrelated discussion, I force myself to remain in the present. “What’s Mitch doing in Tucson?”

“He’s attending some workshop to hone his sales skills.”

Again? “Didn’t