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

Hope shrugs. “This is a different one.”

A small alarm sounds at the back of my mind.

I hate to jump to the same negative conclusion about Mitch as Cora, but something about his constant training doesn’t sit right with me.

I know Hope better than to blurt this out. “I’m sorry,” I say, then give her a cautious, slanted glance. “Mitch is rather invested in his education for someone who doesn’t have a stable employment.”

Hope narrows her eyes, and her voice becomes colder. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head.

Hope stares at me then nods, but the movement of her neck is somewhat robotic. “Good. I don’t need another friend preaching to me. Mitch might not have a superb job—yet—but he’s ambitious. We have this in common.”

“I see, well then…” I lick my lips. “What will you do with your free time? Or will you work next week?”

“Nope.” Hope sighs, brushing her blond bob behind her ear, making her coffee mug waver dangerously in her hand. “I wish I could, but I’ve already handed my open cases to Jennifer. She was thrilled with the extra workload. I think she needs it as a distraction. Poor thing just discovered that her husband’s been cheating on her.” She pauses.

My eyes flick to her.

Is she weighing the same hypothesis that I am?

Before I can inquire, our doorbell rings.

“This must be Bill,” Hope says. “You need to go.”

I jump up, even if I’d love to stay and speak with Hope. “I’ll see you later.”

She winks. “Have fun! Perhaps tonight, your brain and your gut will play in synchrony.”

I hurry to the entrance, counting my steps. If I get to a prime number by the time I reach the door, tonight will be better than expected.

My hand reaches for the handle at twenty-eight.

I stop and stare at the almost nonexistent distance between me at the door. I suck in a breath and squeeze in another small step, one that barely allows me to touch my toes down.

Still, it’s twenty-nine, right?

I plaster on a smile and open the door.

Bill’s beaming face greets me. “You look stunning!” He holds his arm out to me. “Shall we go?”

I blink at the ground, then take a small hop to land over the doorstep. “Yes, I’m ready.”

Chapter 22

(Ellie)

I glance around the restaurant Bill chose for us. My brain runs through Cora’s list of requirements for a successful first dinner date.

1. Cozy atmosphere. Check. The dimmed, light-diffusing lamps create a homey yet elegant ambiance.

2. Stylish and modern decor. Check. Plus point for the very comfortable seating in a beige hue.

3. Cleanliness. Oh, yeah. Enough to look at the staff’s crisp, spotless white uniforms. Do they have a miracle detergent for food stains? If yes, I should buy that for Hope.

4. High-quality food. Yes. Though I haven’t tasted anything yet, the descriptions in the menu made my mouth water.

5. And finally, price. I think back at the numbers I saw as I thumbed through their offers, and I swallow. Double check. Bill either wished to impress me on this front or his salary must be considerably more than mine to allow him to live this high on the hog.

This place scores five out of five.

And I didn’t even consider the complimentary bottle of champagne on our table waiting for us when we arrived.

Bill lifts his flute filled with bubbly and smiles at me. “You like it here?”

“Absolutely. It’s a perfect location. You made a splendid choice.”

His face relaxes. “Good. When you didn’t get back to me on my suggestions, I had to go on and book something on my own.”

I draw a hand to my chest. “Oh, I’m so sorry about that. You left the printouts in my locker, but I didn’t go into the office until Friday, so I didn’t have enough time to choose.”

To be honest, even if I’d picked up the thick folder Bill had prepared for me a day earlier, I probably wouldn’t have gotten through it in time. There were at least twenty-five suggestions in it, including detailed reviews and pictures.

But I don’t say this out loud because I don’t want to sound ungrateful for the attention Bill poured into preparing our date.

Bill’s brows lift, giving his face a genuinely surprised look. “Where did you conduct your therapy session then?”

“In Wyatt’s house.” His jaw drops, and I add, “You know the AC broke down in our wing.”

“Didn’t it get repaired?” Bill says.

“It did, but Wyatt felt more comfortable addressing his issues in a more casual setting.”

Bill rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Ah, those rich athletes. Fame and money turn them into drama queens, no?”

“Not really. Wyatt is a down-to-earth person. Much like he was before he got drafted to the NFL. He likes simple things, and when you’re with him, you can barely tell that he’s a millionaire.”

Bill studies me with furrowed brows, while his thumb moves up and down on the casual navy blazer he’s wearing. The blue color matches his eye color and my dress. I’m not sure if it’s a sign that Bill unknowingly coordinated his outfit with mine, but I tell myself that it must be.

I might be using this detail as a pep talk to inflate my enthusiasm about tonight, but I can’t help it. I want to enjoy this evening.

No, I need to enjoy it. If I do, then maybe I’ll be able to keep my thoughts away from Wyatt for good.

“You seem to be very sympathetic to Wyatt Harrison and his requests,” Bill says.

“Wyatt didn’t request anything,” I say, a tad more heated than I intended. “I just realized I could coax Wyatt to open up more when we weren’t in the clinic. We’ve got a tight timeline to respect with his therapy, so I went with my gut. I checked with Stephanie on the phone first, of course, and she was fine with my decision.”

Bill taps his chest. “Far be it for me to doubt your decision, Ellie. I’m just worried because I know clients can develop feelings for their therapists. That’s why a sterile setting like a