CHANGING THE PLAYER: Charleston Pirates #1 Chance, Jacob (suggested reading .TXT) 📖

in a helpless gesture and look around the table. “What? I said please.”

* * *

After everyone has left and we’ve cleaned up, I convince Nadia to relax on the couch with me. She deserves a break after all the work she did to make today a success.

“So what did you think of our first holiday together?” I ask, pulling her feet into my lap.

“I had a great time. What about you?”

“It was the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.” I rub one of her arches with my thumb.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. I had you and Kendra here with me. What more could I want? Did you miss your family?”

“No. I hope that doesn’t make me seem uncaring.”

“Nadia, you’re one of the kindest people I know. You could never seem uncaring.”

She folds her hands on her stomach and stares up at the ceiling. “My parents aren’t like most. I’m sure my dad spent most of the day working. It’s just the way they are. It used to bother me when I was younger, but over the years, I’ve gotten used to what their priorities really are. Honestly, it’s easier this way. We all get to spend the holidays how we’d like and with no pressure because we’re not seeing each other.”

“You have me to spend all the holidays with now. As long as you don't get sick of me.”

Her gaze swings to me. “I don’t think that’s possible. You’re definitely entertaining.”

“If you’re referring to the football rolls, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“Oh, jeez. Maybe we should go away for Christmas?”

21

Nadia

“Excuse me, Nadia.” Margot knocks on my open office door.

“Come on in.”

“You have a delivery from Flynn.” She carries a large white box toward my desk. I push my laptop away making room for her to set it down. There’s an unopened card tucked under the red ribbon criss-crossing the box.

“How did you know it was from Flynn?” I ask.

Margot smiles. “You guys have been going strong for over a month now. Of course it’s from him.” She taps the edge of my desk with her long nail. “Don’t forget to let me know what you’d like for lunch.”

“I will. Thank you, Margot.” I wait until she’s out of my office before I open the card.

Nadia,

I didn’t know you in college, but if I had, you would have been my girl. As my girl, you’d have worn my sweatshirt for the home games. This is my favorite, so I wanted my favorite person to have it. I wore this the night we made love for the first time, and I hope it reminds you of that amazing night whenever you wear it. I hope you like it as much as I always have. I can’t wait to see you with it on (and nothing else). Hint. Hint.

Love always,

Flynn

Breaking apart the red ribbons, I drop them in the trash. Shaking the top cover off the box, I set it aside. I run my hand over the well-worn gray sweatshirt. Raising the soft material to my nose, I inhale along the neckline, hoping it smells like Flynn, and it does. I take a few breaths to breathe in his scent still clinging to the garment and it makes me wish he were here with me.

Rising to my feet, I hold the sweatshirt against my torso and smile when I see how huge it is compared to me. The hem will fall almost to my knees. Thinking about Flynn’s fantasy of me naked beneath makes me smile.

Moving across the room, I close and lock my office door. Unfastening the buttons on the front of my dress, I ease it down my hips and drape it over one of the chairs in front of my desk. It feels surreal to be standing in my office in my underwear and heels. It’s definitely a first for me, as is what I’m about to do. I pick up the sweatshirt, slipping it over my head. As I imagined, it’s so long it falls to the bottom of my thighs, and it’s implausibly comfortable.

I lower back into my chair and slip my heels from my feet under the desk. Picking up my phone, I pull up the camera and place my bare calves on top of my desk. The wood is cold against my skin.

Crossing my legs at the ankles, I wiggle my red painted toes. This is going to have to do as far as poses go. I’m not adept at selfie taking. In fact, this is my first attempt and I’m hoping I can do a decent job of taking a worthwhile photo.

I tug the hem on the sweatshirt a little higher, revealing more thigh—it can’t hurt. Stretching my arm out to the side of me, I angle my face toward the phone in my hand and take a string of pictures. Moving my arm around, I try out different angles and hope one of them is salvageable.

I scroll through the pictures and find a handful that are halfway decent. The rest with random body parts cut off are horrible. My smile is strained in most of them. Posing, holding the camera, taking the picture, and smiling is a lot to ask for, but he’s probably not going to be looking at my face anyway.

I choose two pictures to send him and add a message to go along with the text.

Nadia: Thank you for the sweatshirt. I love it so much. What do you think?

I titter at my brazen behavior and picture what he’ll do when he sees them. Glancing at the clock, I note the time. He might be on the field practicing.

My alert goes off and it’s him.

Flynn: Jesus, woman. Are you trying to give me a heart attack on the field?

I laugh at his message and another one comes in.

Flynn: Or worse, a boner? How would I explain that one?

And another.

Flynn: I’m saving these pics for when I’m at our next away game.

Nadia: I’m glad you like them.

Flynn: Like isn’t the