willing to put it to the test. I want to keep her to myself while I have her.
“I’m wounded.” He slaps a hand to his chest.
“Shut up, pretty boy.”
“Says Mr. Eligible Bachelor, three years running.”
Yeah, since my dad got the presidency.
“Fuck off,” I mumble.
“Hey, ladies!” Coach Ackerman yells before Brooks and I can get into a sparring contest. “You okay over there? Need a massage? A mani-pedi?”
Todd Ackerman has been head coach here for years. He’s the reason I’m on the team. The reason all of us are. He’s a great coach and man, but he takes no prisoners when it comes to the team and what’s best for it.
“I could take a massage, if you’re offering, Coach,” Brooks quips.
“Shut the fuck up, Brooks, and get your ass back on this field! You as well, Oakley! Vacation’s over!”
Laughing, we both get up from the bench and jog back onto the field.
It’s good to be back out here, with the guys. But I’m also eager to get back home to Dillon.
Just so I can fuck her, obviously.
No other reason.
twenty-six
Dillon
I stare at the blank Word document in front of me. The cursor blinking at me.
What am I going to write about?
I have some ideas saved, but they’re on my laptop back home. I’m using West’s laptop that he’s kindly lent to me.
He went to training early this morning. Said he’d be back home later this afternoon, so I have all this free time to write.
I can do this.
I pick my coffee cup up and take a sip. God, that’s good.
West has this fancy built-in coffee machine that he had to teach me how to use. The coffee is divine. I could live with this coffee machine and be the happiest gal in the universe.
The lifeblood of any writer is coffee. And wine. Also snacks.
I currently have coffee and snacks. The snacks are Haribos because they remind me of being on the island. The wine will come later. I have to be a sensible adult and drink after five. Unless the writing goes shit, and then I’m cracking open a bottle early. That’s when I pull out the it’s five o’clock somewhere line to make myself feel better about drinking in the early afternoon.
Maybe I should have a mid-morning mimosa. Might get the creativity flowing. I could pretend I’m still in the Maldives.
No. Don’t be a lush. Coffee now. Alcohol maybe later.
Okay, definitely later.
But now, words.
What to write?
What to write?
Nothing. I literally have nothing. I now have all this free time to write, and I have nothing to write. Bloody typical.
I can’t waste this time that I have though. Because at some point, I will have to go home. I can’t stay here forever. Even though I would love to.
Yes, my crush on West is still thriving. Maybe growing a little.
Okay, a lot. But I have it under control. Kind of.
I open my notepad and pick up my pen. West bought them for me yesterday. It was kind of sweet. Okay, a lot sweet.
He ordered them on Amazon. Did you know they have same-day delivery with Prime in America? Yeah, me neither. I wonder if we have that back home. I have Prime, but my deliveries come next day. I feel so cheated.
Anyway, we were talking about my writing, which was when he offered to lend me his laptop so I didn’t have to buy a new one to work on. He has a MacBook. Like top-of-the-range MacBook. I have a shitty laptop back home that cost me two hundred quid. I feel so swish right now, using his MacBook. Also, I am nervous as fuck, having liquids around it. Not enough to stop me from drinking coffee though. Or wine later, of course.
Anyway, back to the notepad. He said he had a surprise for me and pulled out an Amazon box from behind his back, and I opened it up to find this notepad, pen, and a mug. Which is what I’m drinking my coffee out of. All of them with funny quotes on it.
Apparently, another thing I told him when I was drunk was my love of coffee mugs with funny quotes on them.
On the front of the mug, it says, And then God said, “Let there be sexy people.” So, he made writers. And West Oakley.
I have a feeling that he added the last part at the bottom.
It’s cheesy as fuck, and I love it.
The notepad says, Please do not annoy the writer. She might put you in a book