Escorting the Player (The Escort Collection 3)

I blew my nose again. And opened up another bottle of wine.

* * *

CHASE

I woke up the next morning and realized something.

I am a fucking idiot.

I told her that football was the most important thing to me. That's because it always had been. I loved football. It was my whole life.

But something wasn't adding up. If football was my whole life, why did I feel as though my whole life was decim

ated this morning?

This got back to the part where I was a fucking idiot. This whole time, I'd been withholding myself from Avery. Keeping one foot out the door. Because of my precious fucking season and my precious fucking reputation. As if I was too good for her.

As if she might be a liability.

But none of that mattered to me right now. Just the fact that she was gone.

Which meant…that I was a fucking idiot.

* * *

AVERY

I'd stolen one of Chase's Warriors T-shirts and stuffed it into my suitcase. I smushed it against my face, inhaling his scent, and then roughly put it on.

I missed Chase Layne. I missed his big, meaty hands and his smile. I missed him asking me to make him a snack. I missed snuggling with him and watching our show. I missed him referring to himself in the third person, even though it was seriously annoying sometimes.

I thought about crying some more, but my tear ducts felt dry. Damn them. At least I felt a spark of anger—that was better than sobbing.

I decided it was the perfect time to try my sister again.

"Ave?" She surprised me by picking up on the first ring.

"Where are you?" I asked immediately.

"Out-of-state," she said nonchalantly.

My stomach dropped. I hadn't seen any more pictures, but I was taking an educated guess that she was still with Jessica and Pax. She was probably living in their house and making an absolute mess out of it, smoking, sponging off of them and drinking their booze.

A sick part of me hoped that was the truth. They all deserved each other.

"What about you? Have you been keeping busy pretending to be a Boston socialite?" she asked.

"Something like that," I said. "How're you doing for money?"

"I already told you what I needed."

"And I told you that you couldn't blackmail my client." I winced, thinking of Chase. "I can send you some money, if you need it. Just tell me where."

"I'd take you up on your offer, but another lousy thousand dollars isn't going to help me," she sniffed. "I need more than that. I told you."

"For what? Another new pocketbook?"

"No," Lila said icily. "For some self-care that I've been putting off for far too long."