The minute I step into my condo, I toss my bag on the couch and go to stand at the window that overlooks the bay and the bridge. Ben doesn’t have this view. Nor does he have my contract to get this view.
I run my hand through my hair. “f**k,” I murmur, pissed that I’m comparing the two of us.
I’m the one who told Clara I didn’t want to be with her that way after we slept together. I’m the one who’s let two years go by without my best friend by my side. I’m the one who said I was cool with the two of them dating.
Walking into the kitchen, I grab a glass and a bottle of scotch and pour myself a hefty amount. It’s Friday after all. I have a light practice tomorrow before our game Sunday. I’ve been nervous all week, which is weird because it’s not like I’m a rookie. It must be because Lee B
