Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance by Lauren Landish Read Free Book Online Page A

happy to pick it up from the dealer later, the car's due for an oil change or something. Still, if we're going to get that done, your furniture arranged, and your stuff packed up for moving tomorrow, we need to get a move on."
    "Wait, tomorrow?" I ask, confused. "I have practice tomorrow. How am I going to move my stuff?"
    "You're not," April says with a little smile. "Remember, personal assistant? You have your bags packed, and I'll get them from you at the stadium tomorrow, and spend the rest of the day setting up your place. You've still got a lot of little things to get, you know. Tableware, electronics, stuff like that. We can talk about it on the way."
    I laugh and shake my head, coming over and offering my hand to April to shake. She does, and I can see feel a little spark jump between us, maybe. "I don't know if you know it, but you're doing an awesome job. All right, let me find a shirt instead of this robe, and we can go."
    "Socks, too. You're not wearing any socks."
    "Right . . . socks."
    We drive the rental car over to the Ford dealership, where my new leased Mustang is waiting for me. It's still an Eco Drive model, but what the hell, at least the color's right. I sign the papers, and we head over to the apartment, where my furniture has already been delivered. Unfortunately, most of it is in boxes. "How'd I end up with the Ikea catalog?"
    "I'll get a tool box from the super," April says, dashing off. She comes back a few minutes later while I'm looking at the tied up bundle of boxes that is supposed to become my kitchen table, totally confused already. "How is it?"
    "I think the instructions are in French," I say, handing her the one piece of paper I'm able to figure out isn't just a packing list. "I don't know French."
    "Thankfully, monsieur, I do," April says with a chuckle. "At least, enough schoolgirl French to help figure this out . . . yeah, these are the instructions. I say we just open the boxes and start sticking stuff together though — it can't be that hard, can it?"
    "Okay, why not?" We get to work, and as we quickly find out, it's not quite as easy as we'd hoped. The table goes together just fine, but my TV center is a total pile of flat boards that seem to make no damn sense at all. After an hour, I toss my screwdriver down, frustrated. "All right, fuck this, let's just go buy some cinder blocks and stack the boards in between. Worked for my room at college."
    "Don't give up now," April grunts, twisting her screwdriver. "I think I've . . . ouch!"
    I step over as she hops around, her hand clenched to her chest and her lip bitten between her teeth hard enough to nearly bleed as she whimpers in pain. "Let me see, let me see."
    She hisses, holding out her hand, and she's got a pretty good scratch on the inside of her left hand, blood welling up from where the flat headed screwdriver caught her good. "Damn this hurts!"
    I see tears in her eyes, and I take her hand gently in mine, leading her over to the kitchen sink. "Come on, let's get that washed out first," I murmur, giving her a smile. "It's not as bad as it feels, I bet."
    The water is cold, and I hold her hand under the flow for a while, until there's no more red flowing from the scratch and my own fingers are numb. Damn, Toronto tap water is cold as hell.
    "There," I say, shutting off the water. "It'll be fine. How does it feel now?"
    "Numb," April says, wiping away a tear with her free hand. "God, I'm such an idiot."
    "You should meet my high school buddy, Fred. He's got a dimple in his right thigh from the same thing, except that he put a Phillips head two inches into the muscle."
    I continue, making sure she knows this isn’t necessary. “Let's set this aside, not even worry about the bed except to make sure the mattresses are down, and tomorrow, we'll try again. And I do mean we , after practice or something. That is, unless you have plans.”
    “I don’t have plans,” April replies. “This job is pretty much my life.”
    I shake my