Page 22 of Players Love Hard
We both laugh.
“That’s hilarious.”
“You think that’s bad?” Jamie glances over his shoulder to see if his friends are behind him before he continues, “When we were kids, Tucker’s mom had to iron all of his shirts before school. He’d throw a fit and refuse to go if she didn’t.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “So, what’s wrong with ironing a shirt?”
“He wouldn’t get dressed if his shirt wasn’t warm.”
“Your friends are such brats.” I snort from laughing so hard. “And what about you? You have a weird story, too?”
“Are you kidding me? If I as much as complained when I was a kid, my dad would tell me a sob story about his childhood and how he never knew if he’d eat. Then, he’d tell me I should consider myself lucky that I don’t have to walk to school or starve to death.”
“Sounds like your dad grew up more like me.”
His expression darkens, his voice lower. “Is it really that bad for you?”
I shake my head, turning away from him to flip the French toast. “No, not at all. But we don’t have any money. Just enough to get by.”
“My dad said if he could give all the money back, he would. That’s why he donates so much of it to charity. He feels guilty.”
“He shouldn’t,” I say. “He works hard for it. Your dad kinda gives me hope. If someone who came from a worse situation than me can build an empire, then I can make my dream happen, too.”
“My dad will like you,” he says. “He loves people with entrepreneurial minds. Actually, he has an internship program for young entrepreneurs.”
“For tech, though, right?”
He nods. “Yeah. He works with coders and teaches them how to become video game developers.”
“That’s amazing,” I mutter. “Now, I see where you get it from.”
“He wants me to make a choice,” Jamie confesses. “Between hockey and his company.” He peeks over at his friends who are talking amongst themselves at the kitchen table. “But I haven’t decided.”
“They don’t know,” I say in a hushed tone. “Do they?”
“Only Preston does,” he admits. Jamie bites the inside of his cheek, torn between both sides of his life. “It’s complicated.”
“Sounds like it.” I lift a heavy tray filled with French toast and hand it to Jamie. “You ready to eat?”
He pats his stomach and then takes the tray with a smile. “I can always eat.”
After we finish, Jamie orders his friends to clean up the mess and then runs upstairs to grab our bags. I meet him at the front door, holding it open with my back for him to pass through.
He extends his hand to me, shifting the weight of our backpacks over his right shoulder. “Can I walk you to class?”
My heart melts from the boyish look on his handsome face. “I’ll allow it,” I joke, slipping my fingers between his.
He laughs, squeezing my hand as we walk down the street. “Thanks for making breakfast for everyone.”
“No problem.” I shrug. “I was up early and needed something to do until class starts.”
“I’m afraid they’ll get used to it and expect you to cook for them every time they see you. None of them can take care of themselves. Well, Preston can…”
“If I’m cooking for you and there’s enough food for everyone, I don’t mind.”
“You really don’t have to do that for me,” he says, his tone serious. “I appreciate it, Shan, but I don’t want you to feel taken advantage of.”
“I never do things I don’t want to do.”
