The 90 Day Rule Read Online Free PDF

registering at a level of perception that had nothing to do with the total sensory immersion the man’s sure touch commanded.
    “Are you ready?”
    That was Jack. Asking more than one question. I might be naïve … but I read. And there was way more to that than are you ready to go to dinner , are you ready to talk about your future ? The subtext was clear and concise: are you ready for me to fuck you senseless?
    Heart stutter-stepping in a near panic I managed to say, “Yes … yes, I am.”

 
    Chapter Four: The Deep End of the Court
     
     
     
     
    I managed to negotiate three flights down without breaking an ankle. Jack Ryan hovered solicitously without interfering, a pretty good feat given neither one of us qualified as petite. He held the door open and guided me through without making me feel like an invalid or entitled. I suspected his momma done raised him right.
    Hanging with Chazz reminded me of the accents from my days on the team, all of us trash talkin’ and outdoing each other on the incomprehensible language scale. As a Pittsburgh native I had the local patois down cold, the cricks and the soda pops and redding up and dropping infinitives right and left.
    “I’m parked in the lot down by the bookstore. Forgot it’s Saturday.”
    Nodding agreement, I followed slightly behind the man as we headed down the hill to East College Avenue, admiring the view. Like me he’d gone casual with jeans and a deep blue golf shirt with the Nittany Lion logo on the pocket, worn loose in deference to the heat that boiled off the sidewalks. Scuffed cowboy boots that might have once been a shiny black finished off the outfit.
    That end of town had changed. Gone was the hole-in-the-wall pizza joint that had been a part of the town for almost fifty years. I asked Jack if they’d gone out of business.
    “Nah, they just moved up North Atherton. Fancier place that what you might remember.” He smiled and asked, “Do you want to go there?”
    Shrugging, I said, “I’m easy,” and nearly choked on the words. His eyes crinkled with mirth but he plowed on, directing me to another joint, this one clearly take-out.
    “I thought maybe we’d take it back to my place. Easier to talk.”
    “Uh, sure. That would be nice.” It would be. The town was awash with fresh young faces, the influx for the start of fall semester in full swing and the noise level outside and in reflected that exuberance.  
    “What do you like?”
    “Not anchovies.”
    “Do you mind extra cheese and meat?”
    Staring at his broad shoulders straining the knit shirt had me agreeing with an ‘um’. After placing the order, we retired to a less raucous corner and waited quietly until the bell dinged and our order was up.
    “I’ve got beer at home.”
    “Huh?”
    “You said you liked beer with your pizza.” His brow creased with worry that he might have misunderstood.
    “Oh, uh, yeah, no … I do.” Cripes, shoot me, now.
     Blindly I followed behind him until we stopped at a large pickup truck that he chirped open. It was one of those monster models with the double cab or whatever they called it. In any case it looked big enough to accommodate all the starters plus a team manager or two.
    Jack shoved the pizza box onto the rear seat and indicated I should—his words— hop up into the passenger side seat.
    Biting my lip I surveyed my options. Ladder, no. Folding stool? No. Running boards, we don’ need no stinkin’ running boards.
    The jeans were brand new, stiff as a board, and I let that thought hover while I pondered next steps, literally and figuratively.
    “Just grab that there handle,” he pointed to a leather-covered U-shaped object alongside the edge of the door. Another, similar device sat on the dashboard. “I’ll help…”
    “No, I’m fine.”
    I can do this. I can.
    Mr. Helpful locked onto my waist and hoisted me with barely a grunt while I hauled, using long atrophied upper body strength. His palms burned an indelible