Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
My words were almost sub-vocal, but she heard anyway.
And she chose to leave it be.
Thank fuck.
A loud crack had my head turning to see who’d hit the ball, causing my head to whip around so fast that my head spun.
I saw the ball and knew it was headed straight toward us. Her.
I only had a split second to react. One moment in time where I either did something or not.
And there was no way in hell I was letting that ball come anywhere near my woman.
I reached out and forward, spread my fingers wide, making as big of a target as I could as I leaned over the man that was between me and Mina—her date who I despised, who I did not want anywhere near my woman, and who I wanted to choke on a hot dog—and stopped the ball with my arm.
The foul ball hit the muscle just over my tattoo—the one I got the day my skin was healthy enough to take one after that day—and I grunted in pain.
The ball rolled down my arm and into Mina’s lap, and she caught it with her hands that had been enfolded in her lap nearly the entire game, almost instinctively.
It missed hitting her temple by the width of my arm.
She inhaled sharply, and her head turned so she could get a look at the man who’d just saved her life, and her lips formed into the cutest little O that I’d ever seen.
Though, that was saying something because she had made that expression frequently since the day I first met her.
The past slammed into me like a freight train.
***
I walked down the steps of the front porch, and the hot, humid summer air slapped me in the face like a still-damp towel straight from the dryer.
I was already sweating, and I hadn’t even done anything but walk outside.
Wonderful.
That would convince her to come inside.
Not.
Everyone wanted to hang out with a sweating seventeen-year-old, right?
Whatever, I couldn’t help what my body did.
I took the last step and tapped my foot seven times on the last step, gritting my teeth as I did.
I didn’t want to do the things that I did, but I couldn’t help it, either.
I had OCD. A mild form of it, yes, but OCD nonetheless.
I was an awkward teen, and that was due to the fact that most people found me weird.
No one could understand why I had to tap seven times on the last step. Nor the fact that I usually only stuttered on my Ys and Ps. Then there were the other things like the constant need to wash my hands, the need to always walk on the left, even when you’re supposed to walk on the right. Oh, and let’s not forget the most fun one—the overwhelming need to count absolutely everything. That one always made me the latest.
It didn’t matter where I was, or what I was doing, I always had to know the number of people in the room. That was why I’d only gone to a pep rally one time and only that one time.
Leaving that rally unsure exactly how many people had been in the gym had left me upset for days.
But as I finally walked down the path to the old, beat up car that was parked at the end of our half-moon driveway, I was determined to make this happen.
I would not watch her sweat her tiny ass off in that car one more day. I would bring her inside, keeping her out of my parents’ view, and have her stay in my room with me until her mother was ready to leave. Then I’d sneak her back down and deposit her back into her car with no one any the wiser.
I just couldn’t stand to watch her suffer one more day.
It was terrible, and it happened every day her mother worked for us.
Even if she thought I was a weirdo.
I tapped on the roof of the car and started to speak, startling her.
“Y-y-you need to come inside with me,” I cajoled. “I hate seeing y-y-you suffer.”
Then her eyes met mine, and everything in my mind went quiet. Everything. Absolutely-freaking-everything.
No longer did I care that there were fifteen people on the grounds, eight of those from the grass company, four of them from the landscaping, and three looking at the pool.
No longer did I need to do anything that my disorder usually demanded that I do.
Why?
Because I couldn’t take my eyes off of this girl in front of me.
She was beautiful. Absolutely stunning, and I wanted to wrap her in my arms and never let her go.
“Hey,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”
I licked my suddenly dry lips. “Y-y-you don’t look okay.”
Holy crap.
This girl didn’t know it, but she was a miracle worker. My head was quiet for the first time that I could remember.