Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I picture Ellen, tall and pretty with a big smile and bright red hair. Disappointment brushes at me, but I’m used to it from them, and I shove it down. I make my voice upbeat when I speak. “That’s awesome. She didn’t tell me that the last time she texted. What play is it?”
“She’s Ariel in The Little Mermaid. Her performance starts at six and your dinner is at seven, and I just don’t know how we can be in two places at the same time.”
“That would be difficult.”
“Blaze…I’m sorry.”
But is she truly? Dry as dust and religious, she and my uncle are small-town, hardworking people who face the world with resolve and grit. Emotions aren’t expressed. Affection, at least for me, was rare. They took me in because duty demanded it.
“Ah, it’s okay, Aunt Lorraine.”
I’ll be the only person there without a family member, but I can play it off like I usually do—big smile, lots of jokes.
She goes on to tell me about the girls, and I end up pacing around the lot and talking to Suzie and Carrie, too. Eventually I end the call and tuck my phone in my side pocket.
The smell of peppermint hits me and I falter, nearly tripping as I stop and walk back to see if she’s behind me. Shit. She’s not. Of course she isn’t. Why would she be in the parking lot of the field house?
It’s just my imagination.
And why would she look for me?
She can’t stand the sight of me; that much was apparent in the bookstore yesterday. Besides, I pushed her away so hard, I made sure she’d never want me again. My head goes to that party where we broke up. Shit, can I even call it “breaking up” when we weren’t really together? Yet, it felt like we were a couple, every moment we spent together layered with heat and long glances.
Dillon waves as he comes out of the gym and jogs over. Dressed in shorts and no shirt, I can’t help but laugh at him.
“Dude, it’s forty degrees out here. Are you crazy?” I say when he reaches me.
He waves it off. “Can’t feel the cold when you’re as hot as I am.”
“Yeah, you’ll be hot with a fever if you don’t put some clothes on.”
He studies me. “Saw you talking on the phone. Girl?”
“Family.”
He leans down and touches his toes, still in workout mode. “Awards dinner, I assume? They coming? Mine are flying in.”
“Nope.”
“Huh.” He rises up and studies me, putting his hands on his hips, a frown on his face. “You good with that?”
I nod. “Cool with me. Don’t need them.”
That isn’t true. It isn’t, but I say the words because I don’t want pity. I didn’t think they’d come anyway, and I’m used to doing things on my own. Even in high school, they were too busy to attend most of my games.
“You sure?” His green gaze holds mine, but before I can reply, his eyes go over my shoulder. “Fuck me. Archer and company approaching.”
“What?” I turn to see a new white Mustang convertible with the top down rolling toward us. Looks like someone else doesn’t care about the cold.
Archer stops the car next to us, a few of the freshman defensive players sitting inside. He’s wearing a smirk with a haughty look in his eyes.
My spine stiffens.
“Yo, Blaze, didn’t hear your name on the news today. Looks like you’re still not invited to the Combine. Sucks, not that I would know.” He revs up the engine and grins, stretching his arms out of the vehicle and sweeping over it. “Check out my sweet ride. Got my advance from my agent this week. You got an agent yet?”
My jaw pops. No, I don’t have an agent, but fuck if I’ll tell him that.
I study the lines of the car, all sleek curves and custom wheels. I’ve never been into material things—can’t afford them anyway. Cars and big-ass houses don’t motivate me. The game does.
“Nice,” I say, trying to keep my cool and not let him know his digs get to me.
He rakes a hand through his white-blond hair and smiles. “Ah, sour grapes don’t look so good on your face.” He laughs then sobers, giving me a steely glance. “My bet is you won’t get an agent. You just don’t have what it takes, farm boy.”
I toss my gym bag down to the pavement, roll my shoulders, and step—
Dillon’s hand stops me. That’s exactly what he wants, his gaze says.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s a sweet ride, Archer,” Dillon mutters, still holding my arm. “Now run along and enjoy yourself, asshole.”
Archer tosses up a little wave, looking nonchalant, but I know that look in his eyes as he drives away. He loves messing with me. He knows how important the next few weeks are, and if I don’t get invited to the Combine or get an agent or something, I’m done.