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)
We watch as he peels out of the lot and heads to downtown, probably to a party. Some of the guys have been nonstop since we won the natty.
“He’s a dick,” Dillon mutters. “I’m glad he’ll be gone soon. I’ll have next year all to myself.”
I refocus, doing my best to shake it off and be my normal, goddamn fun self—which is quite a feat these days. It doesn’t matter that he’s got an agent. I’m fine.
I slap Dillon on the back. “You’ll make a great QB1.”
“Gonna miss your ass though.”
I laugh. He won’t. He’s got so many friends I can’t keep up with them. I’m more of a small-inner-circle guy, with tons of acquaintances I talk and laugh with but don’t open up to. “Maybe I’ll come back and try to finish my degree if I can’t wrap it up this term.”
He gives me a look. “You’ll get it. Nobody’s got drive and ambition like you.”
Yeah, but other wide receivers are beating me—according to the media.
Maybe I need another workout. I grimace when I realize my muscles need downtime.
I stick my hands in the joggers I threw on after my shower and pose, showing him my profile. “You think this face could sell cars? Is it pretty enough to rack up some commissions?” I give him a grin.
“You’re the prettiest boy on the team after me, but you aren’t going to end up selling cars.” He punches me in the arm. “If you do, it’ll be at one of those high-class Maserati places and girls will be crawling all over you.”
“Hmmm.”
He watches me open my door and toss my bag in. “You wanna get out of here and grab a drink at Cadillac’s? Or hit up The Purple Iris? I hear they’ve got a good band tonight. We’ve got the weekend before classes start and then it’s game on.”
I shake my head. “Told Coach I’d be in bright and early tomorrow to train.”
“You’re a machine, but all work and no play can be borrrring.” He pauses as if he’s going to say something else but stops.
“What?”
He looks away then back at me, rubs his neck. “Saw Charisma on campus earlier today. Seemed like some kind of sorority meeting. She looked hot, had on this black dress and these big heels—”
“Are you trying to piss me off?” My hands ball up.
“Dude.” He takes a step back. “Bros before hoes. I know the code and all. I just thought you might want to know. I didn’t see her with anyone, but then, it was a bunch of girls. You don’t care though, right?” His gaze searches my face. “You were a bit of a bear after that party last fall, and well, you kinda look like you might be headed back down that road again.”
Because ditching her was like tearing a limb from my body. Three times we had sex, and you’d think it wouldn’t mean much, but it had, and that was the problem.
I picture her smiling and laughing with her sorority girls. See, she’s happy, I tell myself, even though there’s a tug inside me that says she’s not, that maybe she’s hurting—
“That ship sailed. I’m done.”
He lets out a low whistle. “I’ll be honest, done doesn’t sit well on your face. I get you’ve got football putting the screws to you, but, man, she’s in your head. You think I didn’t see how you were looking at her at Cadillac’s? Like you’ve got an itch and only she can scratch it. You need to forget her and come out with me.”
I get in my car. She is in my head. Her note is sitting on my nightstand right now because I’m a dumbass who can’t let go of what she wrote.
“Come on, man. Dani and the girls will be there. I’ll invite my cousin Mary if you want. You know, she’s been asking to meet you, and I keep putting her off.”
I crank my truck. “Maybe next time. I want to be fresh tomorrow.”
He shakes his head at me. “I’m gonna hold you to that. Me, you, and some hot girls—it’s going to happen.” He grins.
“Yeah. Soon.” Just let me figure out football first.
8
On Sunday, I’m ready to eat my arm off by the time I pull into the parking lot of Piggly Wiggly. It’s the night before classes start and I’m stocking up.
After grabbing several packs of SlimFast, I find myself standing in front of the pasta aisle, salivating over an image of Ma’s ravioli in my head. Who am I kidding? Dear Diet, you’re boring and tasteless. Instead of losing weight, I’m going to look into those stretching machines and see if I can just get taller.
Feeling frustrated, I zoom past several aisles, aimlessly grabbing salad mix, low-carb chips, and diet soda.
I pass by the cupcakes in the bakery, and my mouth waters at the smell of sweet sugar. I shove on past, muttering under my breath. I glance down at my shirt, which reads I Just Finished My First Marathon (Just Kidding—I’m On My Third Cupcake), then roll my eyes.