Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I hum while I think about my answer. “Something not many people know is that . . .” I pause. “There was a point when I was younger that I wanted to be a gymnast, but my parents wouldn’t let me. I used to do cartwheels and routines in the backyard and dance around the grass—it drove my dad nuts.”
Her brows go up. “Why did it drive him nuts?”
“Because he didn’t understand it. And I made one of those ribbons on a stick because I wanted to do floor routines.” I laugh at the memory of my younger self prancing around our yard in my Superman T-shirt and matching shorts while pretending to be an Olympic gymnast.
“I’d pay to see you waving around a ribbon and dancing.” Harlow gets more comfortable on the bed, stretching out her legs, wiggling her cute toes.
“Maybe if I get drunk enough, I’ll show you.”
“Deal.” She nods with a grin. “What are your hobbies?”
“Hobbies.” I readjust myself against the headboard, glad she asked about hobbies. It’s the perfect time to feel her out. “I like to throw the ball around.”
“What ball? Baseball?” Her finger slowly makes small circles on the bedding, inches from my leg. I watch for several seconds before answering.
“Football.”
“Ugh.” Harlow groans loudly. “You’re not one of those guys who sits home every damn weekend glued to their TV watching the games, are you?”
“No. I can promise you I do not sit home every weekend and watch the games on my TV.”
“And what about cuddling?” She teases. “Do you do that on the weekends?”
I nod. “Oh, I’m a pro at that. Top-tier cuddler, right here.”
She angles her body so she’s facing me, and we’re not far apart, she and I, the intimacy getting heavier. “So, what’s your plan for tomorrow?”
“My plan is . . .” My words trail off. “Uh. My plan. I have someone coming to pick me up early in the morning—then I should be back home around ten.”
Like, super early. Up before the birds and all that shit.
“Where is home again?”
“Currently Seattle, but I’m actually going to see my parents—they’re still in Ohio. It’s been a minute and I need . . .” I pause. “It’ll be nice to see them.”
“I’m sure it will.” Harlow sighs. “I see my dad all the time; he’s so far up my ass it’s crazy.”
“What do you mean by up your ass?” I laugh.
“I might have mentioned it to you already—he’s single, but he makes my love life his priority. Honestly, he’s still young enough that he should be out there finding someone for himself.”
“Kind of like The Golden Bachelor?”
“Uh.” She groans, still tracing a finger perilously close to my leg. “I wish my dad was like that guy, he’s more like . . . a bull in the glass-plates aisle at a department store. Loud and always knocking things over. He loves attention.” Harlow removes her hand from the comforter and snuggles down farther on the bed.
“So what movie should we watch?” Her big, pretty eyes regard me curiously.
“Movie? I was thinking first we could flip through and catch one of the games.” I give her a glance to test her. “On SportsCenter.”
Her contorted face does not disappoint.
“Not a fan?”
“Eh. There are a million other things I would rather be watching than sports—sorry if you’re into it but . . .” She makes a snoring sound. “Snoozefest!”
“Snoozefest? You think sports are a snoozefest?” I twist my body so I can get a better look at her face.
“Some sports—not all of them, obviously.”
“Obviously.” I agree with a nod. “Which ones do you hate watching?”
“Baseball—so boring. Tennis. How anyone gets into that is beyond me.” Harlow pauses, thinking.
And just when I think football is safe and she’s not going to throw it under the bus, she lets out a loud yawn.
“. . . and the worst of the worst is football.” Another feigned yawn. “Bunch of meatheads running around. That game has the dumbest rules.”
I don’t think my brows could be any farther up into my hairline, but they try, pushed up so far on my face I’m shocked she hasn’t noticed my surprise at her blatant disdain for my literal job.
I clutch my chest as if I were in pain. “It’s the most beloved sport of all time.”
She shakes her head to disagree with me. “Beloved is a stretch.”
“What do you dislike about it?”
“Beside that it’s boring? Kind of confusing.” She shrugs. “I don’t know, probably that it’s repetitive. And dangerous. And those guys get paid stupid amounts of money to do what? Toss a ball around.”
Toss a ball around.
My ass cheeks pucker, balls shriveling up inside my body.
To turn this ship around, I take a few beats before pointing the remote at the television, shifting my gaze from Harlow to the wall.
“Um. They have pay-per-view here, so I figured we could find something we both want to watch. How do you feel about action movies?”