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)
She scrunches up her nose.
“Horror?”
Harlow sticks out her tongue.
Tough crowd.
“Okay. What about a romantic comedy?”
I wish she’d pick something and stop being so finicky, but whatever—this was my stupid idea. I should have suggested we hit the theater and go to an actual movie, but this is New York, and there’s nothing simple about getting to an actual movie theater.
We have everything we need here, except a movie to watch.
“Oh!” she gasps. “Go back.”
I go back, scrolling to the left, going in reverse slowly.
“That one.”
That one, she says.
“A football movie?”
The irony is not lost on me. She thinks football is boring but wants to watch a movie about it? Uh, okay.
“I love an underdog story! The ones where the guy doesn’t get drafted into the NFL, and then he’s, like, thirty and never gives up, even though no one believes in him, and he tries out for the team, and he makes it against all odds.”
Oh Jesus. “That’s only happened to, like, three people.”
“I know, but I love stories like that! Oh my God, have you seen Rudy? I cry every single time, even though I’ve seen it, like, twelve times.”
I snort. “So much of that story is dramatized and not based on fact.”
Harlow stares blankly, and it’s obvious I’ve killed her buzz. “If you don’t want to watch Overlooked, pick something else.”
I don’t actually want to watch the life story of a dude I actually know in real life—and there’s no way I’m going to confess that I was at the movie premiere. I also cannot tell Harlow that I played a few games against the guy or that he’s been to my house when I was playing for Arizona and had a barbecue at my place when his team, the Gators, was in town.
Doubt Harlow would believe me, though; she has skepticism written all over her.
“Let’s watch The Spy Who Dumped Me—that blond actress cracks me the fuck up,” I suggest instead, hoping that mollifies her.
I readjust myself, giving the pillows behind me a fluff, propping them up to get more comfortable. Over the course of the time we’ve spent together, I continue to revel in the fact that she still has no idea who I am.
None.
It’s pretty unfuckingbelievable.
I’m still shook by it.
It’s a refreshing departure from the familiar, a break from my routine—the fans who stalk me and hunt me down, invading my privacy. This feels like a scene lifted from a romantic comedy.
One she has no idea she’s a part of.
I thought the weight of keeping this secret would be a burden, but it’s turned out to be a delightful game. Our laughter in the room, our banter—it’s all genuine, and underneath it all, there’s the thrill of the unknown. I have no idea what’s going to happen with us because I came into it with zero expectations.
I came down to her room with zero expectations.
It certainly wasn’t to have sex.
Although, let’s be real . . . it would be an awesome bonus.
The last twenty-four hours have been a chance to be someone entirely new for a change, to embrace the unexpected and relish in the spontaneity of the moment.
Fucking awesome is what it is.
I’m the charming stranger.
I’m unburdened by the baggage of the world I’ve been trapped in since getting drafted. The people, the women, the money-grubbers. My agent.
My family.
I had no idea how liberating it would feel to be a mystery, to exist in this temporary bubble of uncertainty.
I can’t believe she fucking trusts me, honestly.
For now, I’m a character in this rom-com, free to explore the uncharted territory of unpredictability, and Harlow never has to find out! Now I regret giving her my actual name—I could have called myself something else, like Biff or Clarke or Jackson.
“You’re adorable, do you know that?”
Harlow flutters her lashes. She’s not wearing any makeup—no mascara, no foundation, no lipstick. She’s just fresh skin and freckles and pouty pink lips.
“I try.”
Adorable my ass. Sexy as hell is more like it.
Don’t think about sex, Andy. You told her you were here to watch a movie, not stick your dick in her. But she’s close and smells like . . . like . . . something good, and now I don’t think I can sit here and act like a normal human being. Not with my pheromones raging.
The rise and fall of her breath seem to sync with the rhythm of my racing heart. I mentally trace the outline of her profile in the dim light, captivated by the delicate curve of her lips.
“What’s the look on your face?” she asks breathlessly.
“What look?”
She cocks her head, pulling away slightly. “That look.”
“I didn’t know I had a look,” I tease. It’s been a while since I’ve been this confused—normally I’m a cocky SOB, but tonight I’m back in high school, that insecure boy unsure how to behave with a pretty girl.