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)
Not cool.
We sign up to play football, but along with that? We sign up for all the crazy shit that goes along with it. Yeah, lines get crossed, boundaries get blurred, people take things too far. That’s part of it—occasionally the dark side of it.
“Tell me more about this dipshit disguise you came up with on the fly so you could walk around the city without anyone recognizing you?”
“A great fucking disguise, obviously. Do you think I’m a fucking rookie?”
Dex rolls his eyes. “What kind of disguise?”
My shoulders move up and down in a shrug. “Ball cap, sunglasses, fake mustache.”
He blinks. “Fake mustache?”
“Yeah, man. I ordered them from Amazon and slapped one on my face. Harlow had one on too.”
“She had one on too? Why?”
“’Cause. She thought we were playing a game, and she hadn’t wanted to feel left out.” I laugh at the memory of her tiny, little weird mustache, wiggling on her face, above her lip, wishing I would have kissed her on our day date. “It was adorable—she looked way cuter than I did.”
“Huh.”
“You can’t just say huh without explaining.”
“It was just a noise, bro. Didn’t mean anything.”
“Yes it did. You were judging.”
“Dude, all I’ll say is I hope this works out the way it’s working out for you in your brain. That’s all.”
My brain.
If only that were the only thing hoping this works out.
Ha!
Chapter 17
Harlow
“Dad—what did I say about coming over unannounced?”
My father hesitates over the threshold like a dog being caught in the treat jar. “I used the keypad on the back door.”
That does not explain why he came over unannounced after our endless talks about it.
I’m squatting in front of a lower kitchen cabinet, trying to find a matching lid for a storage container, and give Kevin a nudge backward so he doesn’t climb inside the cabinet and get stuck again—the way he did last time I was rooting around looking for a lid.
I give Dad a look over my shoulder as the heap of lids falls out onto the floor.
“There is no keypad on the back door.”
“There is now.”
I swear to God—why is he like this? And how did I not notice he put a keypad on the back door?
Dad walks over, not to help clean up the pile of lids from the floor, but to scratch an attention-seeking Kevin on the chin, then pat him on the rear as they both ignore me down here organizing so he can strike up a conversation—and not help clean up.
“Did you see that Landon Burke wants to leave Washington?”
I shake my head absentmindedly, determined to put all the containers and lids back by size, the tip of my tongue sticking out from between my lips as I concentrate.
“It’s all over the news.”
“That’s nice.”
“It’s huge! Huge news! Wherever he goes, he’s going to make a fortune.”
“Uh-huh.”
I have no idea who on earth he is talking about.
I have no idea what team he’s referring to; I only know he’s yammering on about football, one of his favorite subjects.
It’s not unusual for him to go on incessantly about the sport; most of the men in this town were bred for it. I’m used to it, tuning out almost completely as he drones on, losing me at the mention of contracts and free agents.
I know nothing about football, its players, their stats, the team owners. Nor do I care to.
After several failed attempts to engage me in football chatter, Dad moves on to another topic. “What are you doing today?”
“Working. Portia and I have a conference call with someone about the Kissmet logo, and then I’m having a video call for lunch with some friends.” I stop what I’m doing to look up at him, Kevin determined to lick my face since it’s at his level. “What about you?”
My father shrugs. “I don’t know. The woman I’m talking to is in the Philippines and won’t be awake for at least five more hours.”
I gawk at him. “Dad. What did I tell you about brides from other countries.” I set the container in my hand up on the counter, then hoist myself to a stand.
“You said that I should not look for a bride from another country.”
“I don’t know why you think no one in Green Bay would want to date you—you’re a catch.”
That’s a stretch, and we both know it. Dad is way shorter than average, loud, sort of semiretired but mostly dabbles in hobbies like fixing things, fixing things at my house that were not broken to begin with, meddling in my business—and taste testing wine at local restaurants.
And.
Meddling in my business.
“If you want help setting up a dating profile, I can help you.”
His eyes light up like two sparkling Christmas trees. “You don’t want me to wait for your app to go live?”
The way he asks makes me feel like an asshole, as if he’s been wanting to download a dating app this whole time but hasn’t wanted to betray me by not downloading mine. As if I would want him to put his life on hold for me to launch my app, which will be another three months.