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)
“Dad.” I give him a warning look. “I do not need you meddling right now.”
He pulls an affronted face. “But you meddle in my business. You totally created my entire dating profile.”
I suck in a breath. He is not bringing that up right now!
I glare and point out the obvious. “You asked me to help you! And I’m trying to keep you honest, good Lord.”
His chin is tilted at a defiant angle, and his hand still grips Kevin’s leash, limp as it is.
Luckily, Andy steps in to referee.
“Big Steve,” he says, saving me from losing my shit. “Harlow and I are attempting to sort through a few things. She just found out that I play football, and it’s . . . a lot. I’m sure you can understand.”
Dad nods, walking straight into Andy’s trap.
“So we really need privacy, and obviously I don’t want anyone to find out because, God forbid, her address gets leaked and the press comes to camp outside, or her face is splashed all over the morning paper.”
Wait.
What?
My head is on a swivel. “Hold on. Hold on . . . whoa. No one said anything about splashing in papers or leaky presses. Wait one damn minute.”
“I’m speaking in worst-case scenarios,” he explains. “To put it plainly, we’d like some time to get to know each other more. I’m used to chaos, but Harlow may not be, and no one wants their privacy invaded by strangers.”
I nod.
I don’t want my privacy invaded by strangers—or my father’s nosy friends.
“I get it, I get it.” Dad has his hands up, and he’s nodding along, eating up every word Andy is saying, and I am too.
Shit.
Speaking of friends, what am I going to tell mine?
Andy caves and entertains my father with his football exploits. And since it looks like we won’t be getting that privacy for a minute, I shoot out a quick group message to my friends, explaining how he showed up on my doorstep out of the blue and Uninvited. My phone immediately blows up with their unfiltered opinions and advice:
1. Call the police! Girl, Boundaries!
2. Bang him then kick his ass out, how dare he show up unannounced! That’s crossing a line . . .
3. Do you have mace? You should find it.
4. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!!!
5. How romantic. I wish a guy would do that for me. Wait. Isn’t he broke?? Please tell us you did Not buy him the ticket . . .
6. Keep us Posted!!!!
They want updates, and they want them in real time.
But what do I say? What do I tell them?
If I share his true identity, they might gossip to someone else, who’s going to tell someone else, who knows someone who might put it online. That happens, yeah? I may live in a small town, but I wasn’t born yesterday—I know how this shit works! I’ve seen Dateline! I know the effects of social media!
I love my friends, but let’s be real, Danny is always trying to get laid, and if being associated with Landon Burke is going to assure that, why wouldn’t he say something? He’s a diva who loves being in the know.
Basically a younger, hotter, taller version of my dad.
On the other hand.
These are my friends, and if I don’t tell them, I might burst.
Shit.
There is no winning here.
Except that for once my dad isn’t bored with my decision, and for once he’s thrilled that I not only have a man in my house—the man in my house is famous. The hero worship is visible when Dad looks at Andy, a doe-eyed expression Andy has no doubt seen on many father figures before.
So annoying.
What does Andy expect me to do? Remain silent? He can’t drop a bomb like this and expect everything to be okay, you know? He just cannot.
It’s not fair to expect me to act normal around him now, and he knows it!
This is an injustice!
How do we carry on now that I know who he is? What he does? He is way cooler than your average football player—he is the hottest player in the league, according to everything I googled when he went to the bathroom.
Was. Not.
Prepared.
For. Any. Of. It.
Mind made up, I excuse myself. Let Andy deal with my dad while I flee to the bathroom—it would serve him right.
“Be right back.”
Disappearing, I beeline for my bathroom, close the toilet lid and then sit down.
Harlow: I think we have a problem.
Danny: I knew it. I Fucking knew it, pardon my French, but I knew he was shady as Hell, Honey.
Ava: Calm your tits, we don’t even know what she’s going to tell us. By the way, you should see what my roommate hung in her bedroom—a poster of Harry Potter.
Danny: Um—we Like Harry Potter . . .
Ava: Okay but we’re 30.
Danny: Speak for yourself.