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 can hear her sighing from here. “That is so romantic.”
“Kind of.” I laugh, not mentioning any of the gory details. “It was sort of a ‘hate at first sight’ situation.”
“Was it?”
“Nah—who could hate this face?” I flash her one of my famous megawatt grins, and the kid doesn’t even crack a smile, totally unimpressed with me.
“If you say so.”
Damn. Tough crowd.
“Well. I should bounce—I have to meet her at her dad’s house.”
Lydia nods. “Yeah, I saw her come out before, slamming the door and stuff.” She tilts her teenagery head. “What’d you do to make her mad?”
“Me? Nothing. Unless you count the fact that my freaking ex-girlfriend called me four times—that could have pissed her off. Which, by the way, I haven’t spoken to my ex in months—not since I broke things off with her.”
And why am I telling this kid this? She can’t be older than, what, fifteen?
“Your ex-girlfriend? She called you and Harlow saw it?” Her eyes are bugging out of her little girly face. “Dude. You are so screwed.”
“Thanks for the vote of self-confidence.”
Her shoulders move up and down in a shrug. “Just bein’ honest.”
I see the black sedan pull up to the curb out front.
“I really do need to jet. Time’s a wasting.”
“Good luck.” Lydia starts to walk toward her house. “Let me know how it goes.”
“Sure thing, kid. You’ll be the first person I tell.” After I put out a press release to the entire franchise—not.
I have to admit, Big Steve lives in a sweet condo complex.
I also have to admit that when I approach the door, I get the same feeling I had when I got food poisoning—as if I could shit myself, my stomach nervous and queasy and rolling.
I count to three and take a few deep breaths before raising my hand to knock on Steve’s door—the same deep breaths I take in a game to quell my nerves, which I hardly get anymore because I am a goddamn professional!
The door flies open.
Steve regards me before shoving the storm door open and inviting me to step inside.
He goes up on his tippy-toes to hug me, smacking me on the back. “Glad you could be here.”
He’s whispering.
“Is this a funeral?” I whisper back.
“Could be.” He shuts the door behind me and locks it. “Your funeral.”
I put my palms up in defense mode. “Jesus, Steve—help a guy out here. What am I walking into?”
“It’s Big Steve.” He gestures me closer, and I lean in so I can listen good and hard. “Honestly? It’s not good. All I’ve been hearing for the past half hour—she is calling him, why is she calling him, and how can I compete, and he could have just told me I’m his rebound girl.”
Rebound girl?
Say what now?
“Don’t you think she’s being a tad dramatic?”
“Don’t shoot the messenger.”
I get the feeling that Steve could be overexaggerating, but according to him, Harlow is in one of the rooms pacing back and forth like an angry tiger.
Lord.
When have I ever worked this hard to win someone over?
Literally never.
I have no choice but to follow her dad through the house, the adrenaline rush usually reserved for game days charging through my veins. With my head held high, I walk through the tiny foyer into the living room to find her sitting on a love seat, furiously typing away on her phone, no doubt to her group of friends. I have yet to meet them.
Her fingers are flying.
“Hey.” My voice rumbles in the room, causing her head to shoot up and her eyes to meet mine.
Her fingers stop typing. “What are you doing here?” Then, “How did you find me?”
I nod toward Steve, who hovers in the doorway. “Your dad texted me.”
I stuff my hands in my pockets as if I were in high school all over again, asking Cammie Bennet to go to the homecoming dance with me, not sure if she would say yes.
Harlow glares at her dad. Traitor. “Of course he did.”
I mean—this is Big Steve we’re talking about. What does she expect? For her dad to behave and act normal?
Steve reacts before I can.
“Don’t be mad at me—he’s the one who has his ex-girlfriend calling at the same time you’re having sex with him.” He’s pointing a finger directly at me.
“Gee. Thanks, Steve,” I say as sarcastically as I can. “Way to have my back.”
“Big Steve,” he corrects me. “And you’re welcome.”
Pfft. “Whatever.”
I am in no mood to have him running interference. I came here on a mission, and I’m not leaving until I get kicked out of the house or we resolve this, whichever comes first.
“Can we go somewhere private we can talk?”
Her chin notches up. “Whatever you have to say to me you can say in front of my dad.”
Oh. Because that works out so well? The man was so quick to finger point in my face the second I ratted him out.