Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Alec was a pro athlete. He’d played football in college at Mississippi State, which was where I met him. Then, he was drafted by the New Orleans Saints. It had only taken two months after graduation and him going to Louisiana for us to break up due to other women.
I’d called him one night to congratulate him on a win, only to hear a woman answer his phone—who giggled and then told me he was unavailable at the moment because he was between her legs—and that was the end of things. I cried, ate ice cream, watched sappy movies, but in the end, I had known it was coming. We had grown apart. Alec sent dozens of pink roses, called for weeks, even showed up at my school, which caused massive chaos because of who he was, but I found I didn’t want him back. I had forgiven him, and I was done.
The god in front of me stepped to the side and waited on me to move up beside him. He flashed those gray eyes at me again, and my heart went into a little frenzy. I knew all about men who were prettier than me. I wasn’t even going to entertain myself with that idea again. But looking for a few minutes at the Hobby Lobby I could do. No harm in that.
“My name’s Oz,” he said, holding out his hand. It was a large, strong, masculine one that looked like he knew all about manual labor.
I held my breath as I slid my much smaller one into his, wishing I had taken the time to paint my fingernails this morning. That hot pink I had bought would have looked really nice about now.
“Winslet,” I replied.
Although when I’d been growing up, everyone had called me Winzy. My brother and Marley still did. I wasn’t telling him that though. It felt childish.
His grip was firm but gentle as he shook my hand, then released it. I fought the urge to smell my hand and see if it held his scent now. He might bolt for the exit if I did. The thought made me want to giggle, but I repressed it.
“That’s a lovely name,” he told me.
“Thank you,” I replied.
My mom hadn’t been an alcoholic yet when she named me.
Before I blurted something stupid like that out, I nodded my head toward the paint supplies. “This way.” I began walking, not allowing myself more time to gawk at Oz.
I liked that name. It fit him. Just like his jeans.
“So, uh, are you an artist?” I asked so there wasn’t an awkward silence.
That deep chuckle made me shiver. I wished I could record it and keep it to replay over and over.
“Not exactly. I’m helping my friend with a project for his son’s bedroom. I have more creative talent than he does, so I said I’d get the art supplies we needed.”
He had a friend with a kid. He was going to paint something for him. I was so close to that swoon I had been worried about. I needed to slap myself. Snap out of this.
“Sounds like a lucky little boy,” I replied.
“You have no idea.”
Interesting response.
“They have some of everything here, don’t they?” he asked, sounding impressed, as we passed the aisle with beads of all kinds.
“Yep. Well, except snacks. I mean, there is the candy, but they need drinks and hot dogs maybe or pizza. Kind of like Sam’s Club.”
I glanced up at him to see he was studying me like I was an oddity that confused him. My rambling tended to do that to people. It was a nervous habit I had adopted as a child. When my mother’s temper sparked, I’d use it to help distract her until I could get my brother safely away from her. It hadn’t always worked, but it had sometimes.
“Hot dogs?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes. But the good kind. They’re delicious. Oh, and Sam’s Club also has that pizza pretzel that is fantastic.”
“I’m intrigued now. What is a pizza pretzel?”
I grinned. “Exactly what it sounds like. The dough is shaped like a pretzel, and it has lots of gooey cheese and a couple of pepperonis on top. You get a cup of sauce to dip it in.”
The corner of his mouth tugged, but he didn’t actually smile, nor did he respond. Luckily, we had arrived at the paint supplies so I could stop talking about food as if all I did was eat. I did enjoy eating.
Perry and I had gone without food for days, growing up. I’d give him what little we did have, and often, I’d go without for longer. A couple of times, I had blacked out because of it, but we had survived. Perry was a successful CEO of a start-up software company, and I was a teacher. Mom had said we wouldn’t amount to anything, but she’d been wrong. I imagined she was rolling around in her grave at my brother’s success.