Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
A snort of disbelief escapes from me before I can rein it back in. “He was always mean, and you never did a damn thing about it.”
“Babe,” he tilts his head as his expression softens, “I tried to give the two of you space to hash out your issues. That’s all. I was always ready to jump in if I was needed.”
I roll my eyes.
That is such a lie. He’d sit his ass on the couch with a beer and watch us as if we were that night’s entertainment. After Crosby cut me to pieces and I was on the verge of tears, Andrew would wrap his arms around my body before steering me toward the bedroom as if sex would fix everything. That was it. He never said a damn word to his friend.
How did I ever believe I was in love with him?
All I can say is never again. I will never get tangled up with another lying, cheating athlete again. I’d rather be alone than be in a shitty relationship.
“How about I take you to that little Mexican place you love so much, and we can talk everything out?”
I stop so abruptly that the girl walking behind me slams into my back.
“Sorry,” I call out as she flips me off and stalks away before turning my attention to Andrew. “We don’t have a relationship. We are never going to have one again. Period. End of story. Full stop.” I search his eyes. “Do you understand?”
He blinks and shifts his weight before dropping his voice to a low rumble. “Are you riding the cotton pony? Because you’re being awfully bitchy.”
My mouth drops open.
It would be all too easy to reach out and throttle him. It takes every bit of willpower not to do exactly that.
Am I riding the cotton pony?
Is this guy serious?
“Actually,” I say with more calm than I’m feeling, “I’m not. I’m just annoyed at having the same conversation every time I run into you. It’s like that movie Groundhog Day. It’s exhausting, and it needs to stop.”
“So,” he says slowly as if wrapping his brain around a difficult concept, “what you’re telling me is that I should give you a little more time?”
I open my mouth to blast him into next week before slamming it shut and stalking away.
No.
Just…no.
12
CROSBY
As soon as Coach blows his whistle, I jog off the field to grab a bottle of water. Now that we’re deep in the season, every second spent on the field counts. Every snap. Every play. Every hard-fought yard. We all realize that the small things can be the difference between winning and losing.
Lifting the squeeze bottle to my lips, icy cold water fills my mouth before hitting the back of my throat. It’s only when I get jostled from behind that liquid gets dumped down my chin and the front of my practice jersey. Fist clenched around the bottle, I swing around, ready to knock the stupid fucker on his ass.
Instead of a clueless underclassman, I find Andrew, narrowed gaze pinned to mine. His jaw is tight and his arms hang tensely at his sides. From all outward appearances, he looks ready to throw down.
When I raise a brow, he gives me a chin lift.
I shift my stance under the intense scrutiny. “What’s up?”
Clearly something is. I’ve known him way too long to be fooled by his silence. He’s simmering inside, ready to blow. He’s always had a quick temper. It’s just not usually directed at me.
“What’s up with you and Brooke?”
Every muscle goes whipcord tight. Has he somehow found out I’ve been texting her?
I rack my brain. There’s no way. I’ve been so careful. I don’t even have her listed by name in my phone. She’s only identified as Perfect Ten.
So, I have no idea how he could have figured it out. I drag a hand through my hair as my mind continues to spin, searching for an explanation.
“Yeah, I saw you talking with her at lunch.” His gaze turns frosty. “Thought you couldn’t stand her?”
The air trapped in my lungs escapes in a slow leak as I jerk my shoulders. All right…he doesn’t know anything. Not really. I overreacted and jumped to conclusions. This is what happens when you keep secrets from your best friend and roommate. You become paranoid.
It takes effort to keep my voice nonchalant. “Easton wanted to stop over and say hi to his girl. It wasn’t anything more than that.” Even though I should keep the questions locked up deep inside where they can’t see the light of day, they burst free. “What’s the big deal? I’m not allowed to have a convo with her?”
He tilts his head as if reassessing me and my comment with new interest. “Just seems weird that you were always an asshole to her when she was my girlfriend, and now that we’re broken up, you’re all chummy.”