Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I laughed softly. “Pretty much,” I answered. “I like all kinds, any kind. If it’s in taco form, I will eat it, but the best ones are the carnitas from my favorite street vendor who happens to frequent the corner only two blocks away from your club.”
“Good to know,” Crossland said, echoing my earlier words.
“How do you take your coffee?” I asked.
“That depends,” he answered. “If I’m at home, I like it with honey and creamer. If I’m out at a coffee shop, I like a flat white. You?”
“At home I drink it black,” I said. “If I’m at work, I like a double Americano with a little half-and-half.”
Crossland nodded. “Favorite type of music?” he asked before I could.
I blew out a breath. “That’s an incredibly complicated question,” I answered. “I listen to everything. One minute I could be listening to Taylor Swift and the next minute I could be listening to Hans Zimmer’s score for Pirates of the Caribbean. I love music. It’s an escape for me, and it used to be a luxury. My parents were always asleep during the day, so anytime I played music I would—” I cut off that sentence, shaking my head at how easily I’d been about to divulge my past to him. “Honestly, it depends on my mood,” I continued, hoping he wouldn’t bring up what I left out. “You?”
“I like electric when I’m working because the instrumental beats help keep me focused and if it’s for pleasure, I like anything as long as it has good lyrics.”
“Do you have a favorite?” I asked.
He tilted his head, thinking. “That varies from day to day,” he said. “But my sister Bristol sent me a song by David Kushner, and I’ve been listening to his songs on repeat lately.”
I quickly opened my phone and dove into the free music app I had on there, pulling up the artist and adding it to my queue so I could listen to his music later.
“Okay, what else,” I said thinking to myself, my knee bouncing slightly. “Are you allergic to anything?”
Crossland chuckled. “No, I’m not allergic to anything.”
“Me either,” I said.
“What’s your deal-breaker in a real relationship?” Crossland asked, diving into more serious waters. “I know that both of us have expressed not having many serious relationships, but if you were in a real one, what’s the line?”
I had to really stretch back and think about my last relationship to find an answer. It was that long ago, and it hadn’t been serious, but there was one key factor that made me end things quickly.
“I don’t want to feel unworthy or unwanted,” I admitted, and I didn’t like how it sounded out loud, but it was the truth. “Thanks to the way my parents raised, or didn’t, raise me,” I continued. “Feeling unwanted is sort of a trigger of mine. Feeling unworthy is even worse. The second anyone makes me feel that way, I’m out. I don’t have the time or the emotional capacity to deal with it. I’m already hard enough on myself as it is.”
Crossland’s Arctic blue eyes were sympathetic as he looked me over. “I can see that,” he said. “And understand it.”
“What’s yours?” I asked. “Is it someone asking for a commitment?” I joked.
“Anyone who spends time with me in that capacity knows commitment isn’t on the table,” he said, smiling at me. “Lying,” he continued. “I can’t stand it. I’m a big boy and can handle the truth. I’d rather handle any hardship, any horrible fact, over the sweetest of lies.”
He blew out of breath, closing his eyes for a few moments before returning them to mine. “And that goes way back,” he explains. “When my parents died and I had to take over my family’s empire, so many people came out of the woodwork trying to scam me out of money. And some of them were very good at it. Some of them succeeded by lying so well that I easily handed over millions to them.” He shook his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw. That sting of the past evidently still lived with him.
“That wasn’t as bad as those who were telling me I shouldn’t become Bristol’s guardian,” he continued. “She was seventeen, but she was still my responsibility. And even now, as a grown woman, I still think she’s my responsibility.” A regretful smile played across his face, and he let out a strained laugh. “I even kicked out one of my own players years ago because I thought he crossed the line with Bristol.” He shrugged. “Turns out he didn’t, and years later they reconnected, and that same player is now married to my sister and plays for one of my best friends’ teams. It’s funny how life works out.” He cleared his throat, coming back to the present. “Either way, lying is it. I’d rather take a harsh truth than a lie any day.”