Total pages in book: 191
Estimated words: 182070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
He squished my cheeks some more. “Let me, yeah? If he doesn’t wanna help, you can wake up extra early and we’ll ask your neighbor that likes you if he’ll help.”
I squinted at him. “What neighbor?”
He stopped squishing my cheeks, that light blue gaze holding mine. “The one across the hall.”
“You think? Santiago?” I asked. “Huh.”
Zac’s thumbs slipped under the collar of my shirt as he massaged my muscles there. “CJ will help,” he said, changing the subject away from Santiago liking me.
I flashed him a smile and ducked out from beneath his hands when I just about moaned at what he was doing to me. “Okay, but if you can’t, I can handle it. Promise. I have people I can ask.”
“Yeah. Me.”
There went my poor little heart again, all defenseless and raw. So I poked him in the stomach. “Thank you again for doing this.”
“You’re welcome.”
I smiled up at him, and he smiled down at me.
He took my hand. “Come on. I’ve got film to watch, and you’ve got computer stuff to do.”
I snorted. “Computer stuff. How old are you?”
“Too old by the way you talk to me.”
I poked him again, and he tapped the tip of my nose before steering me into the house through the front door. The front door of the home where I was going to be living for a little bit.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I thought about the pretty blonde who had been at his party the first day we’d seen each other, the one who had known where his room was.
Was he going to be bringing other girls there? To the room two doors down from the one I was going to be staying in?
If I could have started sweating on command, there would have been a drop sliding down my spine.
Why hadn’t I thought of that before? How hadn’t I thought of that before?
I kept my gaze forward as I said, “Hey, if you or CJ want me to leave at any point, you know, because you’re having company or something”—holy shit did my stomach hurt—“all you have to do is tell me. Okay?”
He stopped suddenly, and it took me about two steps into the space between the dining room table and the office to realize it.
“What?” I asked him.
I could see his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as his gaze settled on me. His chest rose and fell as he looked down, and I was pretty sure I caught a nerve pulsing along his jaw. But after a second, he nodded once and all he said was “All right” before he started walking again.
Just all right.
Not “No, that isn’t going to happen.” Not “Don’t worry about it.” Just, nothing.
And I had to hold my breath and remind myself that this wasn’t a mistake. I wouldn’t let it be.
It’d be fine.
And I was a goddamn liar.
I was a goddamn liar because I suddenly felt nauseous and sick and jealous. So jealous that I scratched the back of my neck even though it didn’t itch. I had built this fantasy in my head that, when he wasn’t hanging out with me, he was busy with the White Oaks or doing something at home. Not… out partying like he used to.
I knew better.
But I owed it to him to be a good friend after everything he’d done for me. I could do it for him. I would do it for him.
We made it to the living room and found The Sports Network on. There was no one watching the television, but that didn’t change what the evening correspondents happened to be discussing. I guess CJ had turned it on.
Because the rerun from the morning had the headline in bold letters.
DO THE WHITE OAKS HAVE A CHANCE?
It was the Michael B anchor who was in the middle of talking, and of course he’d be talking about Zac. His voice loud and electric. “Sure he’s been showings signs of brilliance, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to last! I need to see more! Zac Travis is past the prime of his career, and I can’t help but not be convinced this isn’t some kind of fluke. He doesn’t have the consistent record to stoke any kind of belief.”
I felt Zac stop directly behind me, and I didn’t need to turn around to know he was watching and listening.
So I did the only thing I could. I dove for the damn remote sitting on the couch and changed the channel.
But I wasn’t fast enough. Because when I did finally turn, I saw it. The hidden hurt and insecurity in his eyes. And I knew him too well to not recognize it.
I hated it. Absolutely hated it. And knew I needed to change it.
So I did what I did best when I felt awkward: I smiled. And I told him, “Want to go get a chalupa? I got a new playlist, and I’ve been waiting for a reason to remind you that all your exes don’t live in Texas, no matter what the song says.”