Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
I mull this over, biting down on my bottom lip and chewing.
Now or never.
From what little I know about Noah that does sound accurate.
Ugh, shoot me now!
“What would I have to do?”
“Show up at the side gate, show security the pass I’m going to text you, then wait in the parking lot.”
“Then what?”
“Uh—then you talk.” I swear, the asshole is probably rolling his eyes like I’m the moron here, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’d be a perfect match for Claire—not that I’d wish this guy on anyone. He’s too full of himself, too attractive for his own good, and cocky, although he is proving to be a decent friend.
Color me surprised.
“I won’t have any problems getting in? I didn’t think they let people in when there isn’t a game.”
“Well, you’re not getting into the stadium—you’d be waiting in the parking lot. That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“And you don’t think Noah will think I’m a stalker?”
There’s an uncertain pause. “I doubt it. That’s not how his brain works.”
“So you’re saying there’s a chance he’ll think I’m a stalker.”
Buzz’s laugh is low. “A slight chance, but not likely.”
“How reassuring.”
“Hey, the guy is miserable—don’t you think it’s worth the risk?”
“Miserable? Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“I don’t want to throw my buddy under the bus by telling the girl he likes he’s behaving like a teenage girl.”
If I wasn’t so upset myself, I would giggle at that. “How is he acting?”
“Like a pussy. Not talking to anyone. Bitchy. You know, lashing out at people. He’s not happy and listen—not to make it too personal since he barely knows you, but he’s been shit on by women a lot and I don’t think he needs to get shit on by you. So, you’re going to have to take one for the fucking team, alright? If you have any feelings for Noah, you’ll show up at the stadium tomorrow after practice and let him know he’s not alone.”
My heart constricts in my chest. Clenches.
“Miranda, you got this. Balls to the wall.”
My mouth curves up into a smile. “Are you pep talking me?”
“Do I need to pep talk you?”
“No.”
“Then no, I’m not trying to light a fire under your ass.” He hesitates. “So will you do it?”
I sigh, a resounding exhalation that’s loud enough to make him laugh again. “Yes, I’ll do it.”
“Cool. I’ll act surprised when I see you in the parking lot.”
This time, I do giggle at him. “I hope you’re a good actor.”
“The best. I’ve faked so many orgasms.”
“I have no idea how to respond to that.”
“I think you just did.”
What an idiot. “Hey Buzz?”
“What?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Hey Miranda?”
“What?”
“I know you don’t.”
Ugh, that bastard.
16
Noah
It’s been a day and a half since I’ve seen or heard from Miranda.
Okay, fine—I’ve heard from her; I just haven’t replied. I mean…I was just humiliated in front of the entire nation—why would I want to confront the one person whose opinion I care about with my tail between my legs?
She definitely hates me. I made sure of that by being too chickenshit to reply.
How could she not? I ghosted her out of fear and embarrassment, ruled by that boy inside me who doesn’t want to be laughed at by the girl he asked to the homecoming dance, the girl who only said yes because her friends dared her to.
Fear of rejection is a powerful deterrent and it courses through my veins like an undammed river, quicker now that my face is splashed all over the morning news, pimped out by strangers for the few hundred bucks they got for the lead. I hate admitting to my weaknesses, but there they are.
No one says anything to me in the locker room; each of my teammates has been in the headlines at some point for one reason or another, usually a huge signing bonus announcement or their contract being renewed. Obviously we get the occasional paternity claim. Cheating scandals. Public fights with spouses or the paparazzi. A few of my buddies date celebrities—actresses and other athletes and shit—and that’s in the news, too.
I can’t recall a single time any of them have been raked through the mud because of their face.
And yeah, I read the comments, too, cringing when I got to the one about Miranda being ugly. Match made in heaven, the trolls declared, and my blood boiled. Who the fuck do they think they are calling her ugly? Miranda is gorgeous—I’m the lucky bastard she went out with and then this shit happens to her?
Worst part is other people agreed with the asshole who made the original comment.
The whole situation kills me and I know she’s hurting because I could read it in her words, could see it as she pleaded with me to call her back.
You’re a pussy, Harding. You don’t deserve a girl like Miranda—smart, beautiful, and full of spunk. I pulled a dick move that wasn’t justified and now there’s no going back.