Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Why am I so determined to get her to agree to this? Why am I taking this as a challenge when it isn’t? What do I actually care if she pretends to be my girlfriend?
I’m going to get drafted—the odds are in my favor.
My father played for the Texas Steers. My brother plays for the Texas Steers. They are legends.
I am a legacy.
I will be a legend.
Not to brag.
“I didn’t take you for a wuss, Winters.”
She snorts. “Oh, please—do you think reverse psychology will work? I’m not an eight-year-old boy.” Her keys are in her hand and she’s punching at the keypad on the front door of her apartment complex. “Are you coming in or not?”
“You’re inviting me in?” Shit. I take it as a good sign that she hasn’t told me to fuck off and that she’s willing to negotiate. “Sweet.”
“Only because I don’t want to be seen with you outside. I don’t want my neighbors to see us.”
That’s a first. A woman not wanting to be seen with me? Who would have thought.
“Gee, thanks.”
Her apartment is on the ground level, and I’m surprised by how good it smells when I step inside. Ryann dumps her bag on the floor by the door, kicks off her black boots, and walks around the small island to stand in the kitchen.
She braces her elbows on the countertop, leaning forward and watching me.
“What does it entail?” She holds up her hand. “Not that I’m interested.”
“I don’t know.” My answer is honest. This whole plan is very half-assed; I’ve thought none of this through. “Probably going out in public a few times, being seen on campus.” I pause. “Maybe hanging out at my place to keep the neighbor girls from wantin’ to hang out.”
Ryann turns and opens a cabinet, pulling out a cup. “You want something to drink?”
“No, thanks.”
She nods, filling hers up with water. Takes sips from it, watches me over the brim.
“Not to give you a big head over this whole thing, but why can’t you just pretend to date someone who might actually want to date you?”
Duh. This answer is easy. “Because they might actually want to date me, and I don’t have time for that shit.” The same way Diego Lorenz didn’t actually have time for that shit. Because our time is dedicated to working out and football practice and doing things that really matter, like trying to get drafted into the fucking NFL.
We’re not regular students.
“And you think I won’t want to actually date you?”
Is she being serious? “Uh, no. You’re the last person who wants to date me.”
“How do you know?” Her lips are pursed, color still high.
“You just broke up with your boyfriend, one you didn’t give a shit about. The last thing you want is to date someone new.”
I can see her considering my observation, which is just a guess, but she doesn’t know that.
Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out Ryann Winters wasn’t bent out of shape when I dumped her for Diego. She was more pissed at me for doing it out in the cold.
“Why were you datin’ him in the first place?”
Her chin rises slightly. “That’s none of your business.”
It’s really not, but that doesn’t make me any less curious.
“Why do you take up so much space?” Ryann blurts out, the question coming out of left field.
“Why do I take up so much space?” I repeat.
“You’re…” She motions around with her hands. “Huge.”
I mean, yeah. That’s one of the reasons I do what I do and have the opportunities I have.
“Sorry?” Ain’t nothin’ else to say.
“That was a rude thing for me to say.” Ryann goes about taking off her hat and puffer coat, busying herself hanging them in the closet located right off the kitchen.
It’s a tiny apartment, suited for only one person, and I try to look around rather than look at Ryann as she putzes, try to notice the beige sofa in the living room, the television on the wall, the knickknacks she has placed on the hutch beneath it.
Try to look around at her stuff instead of at her.
The long hair.
The long legs.
The tight black leggings.
The opposite of what the neighbor girls were wearing the other day; then again, they were going out on the town to party and not coming home from class. But it’s not uncommon for any number of the student body to show up to class in midriff-exposing tops, tanks, shoulder-baring shirts—even in the winter.
Ryann is wearing an oversized plaid flannel that would easily fit me.
She could be wearing a plastic garbage bag for all I care.
“Why is it a bad thing that you haven’t been seen dating anyone?”
“Because teams want men who are loyal and faithful and shit like that—so fans buy tickets.” According to Eli, anyway. I don’t see why it matters, but I suppose I’m paying him to give a shit about things I don’t give a shit about even when it becomes a huge pain in my ass. “A good girl would help with that.”