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)
“So,” I echo, not sure what to say next. The stadium was deafening—it’s one thing to be in the stands listening to it; it’s something else entirely being out on the field.
Sure, I’m able to tune it out, but that too takes brainpower and focus, and right now, my brain wants to rest—not come up with words to entertain the passenger in my car.
“Where to?”
I think about this. “Normally I either go home and crash or go home and watch a movie to decompress, or I go out. Grab food or whatever.”
She nods.
“Are you glad you came today?” I ask her, genuinely curious.
“Yeah, of course. It was fun.” Ryann is looking out the window at the world passing by. “I didn’t realize how good you are.”
She didn’t realize how good I am? Did she think I’m chopped liver? Did she think all the fuss is over nothing? Does she think agents and opportunities come out of the woodwork for mediocrity?
Damn girl. “I get by.”
Ryann lifts her arm, giving her hair another tousle before glancing over at me.
“Are you hungry?”
It’s not early, but it’s not late—that weird in between because we had an early game.
“Not yet.” Although that’s due in part to the protein shake I downed immediately after the game, I also have the bagged meal the training staff hands us as we’re leaving the locker room; tossed that in the back seat of my truck.
Two turkey sandwiches—which I’m not in the mood for—but I’ll still have to eat when I get home. They give us subs or sandwiches after every game to ensure we’re taking care of ourselves since we’re burning calories like crazy and haven’t eaten in hours.
Ryann taps on the center console and I look down at her hand, her long fingers. Her shiny pink nails.
Do not touch her hand, Dallas.
Leave it alone.
I avert my eyes, watching the road, not wanting to miss my turn. “Did you want me to drive you home?”
Speak now or forever hold your peace.
“Sure.”
Is that disappointment I feel? I thought maybe she’d want to come hang with me and my brothers a bit, watch a show, shoot the shit, order something to eat, and make a night of it. It’s been a long day, and another hot shower doesn’t sound like a bad idea either; the showers in the locker room never get hot enough for my liking.
Hot shower.
Meat.
Pasta.
Water, water, and more water.
I pray to God the house is empty when I get home—I’ll be so irritated if those neighbor chicks are there.
Again.
It’s not long before I’m pulling up to Ryann’s building, the rain still beating down on us hard, the overcast sky getting dark as the day drags on.
I yawn.
Pull over and cut the engine, letting the keys dangle from the ignition while Ryann gathers her jacket, hat, and fanny pack.
“Ugh,” she moans. “I don’t want to get out in this.”
I shift in my seat. “I’m lucky I didn’t have to play in this.” We cut it close, though, missing the downpour by just a half hour. Sucks being on the field when the weather takes a turn, slipping and sliding on the AstroTurf they installed several years back.
Grabbing my keys, I yank them out and go to open my door. “I’ll walk you to your door.”
“Dallas, you really don’t have t—”
“Race you!” I shove my door open and hop down into the rain, cutting across the front lawn of her complex before she’s even gotten her door open.
“Wait!” she shouts with a laugh. “Knock it off, this isn’t a compet—”
Her words are cut off again when she falls, legs flying out from under her, ass over tea kettle on the slippery, wet grass.
“Shit!” She laughs again. “Ow!”
I stop, turning.
Walk over and stand over her sprawled-out body, rain pelting her cute face, her coat, purse, and hat littering the area around her.
“Don’t just stand there, asshole. Help me up!” Her hand shoots up.
“I was going to!”
“Oh!” She hobbles once she’s standing. “Oh my God, my tailbone—it feels like I broke it.”
“You didn’t break it,” I inform her without evaluating her. “Maybe you bruised it.”
Bending, I snap up the shit from the ground, then I squat down, scooping her up as if she were as light as a feather, walking us toward her building.
“Aren’t you glad I walked you to your door so you don’t have to walk?”
She rolls her eyes, hair soaking wet. “I fell because you were racing, you shithead.”
Facts.
But still.
“But now that you’re injured, it’s helpful having me here.”
Ryann shakes her head. “5-9-4-2.”
“Eh?”
“The code for the door—it’s 5-9-4-2.”
Oh.
Duh.
I punch it in, able to support her at the same time. Pull the door open and whisk her through like a goddamn rock star action hero, then kick it closed behind me. BAM.
Another eye roll. “Cool it, Captain America. You’re being so loud. Some of us have a ton of neighbors.”