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)
“Performing arts.”
Shocking. “How did I not know that?”
He shrugs. “Same reason I have no idea what your major is.”
“Mass communication.”
He nods. “Yeah, I figured it was something like business.”
We sit side by side, the pair of us texting Winnie back and forth, her correspondence becoming more sporadic as we near the last few minutes of the game when customers typically come streaming into the diner, the customers who watch the game from home or the parents in town for the game who want to beat the crowd coming from the stadium.
Saturdays can get packed, but it’s not a big diner, and most of us have been working there a few years—we’re a well-oiled machine most days.
Today is not one of those days.
Kyle sets his phone on the dashboard in his car, playing the game on his app so he can keep track of the score and know when it’s about to end, four minutes and counting.
“Thank God they’re winning,” he grumbles. “’Cause your boy there is playing like utter shit.”
“He hasn’t gotten any better after that halftime report?”
Kyle looks at me like I’m bananas. “You don’t think he’s in the locker room during halftime watching the news on his phone, do you?”
Er.
No?
“I don’t know what they do in the locker room during halftime,” I admit sheepishly.
“Girl, they’re in there getting their asses chewed out. Everyone knows that.”
Oh.
I chew on my lower lip nervously.
Then, when people begin streaming out of the stadium doors, I worry about that, too.
How long is it going to take Dallas to shower and come outside? Racking my brain, I do my best to recall the last time I met him in the parking lot—he beat me to it, but I’d been seated on the other side of the stadium and had to fight a sea of people to exit after walking around the entire building on the ground level.
How long did that walk take me?
Cars drive past slowly, the bottleneck making it impossible for traffic to move normally. But Kyle isn’t in an actual parking spot—there were none—and has to move or face the wrath of fans. They cut alcohol off after halftime, but that doesn’t mean many of them aren’t drunk, and Kyle is blocking traffic.
Somewhere behind us, someone honks their horn.
I pull my mittens on. “Well. This is where I leave you.”
I pull my hat on, too, aware that it’s cold outside but not as bad as it could be.
I brace myself before stepping out of Kyle’s car.
Lean in once I’m standing. “Thank you for bringing me, seriously.”
“O-M-G, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He points at me. “You better keep us posted.”
“I will.”
I slam his door and wave at the car behind him, a group of parents who watch patiently when I cross the narrow road so I can lean against Dallas’s truck.
I check the time.
3:47
Hug myself to ward off the cold as cars move past, one by one. The stadium parking lot steadily empties, taillights glowing in the gloomy afternoon weather.
3:52
Ugh. This feels like an eternity, and I contemplate if I could survive on Naked and Afraid, or any survival show for that matter, clothed or unclothed.
4:13
It’s a miracle I’m not shivering because this jacket isn’t exactly a parka, and this hat has a hole in the top, a tiny air pocket that tingles every now and again, reminding me that I need a new hat.
At 4:17, just as I check my watch for the fortieth time, a tall figure walks up, bag slung over his shoulders, wet hair rippling in the wind.
The sound of the truck unlocking has me shivering.
Dallas lays eyes on me.
His steps falter for a second before he continues moving toward me.
“You should have a hat on,” I blurt out as a greeting, unsure of anything else to say.
“You shouldn’t be standin’ in a parkin’ lot in the freezing cold.”
Shouldn’t be standin’ in a parkin’ lot in the freezing cold…
I shrug. “I’ve had worse.”
“Oh, you have, have you?”
I nod, stuffing my hands into my pockets, self-conscious and trepidatious.
Dallas stops when he reaches me, staring down, a confused look in his eye.
Or is that hope?
Suspicion?
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk.”
He nods. “Wanna ride?” Grins.
Of course I want a ride.
Walking to the passenger side, I feel Dallas behind me, reaching around to pull the door open for me, pressing my back against the back seat window.
“Are you here because you saw the halftime report?”
My eyes widen. How does he know about that? Weren’t they busy getting screamed at in the locker room?
I nod.
Dallas leans in until our noses are close enough to touch, our breaths mingling. “I sure did miss you, Ryann Winters.”
My breath hitches.
“Mind if I kiss you?”
I shake my head.
Dallas leans closer, pressing his mouth against mine. His is warm and hot, and mine is…
“Dang, your lips are cold.” He moves back. “We better get you inside.”