Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“You pick.”
“Anything. I’m not picky.”
“Really? So, what if I said I wanted a juicy burger and fries?”
My stomach growls again and my mouth waters. “I’d say add a large sweet tea and you’ve got a deal.” I can feel his eyes on me as we pull up to the Stop sign. I don’t dare look at him. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking right now.
He reaches for his phone, taps on the screen, and places it to his ear. “Hey, Harv. I need a to-go order please.” He rattles off three cheeseburgers deluxe, two orders of fries, and two large sweet teas. “Yeah, I know, but this is a special occasion.” He listens then says. “Thanks, Harv,” before ending the call.
We drive in silence for the next fifteen minutes, nothing but the low hum of the tires on the road filling the cab. I don’t know who Harv is or where he’s taking us, so when we pull up to the back entrance of a small bar not far from the stadium, my interest is piqued.
“I’ll be right back.”
I watch him as he goes to a back door, enters a code, and disappears inside. Where are we, and why does he have the code to get in? Not that it’s any of my business, but if this is some shady place of business, I should know, right? He did bring me here after all.
A few minutes later, he’s back and hands me a white paper bag that smells like heaven. “What is this place?” I ask, setting the bag on my lap.
“A bar. The owner, Harvey, he’s a fan of the Trojans. He has a back room, kind of an extension of the main bar area for the players. Only we have access. It’s a place we can go to kick back, have a beer, and not worry about the fans. Don’t get me wrong, we love our fans, but sometimes you just want to chill. I just want to be Landon Barker, not Landon, the Trojans QB. Harvey makes that happen.”
“That’s… nice of him.”
“Yeah, he’s done it for years. I take full advantage of it, and his food is melt-in-your-mouth good. This will be the best burger you’ve ever eaten.”
“I don’t know. I’ve had some pretty good burgers in my day. My dad is a machine when it comes to the grill.”
“I’m telling you. The best,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot. “So where are we headed?” he asks at the Stop sign.
“Make a left.” He does, and just like that, we’re headed to my place. We don’t talk unless it’s me giving him directions. Twenty minutes later, he’s pulling into my drive.
“Nice place,” he says, removing his keys from the ignition.
“It’s not much, but it’s mine,” I say defensively.
“Hey.” He reaches over and places his hand on my arm. “I wasn’t being rude or sarcastic. I meant it.” I hate that my defense is up with him. He’s just a regular guy who happens to get paid a lot of money for doing something he loves, and I must admit, damn good at. I love my home, and I’m not embarrassed by it. I need to chill. I’m letting his career, his fame cloud the man he is. The man who’s taking such good care of me. I nod and reach for the door handle, pushing the door open. “Stay put,” he says, climbing out of his SUV and rushing to my side. “I’ll come back for this.” He takes the bag from my hands and places it on the floorboard. “You got your keys?”
I fumble around in my purse, praying that they’re in there and not on my desk back at the shelter. Finally, I feel them and pull them out, holding them up for him. “Got ’em.”
“Okay. I’m going to go unlock the door and prop it open. You stay here. I’ll be right back to get you.”
“I can try and walk,” I counter, and he gives me a look that tells me to stay put. I go through my mind trying to remember if my house is a mess. I’m pretty sure everything is tidy, no bras lying around or anything like that. Don’t judge. I like to set the girls free once I’m in for the night. I often do that before I shower, so I can get dinner started. That is if I’m cooking. Anyway, I’m good. I think.
“Ready?” he asks, appearing before me. I nod reluctantly and take his hand, letting him help me from the SUV. Once I’m out, leg held in the air because the thought of putting pressure on my ankle hurts to even think about. I nod, and with very little effort, he’s got me in his arms and carries me inside. “The couch okay?” he asks.