Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 79(@200wpm)___ 63(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 79(@200wpm)___ 63(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)
We’re both single and frankly too busy for dating even though I’m sure she’s just as anxious as I am to find a man—even a temporary one.
“Ready,” she sings, grabbing just enough stuff to fit in our mini zippered pockets.
When we finally make it to the race, we collect our bibs and take turns pinning them to each other before going over to the start corral. We’re closer to the front because we signed up with our approximate race times. It’s really a fun run, but the faster we go, the warmer I’ll feel. I decided to forgo a thicker sweater, so I’m sporting a pink running hoodie that I can tie around my waist when I get overheated. It has wicking technology, but we all sweat, especially for these things.
I slip my wrap-around Bluetooth headphones in because I need the steady beat to keep me at pace. It’s the best twenty dollar investment I’ve ever made. In the middle of picking my playlist, Addison elbows me, so I pull them back out. “Hey, you won’t believe it, but I think the photographer on the platform over there is staring at you.”
“Where?” There are four different platforms with people standing on them.
She blatantly points to the one that’s the closest to us. “Over there.”
“Don’t point,” I screech, putting her hand down.
“Why? It’s clear he’s ogling you.”
“No, there are thousands of people around here. It’s his job to look at people.” Addison winks at him.
“Yeah, but it’s not his job to damn nearly eye fuck you.”
I finally take a peek. I raise my gaze up to the platform to see Mr. Hotshot lower his camera.
He smiles, and I gasp because there’s no doubt it’s for me. Addison points to me, and he nods. Holy hell, he’s so handsome and about six feet or taller. It’s hard to tell from down here, but he’s only one of two people up there. I’m guessing because of his broad shoulders, there’s no room for anyone else. I’m bumped by a small woman who takes my attention away from the hot photographer. When I catch the end of what he’s saying, and then Addison starts putting her fingers up—one, three, seven.
“Did you just give him my bib number?” I ask in outrage as if he can’t just see it himself.
“Well, that way, he can at least figure out your name. You better get your game face ready. You might be in a lot of shots.” She smirks, and I’m entirely self-conscious now. Damn her. I left the apartment with just some Chapstick on my lips, so they didn’t dry up in the cold wind.
“Oh, God. I hate you,” I say with a smile on my face.
“No, you don’t, and the blush on your pretty cheeks tells me that you want to know Mr. Hotshot.”
“Shut it.” The announcer speaks over the microphone, stopping our discussion. I look up, and he’s taking shots all around the crowd. The buzzer goes off, and as we wait for our turn to leap into action, I look up one more time, and he’s gone. A sudden feeling of loss comes over me, and I put my headphones back in and let the run begin.
Chapter 2
Emmitt
I woke up around five and set up my cameras for today's photoshoot. I have a high profile client looking for me to take pictures at the finish line for the 5K today. They are the sponsor and want their own personal spin on it. I pack everything up and run out of my condo into the freaking icy morning. Damn, if this job didn't pay me three times my going rate, I'd say fuck it, but I'm not going to knock easy money.
I've worked my entire life trying not to eat up all the money my grandfather left me. I leave that job up to my mother. She's the spender and then some. Onto ex-husband number four, she's managed to snag a good chunk of dough out of them except step-dad number one. He was the smart one and my favorite. I didn't even mind when he took my father's place. I loved that old man, but their marriage didn't last long.
As soon as she learned that she'd get nothing in the divorce, she moved on to the next sucker, but I stuck around with Mr. Bryant. My step-brother and I grew close in those two years, and I didn't want it to end, so they let me hang around.
We went our separate ways in college, but Mr. Bryant or Dad, as I prefer to call him, paid for my entire four years at Northwestern. It was a blessing that I'm forever grateful for. Now, I always do my best to make him proud. He's the kind of dad that any boy would be lucky to have.