Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
That feels right too.
“Good,” he says, wearing a big grin now.
“But I do have an issue with everyone being a damn Renegades fan. Like Zena,” Jason gripes. I take my turn, listening as he shares his morning. He tells me about his realization that Halloween is next week, how it’s been his favorite holiday since he was a kid, and that he loves any candy with peanut butter in it, even though he tries to avoid candy since he aims to eat healthy most of the time.
I savor every single second of this secret date. When his stories wind down, I try to hide a smile, but I can’t. I lean in and give a dirty whisper, “I like the pic you sent. You looked good in that hat.”
“You want to see me in it again?” he asks, low and raspy.
“I do,” I say.
“Good. I’d like to keep it in rotation,” he adds.
His words spur me on. I’m this close to making plans with him for more stolen moments.
But the door to the shop swings open. “I’ve been wanting to try this place for so long,” a loud, boisterous blonde says to the bearded man by her side.
I hit pause on the be mine plans. Instead, I zero in on practical matters. I reach for my wallet, then slide him the ID. “So, Finley’s your middle name?”
“It’s my mom’s maiden name.” His voice is uncharacteristically cold, the edge of a knife as he tucks away the license.
“You’re not close to her at all?” I ask, thinking about his mom comment.
He shakes his head. “She took off when I was eight. Left my dad and my brother and me then. A few years later, she married a new dude. Barely saw us. I don’t really hear from her unless we make the playoffs, and it’s just to say congrats. The only good thing I can say is she doesn’t try to ride the gravy train.”
A pang of sadness lodges in my chest. “That’s why you don’t use the name anywhere,” I say, understanding him more.
He smiles sadly. “You figured me out.”
I’ve figured out a lot of things about Jason McKay. He doesn’t want that kind of life for himself—disconnected from his family. He doesn’t want to be like his mother at all. He wants to be like his dad and his brother. He likes to take care of people. He’s a giver. He’s a lover. He’s a protector.
After last night and thanks to this morning, I figured out something else too—I could fall hard for him.
Except, the second that awareness clobbers me, I know it’s a little late for that. Because . . . as we share more about ourselves, my whole body is warm, my brain is calm.
Being with him feels utterly right.
I’ve already fallen.
My heart jackhammers, beating too fast, too hard. But this wild rhythm isn’t panic. It’s possibility. This date is giving me courage.
I slide my foot under the table, braving a chance. I tap the toe of his sneaker with mine, and fireworks ignite in me.
The grin he sends my way lights me up.
Ask him to keep doing this crazy, risky, dangerous thing. Invite yourself over again. And again.
“So I was thinking,” I begin.
He nibbles on the corner of his lips. “Mmm. Me too.”
That’s promising as fuck. “What are you thinking?”
“I want to ask you something,” he says, nervous but excited too.
The tone is an electric charge through my body. It tells me I’ll like his question. It tells me he’ll probably like mine.
“Ask me—”
Our pillow talk is broken by a high-pitched tone: “It’s the two-minute warning!”
Like Coach blew a whistle, I whip around, hunting for the voice and spotting the blonde who came in a few minutes ago standing nearby, a cup of tea in one hand, a grin on her face.
Jason’s my opposite, all cool and casual as he turns to the couple. The blonde clasps her mouth then drops her hand, going full announcer: “And now, team captain . . . Jason McKay!”
The bearded man beams at me. “And now, your new starting quarterback, Number Nine . . . Beck Cafferty.”
I affect a small grin, but the expression feels awkward. I wasn’t ready to shut the doors on that private moment. But the interruption reminds me that cooing over a café table isn’t very down-low.
Jason’s smile goes wide and welcoming. “How’s it going?”
“I’m such a Hawks fan,” the blonde says, clutching her chest with her free hand. “I’m Cheyenne, and I just love you so much.”
“I’m Mitch. And I’m a total Renegades man,” the guy says.
The woman bursts with energy. “And my hubs and I, we have this thing every weekend where whoever’s team wins, that person gets to pick the chore the other does. The other week, when the Hawks won, and the Renegades lost, he had to take out the garbage.”