Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Well, first you gotta be patient, and then you gotta show her you’re different.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “That was my plan.”
“Good. Now, putting my agent hat back on—” I groan, and he laughs at my expense. “Don’t get distracted by this girl.”
It’s right then that I see my teammates coming toward me. Excitement burns throughout my body at the sight of them. “Already am. No use in trying to talk me out of it. Love you.”
I hang up, much to his protest, as I start bouncing on my toes like I’m waiting to throw the ball to an open receiver for the winning touchdown. The excitement is coming out of my pores because I know that Ambrosia had to love what I did. That she agreed automatically to come to my game. I mean, I spent all my free time making the signs and Post-it notes for her. I drew little pictures that went with what I said. They were terrible, but I wanted to make them special. Pretty words are just words, but really bad sketches of me are special.
At least, I hope she thinks so.
When they hand me the signs, they don’t look excited or pleased with their actions like they were when I asked them to do this.
Instead, they look a bit dejected.
Shit, did my heart-stopper tear them a new one?
I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. She’s got that black cat energy for sure.
What? I was watching Hocus Pocus last night while I was making posters.
“Did it go badly? Did she cuss you guys out or something?”
Hunter, my center, cringes.
“No, man. But she started crying.”
My stomach drops.
What?
I grip the posters, my knuckles turning white from how tightly I’m holding them as my heart pounds in my chest.
Grayson, my tight end, winces. “And not good tears either.”
My breathing is ragged as I draw in my brows in confusion. I don’t like when girls cry. It makes me feel weird, which is why I’m always honest with my intentions. Knowing I made Ambrosia cry not good tears instantly makes me feel sick. I go over everything I did—the signs, the words, the drawn pictures. It was all cute and adorable. Why would it make her sad?
“I don’t think she’s interested, dude,” Hunter adds.
“Yeah, may want to lay off,” Maverick, my left guard, says before walking off with the guys. All of them look defeated, like my failure is theirs.
But I can’t give up.
Right?
What the hell? Girls like big gestures, and I know damn well she’s feeling me. I could see it in her eyes. The way just a simple touch had her flushing and me wanting more. We had two very important and core-memory-making moments in The Penalty Perk. And while she said one thing, I know she didn’t mean it. She may want to, but we both know her words are as flimsy as a piece of used tape. Shit, the way her mouth opened in shock was downright sinful, and I had to physically fight myself to keep from sticking my tongue in her mouth without warning from the way she was looking at me.
I’ve never had the primal need to kiss someone, but I do with her.
It may have been easy to ignore attraction or even chemistry with everyone else, but there is no ignoring this pull between us. I get it. She’s been burned by some shitty dudes, but I’m not them. I bet they were all pretty words and trash actions. She has no clue what is coming for her or how hard I work for what I want.
I want her.
And I don’t mean in the naked sense.
I want to talk to her. I want to impress her. I want her to come to my game to show her that, yeah, I may not be able to pick a damn sport, but I can share both with her. I’ve seen rom-coms, I’ve been stuck in the car with my cousins when they listen to romance audiobooks, I know what girls like! I need the chance to tell her I’m DoesMyBreathStink60. When I do, she’ll see how easy it is for us. That I’m her biggest fan, and that I’m not like the jackasses before.
But am I?
Shit.
What am I doing?
I almost don’t even recognize myself, but…it feels right.
Which is scary as fuck.
Blake, the second-string quarterback, meets my gaze, and I still have to know. “What happened?”
He shrugs, looking unsure as he whips his blond hair to the side with a swipe of his hand. Blake’s eyes are a bit sullen as he swallows hard before leaning in. “It was weird, man. She just stood there, her face all white and frozen as her eyes filled with tears. It didn’t seem like she was pissed, but embarrassed instead.”
“What? Why?” Once more, Blake swallows, and I know he’s hesitating to tell me what he thinks. “What?”