Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
No shit.
I also had to get myself to and from football practice and sign myself up for camps because Mom would forget to do it. And when we didn’t have the money, I was the kid who begged the coaches to let me practice with the team anyway.
Whatever. It made me the man I am today—and made me appreciate what I’ve earned.
Nothing was more satisfying than retiring my mother the day I signed my contract with Arizona.
Nothing.
“Yeah. It was a lot.” I shrug again, memories coming at me all at once. “You do what you’ve gotta do, right? It wasn’t all bad. I learned how to cook—well, mostly how not to set spaghetti on fire. And I figured out laundry, though that was always a mess. Turns out you’re not supposed to mix dark colors and light. Who knew?”
She lets out a soft laugh, but her eyes don’t leave mine. They’re softer now, more serious. “I never would have guessed.”
“It’s not exactly first-date material, is it?” I scoff. “‘Hi, I’m Harris. My dad is a deadbeat, and I know how to fold a fitted sheet.’ Such a panty dropper, right?”
“Actually? Yes.” She leans forward, mirroring me, her elbows on her knees. “You’re full of surprises.”
“You have no idea.” The words come out quieter than I intend, but I don’t bother covering it up. For once, I don’t feel like putting on a show. “Don’t let this ruin your image of me as a goofy, carefree lumberjack. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”
Her nod is slow. Lucy settles back onto the couch again, and I watch her raise a glass to her lip and take a sip. “I don’t think it ruins anything. If anything, it adds a bit of complexity.”
“Complexity,” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Don’t know,” she teases, but her eyes—those eyes—say otherwise. “Haven’t decided yet.”
I lean closer, dropping my voice low. “Well, I don’t have a ton of time to convince you.” Pause. “What about you?” I ask. “What’s the most serious thing you’ve done?”
“Most serious thing I’ve done?” she repeats, tipping her head back against the couch.
A faint smile plays at her lips that doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she considers my question in kind, like she’s trying to come up with something that sounds as impressively complicated as my answer, but nothing comes.
“Honestly?” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never done anything big or crazy. Never left my town, never packed up and started over somewhere new.”
I blink. “Seriously? You’ve never lived anywhere else?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. Born and raised right here. Went to school here, got my first job here, and somehow I’m still here.”
“Wow.” It slips out before I can stop it, but I mean it. “I don’t know if I could do that. I mean, staying in one place that long? Doesn’t that feel—I don’t know—limiting?”
“Sometimes,” she admits quietly. “But it’s home. My family’s here. My friends. Everything I know.”
I study her for a moment, trying to reconcile the fearless, quick-witted woman in front of me with someone who’s never stepped outside the bubble of her hometown. “So you’ve never even thought about leaving? Not even once?”
She hesitates, fingers brushing the edge of her glass. “I’ve thought about it,” she says softly. “But thinking about it and actually doing it are two very different things. And I don’t think I’d even know where to start.”
I nod slowly, letting her words sink in. There’s something raw and real about the way she says it, and I can tell she’s not looking for pity or judgment.
She’s being honest, and that’s what I asked for.
“For what it’s worth,” I say, leaning forward, “you strike me as someone who could figure it out if you wanted to. You’re smart, resourceful, and let’s face it, a little intimidating when you want to be. I don’t think there’s much you couldn’t handle.”
She blinks at me, surprised. “You think I’m intimidating?”
“Obviously. Beautiful, confident women always are.”
Lucy looks taken aback by that comment too. “Beautiful and confident?” She repeats the words like she’s rolling them around in her mouth, testing how they taste. “You really lay it on thick, don’t you?”
“Hey, I call it like I see it. Plus, it’s not laying it on thick if it’s true.”
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I feel like such a dipshit not having done anything . . . I don’t know. Adventurous.”
“Everyone has their version of adventure. It doesn’t have to be skydiving or jet-setting across the world. Sometimes it’s just about stepping outside your comfort zone.”
Lucy lets out an unladylike snort, fingers fiddling with the edge of her hoodie sleeve. “You sound like a motivational speaker.”
“I try.” I grin.
“I have a confession to make,” she blurts out. “I am so small town that I live above my parents’ detached garage.” Lucy cringes. “Is that bad?”