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)
Then Annabelle’s expression shifts, eyes going wide. Her lips press together like she’s trying desperately not to laugh—surprised? Caught off guard? What is that look on her face? And why is she staring over my head?
“Wait.” I narrow my eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
She blinks rapidly, cheeks flushing pink. “Uh. No reason?”
No.
Please no.
He can’t be . . .
My stomach flips. I freeze. “He’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?”
Please don’t let him be standing there, please don’t let him be standing there, please don’t let . . .
“For sure. Yes.” Annabelle bites her lip and gives me the tiniest nod. “Totally.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and groan. “Of course he is. Why didn’t you say anything before I opened my dumb mouth?”
“Why would I?”
Life can never be simple, can it? When life gets dull, I behave like the amateur I am and fall for the first football-playing fake lumberjack that plops into my lap!
GUH!
Inhaling a deep breath, I turn slowly in my chair, heart racing.
Harris stands there, larger than life. Hands in his pockets, crooked smile. His eyes crinkle at the corners in a way I haven’t seen before, and I try to translate what the look means. Care? Concern? Is he horrified? Because I am!
“Hi,” he says gently.
“Hey,” I squeak.
Annabelle is useless to me, muffling laughter behind her coffee cup—no help at all.
I cringe, cheeks on fire. “How much of that did you hear?”
He shrugs, still smiling. “Enough.” Pause. “Have I told you today how fucking cute you are?”
No. Actually—yes. This morning before I slid out of his bed and headed home to shower so I could change before my classes.
He steps closer, eyes soft. “Why didn’t you tell me how you felt? I’ve been chasing after you like a puppy dog all damn week.”
“You have?”
He gawks at me, jaw slackening. “Let me count the ways.” Harris holds up one finger, counting. “I lied and said I was a lumberjack to make you laugh.” He holds up another finger. “I climbed the side of your house and landed in garbage.” He holds up a third finger. “And I drove to four spots to find you because you’re not answering my text messages.”
I glance at my phone, which is resting on the bench beside me. There are five notifications from Harris. “Oh.”
“So why didn’t you tell me how you felt?”
I bite my lip, suddenly racked with shyness and nerves. “Because I didn’t want to make things harder. You’re leaving, and I thought if I kept it light, we wouldn’t get attached.”
His brow furrows. “And how’s that working out for you?”
“Terribly.” I laugh, shaky and breathless. “How is it working for you?”
He reaches for my hand and threads his fingers through mine. “Terribly.”
“Welp. That’s my cue to go.” Annabelle stands up, gathering her things. “I’m gonna . . . um . . . go . . . literally anywhere else.”
She winks at me and scurries off like a rat. To be honest, I’m shocked she’s choosing not to stay and listen to our entire conversation.
Harris slides into the spot Annabelle vacated in the booth, still holding my hand like he’s afraid to let go. Honestly? I’m glad he doesn’t. I could use his lifeline right about now.
“So,” he says softly, glancing around before his eyes land on mine. “What do we want this to look like?”
Do we have to talk about this now? I’m scared.
Harris is afraid of bears. I’m afraid of reality.
Ha!
I swallow hard. “I don’t know. You’ve got workouts, the rest of the season, travel . . . your life is all over the place.”
“And you have your life here,” he finishes for me.
I nod, staring down at the table. “Right. My studio classes, the yoga schedules, my parents.”
Harris squeezes my hand. “Okay, yes—I have football. No getting around that, my career is intense. But! I also have a phone. And a car. And we have planes. And apparently, I have a growing fear of you forgetting about me.”
I snort. “You? Afraid I’ll forget you? You’re on national television. I think I’m the forgettable one here.”
He leans in. “Lucy, I could be standing in a stadium with thousands of people screaming my name, and I’d still be thinking about you rolling your pretty brown eyes at me.”
My face flames. “I don’t roll my eyes that much.”
He gives me a look.
“Okay, fine,” I mumble. “I do.” Sue me.
He sobers quickly. “Look, I’m scared too. I’ve never done the long-distance thing. I don’t know if I’m going to be good at it. But I do know I don’t want this to end without giving it a fucking try.”
I worry on my bottom lip. “I don’t either.”
“Good.” We sit in silence for a second, and then he says, “So. Logistics.” He pulls out his phone. “We set standing call times,” he says. “Even if it’s five minutes. We send each other something every day. A text, a picture, a funny meme—something.”