Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Then came senior year and that tutoring session. Two hours alone with him at a corner table in the library, helping him with his English lit paper. His knee occasionally brushed mine under the table when he shifted. Once, we both reached for the same book and our heads collided softly. He laughed, rubbing the spot where we'd connected, and I swear my heart performed a gymnastics routine worthy of the Olympics.
It meant nothing to him, I’m sure. I was just another girl, but I spent the next month hanging around the gym after school, pretending to work on the newspaper while I watched him practice from the bleachers. I'd leave before he finished, never wanting him to know I was there.
Elias was also the reason I didn't go to prom. Couldn't bear to watch him dance with Mia. As he would. I told myself I'd get over him after graduation.
All lies.
Ten years later, I still read every article about him, know every brand he works with, and can name both teams he won championships with. Not only that, but his PTS and PPG tallies plus a host of other in-game stats and every player on each team, too. I've never asked James about him since I was too afraid my voice would betray me. or fail me.
Now this.
My fingers hover over the phone screen. The smart answer is no. Seeing Elias in person will just reopen a wound that's never properly healed. I might even make a total fool of myself.
But then…
ME: Wouldn't miss it. See ya.
"You're overthinking this," I whisper to my reflection as I try on the fourth outfit. Nothing says "I'm a successful adult who definitely doesn't still have a pathetic crush on you" like spending forty-five minutes deciding what to wear to a basketball game.
Eventually, I settle on black jeans and the deep blue sweater Jane gifted me on my birthday. My hair cooperates for once, falling in soft waves just above my shoulders and not going in different directions. I keep telling myself I'm just excited to see James. That's it. And that Elias probably won't even notice me in the crowd. Even if he does, he won't remember me. Too long ago, and he's too successful now.
James is waiting outside the arena, his six-foot-four frame easy to spot. He's long since traded the thick glasses and hunched posture of high school for better frames and the confident stance of a man who's purchased multiple properties before thirty.
I am so darn proud of him.
He wraps me in a bear hug, lifting me off the ground.
"Girl, I've missed your face." He sets me down, studying me. "How's the novel coming?"
"Still working on it." I deflect, not really wanting to be a Debbie Downer. "Shouldn't you be out there fluffing pillows?"
"That's what I pay people for." He grins, guiding me inside with a hand on my shoulder. "Come on, we've got the best seats in the house."
He isn't exaggerating. Our seats are so close to the court that I can see the players' expressions. Feel the occasional splash of sweat. James chats easily about his latest business ventures, but my attention fractures the moment the teams emerge for warm-ups.
Oh God, there he is.
Elias.
Television doesn't do him justice. He's taller than I remember, his shoulders broader, his body more defined. The years and his pro-sport conditioning have only enhanced his features—jaw sharper, cheekbones more pronounced. He's all hard angles and fluid movement now. And when he smiles at something a teammate says, his eyes crinkle at the corners.
I have to stop my jaw from dropping.
James's amused voice cuts through my trance. "Stop staring, girl."
I suck a mouthful of drool to the back of my throat and swallow. "Was I staring?"
"Uh-huh." He raises an eyebrow. "You know he doesn't date, right? At least not seriously. The media's been all over him for years, but nothing sticks. In fact, when I think about it, he never really dated back in high school either."
Really? That's news to me. I thought he and Mia were together.
I fake a sudden interest in the jumbo screens, even though I'm dying to ask him to tell me more about Elias. "I wasn't—"
"Sure you weren't." He laughs but doesn't push. If he only knew how many times I've googled "Elias King girlfriend" over the years and the sighs of relief when the searches yielded nothing. Fist pump!
The game itself is a blur of motion and sound. Elias scores thirty-eight points, including the game-winning three-pointer that has the arena erupting in chaos. I scream with everyone else, caught in the moment, forgetting to be self-conscious.
As the crowds thin, James checks his phone. "We're meeting Elias for dinner. He'll come find us once he's done with the press."
Wait, what did he say?
My stomach drops through the floor. This was so not part of the plan. "We're what now?"