Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
My eyes narrow, and his lips curl in a slow smile. “I’m doing it right now,” he points out.
“You’re impossible,” I tell him with a laugh and start walking again.
“Charming,” he counters. “You know, I don’t actually have sex with every woman I talk to, Chess.”
“You don’t?”
“So dubious.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “I do have some standards.”
“And they are?”
He gives me a cheeky look. “Whether or not I want to have sex with them.”
“Your vetting process is foolproof, I’ll give you that.”
Finn shrugs again. “Attraction is instant, for the most part. Whether it burns and grows or flickers out and dies after you talk to someone is the key.”
“Look at you, with your insight. And here I thought you had all the wisdom of a fortune cookie.”
“My wisdom is worthy of at least a pamphlet.”
“Tell me something . . .”
“Anything,” he says agreeably.
“If you only have one-night stands, how can you possibly talk to someone long enough to know if the attraction will grow?”
He opens his mouth and then shuts it. A reluctant smile tugs at his lips. “Okay, you got me. My criteria basically consists of, can I stand her for the next two to four hours? But it still holds true.”
“I want to call you a pig right now,” I say with a shake of my head. “But at least you’re honest.”
“Most football players are. Our world is pretty blunt.”
I’ve judged him. The realization is a slap to the face and not pleasant. Yes, he is blunt, which I knew from the start. And yes, his sex life is fairly shallow; he’s admitted as much. But he’s clearly intelligent and kind. Not the soppy sort of kindness that seems to be more about showing off than actual caring, but a quiet, unobtrusive thoughtfulness that’s unexpected and lovely.
Too soon, we’re at my building. Finn shoves his hands in his pockets and gives me a gentle smile. “Well, then.”
“Well . . .” My voice trails off.
The impact of Finn Mannus is immense. It’s not the way he looks, although he is certainly blessed there; it’s the intensity of his focus, as if you are the most important thing in this golden god’s world. An illusion, but no less potent.
And no less awkward when our stare stretches on, neither of us saying another word.
He looks at me as though he knows exactly what’s going on in my head; which is funny, since I don’t have a clue. I don’t want to leave this spot, and yet I don’t want to invite him in either.
And he isn’t exactly asking to come up. Irritation swells within my chest. For the first time in ages, I’m dithering.
“So,” I say through stiff lips. “Thank you and good night.”
That smile of his returns. The one that’s slow and easy. The one that graces billboards and sells millions in athletic wear. “It’s gonna be like that, huh?” he teases. “No, ‘see you around’ or ‘let’s have lunch.’ Just ‘bye’?”
I’m facing down the man equivalent of devil’s food cake. But years of shitty hookups and bad dates have given me strength. “I also said thank you.”
The lines of his face go tight for a second, and I wonder if I’m seeing disappointment. “You’re welcome, Chess.” He takes a step back, already becoming part of pedestrian traffic. “Sleep well.”
I go into my building and don’t look back. But I want to.
* * *
My day doesn’t go well. At all. I’d tossed and turned all night long, finally falling asleep when the sky had turned dove gray. Having forgotten my phone in my purse, I overslept, not hearing my wake-up alarm. Which means I’m not able to take a shower before James arrives and, right after him, the next group of football players I’m supposed to shoot. So I’m stuck with lank hair and a stiff neck from sleeping the wrong way.
James somehow manages to knock over a light, breaking it and putting me out of several hundred dollars. He’s so upset, I can’t find it in myself to do more than pat his shoulder and refuse to let him pay for it.
The guys I’m photographing are nice and cooperative, which should put me in a better mood, but somehow it makes it worse. They remind me of Mannus. How can they not? These are his teammates, his friends. Every joke they toss out, every good-natured chuckle and charming smile they send my way, makes me think of him.
I imagine how he’d joke with them. How he’d take up the space in the room without even moving a muscle. The sad truth is he’s doing that without even being here.
I don’t want to think about him. But the man must have witchcraft in his veins, because he’s managed to haunt me after only one day of knowing him.
Worse, I feel wrong for having left him at my doorstep last night. It’s ridiculous. He probably forgot about me before he even reached his home. We hung out for a few hours, made each other laugh. That’s it. Move on.