Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
She hops on the counter, letting her legs swing while she watches me.
I’ve never spent time here before. This is my first time in this kitchen—in this house, no less—yet I feel so comfortable. It would be nothing to open a cabinet in search of a glass or open the fridge for a drink. How surreal.
“We’d have this with soup a lot in the fall and winter.” I smear a glob of butter on a cracker. “Sometimes with roast beef. My dad would crush crackers up and drop them in milk for a snack.”
“Ew.”
I laugh, offering her the cracker. “I’m with you on this one. Now, open.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that to me today, and I prefer it in the first context.” She parts her lips, and I place the snack on her tongue. The first bite crunches as she susses out the flavors and textures. She chews for a moment and then swallows. “Okay. That’s actually … kinda good.”
“See?” I make myself one. “You’ll never starve as long as you have crackers and butter.”
She opens her mouth again, and I give her the one I made for me. I’d give her almost anything she wants at this point. I’m a sucker for a strong, funny, beautiful woman. Or, maybe, just this one.
“How did you become a pro athlete eating this?” She makes a face like the idea is bizarre. “Aren’t you supposed to be eating steak and spaghetti or something?”
“I said I ate it growing up, not when I was training.”
“Do you miss it? Playing football, I mean.”
Slathering butter on another cracker, I consider this. “No. Not really. I miss the team aspect of it. The camaraderie. But I don’t miss practice. I don’t miss the travel. The pain. I definitely don’t miss that.”
“Does it really hurt when you get smashed by another guy on the football field, or do the pads protect you?”
I hand her the cracker. “It hurts like a motherfucker. You usually have some adrenaline in your system, so you don’t necessarily feel it right then—although sometimes you do. But the next day? It hurts to breathe.”
She starts to eat, but rests her hand on her lap instead. A cloud covers her face, and she stares off into the distance. I’m curious about what she’s thinking, but instead of asking her, I choose to give her some space to work through it.
Finally, she turns her attention to me. “Can I say something without it being awkward?”
“Probably not.” I grin at her. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”
“I don’t know if I’m any good at this,” she says slowly.
“What do you mean? Good at what?”
She sighs, fidgeting with the edge of her shirt. “You were right when you said you’d give me a different experience in dating because I’ve never dated like this before.”
“Like what?” I set the knife down and move to her, placing one palm on either side of her. “What are you getting at?”
“What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that you’ve put so much effort into this thing between us. You’ve chosen restaurants that you think I’ll like for reasons other than I might like the burgers. And glassblowing? That was really, really sweet. You even managed to get me a flower that doesn’t smell.”
I chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to the center of her lips.
“It’s been great, Drake.” Her eyes sparkle. “It’s been a lot of fun. And I don’t know if I’ve said thank you. But … thank you.”
Her words nail me in the chest. She should never have to thank someone for treating her right. Has she dated complete chumps? Good for me, but damn.
“It’s not over, you know,” I say, resting my forehead against hers. “There are more surprises up my sleeve.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, making me jump. I forgot it was in there. I push away from Gianna and pull the device out. That’s weird.
“Hey,” I say, my finger hovering over the button. “This is my mom, and it’s really late for her to be calling and—”
“Get it.”
I flash her a smile and then answer. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“I’m sorry for calling you so late, sweetheart. I’m just …”
A cold chill races down my spine. “Is everything okay?”
“There’s no emergency.” I exhale in relief. “But it’s been a night with your father, and I just …”
She cries quietly into the phone, and my heart shatters with each sob. My mind races, trying to put together pieces of a puzzle that I don’t have. All I know is that if my mom is calling me at this hour and crying, for fuck’s sake, something is wrong.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He wanted to go to work. Couldn’t find his keys. Couldn’t find his boots. He kept yelling for you, thinking you’d taken them or hidden them or something. I don’t know. And I just … I’m tired, Drake. I’m drained.”