Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
And then I’m flying down the field at full speed.
Let’s. Fucking. Go.
“Chaser with the motherfucking ninety-yard catch, baby!” I hear Cameron scream the second we walk out of the facility, my eyes moving right to where I know Brady’s truck is parked. She beams at me, her hand still cupped around her mouth like a megaphone.
I smirk, nodding my chin in her direction just as Brady wraps me in a headlock.
“How dare you outplay me in front of my girl, Harper.” He laughs, giving me a proper noogie like an asshole.
Grinning, I manage to shove him off and he just winks, slipping through the crowd and not stopping until he’s hopping up on the tailgate, taking Cameron into his massive-ass arms.
It’s still so strange that two of my closest friends since junior high are together now, but I couldn’t be happier for the pair.
Mason claps me on the back, moving as quickly as Brady did, taking his fiancée, Payton, and their little boy into his arms as soon as he reaches the group.
I don’t realize my steps have slowed until a few of my teammates bump me from behind.
“Sorry, man,” Fredrick throws over his shoulder, and I force my feet to move.
Instantly, the weight that lifted from my shoulders during the game is back, maybe even a little heavier than before. I don’t even realize my head is hanging until a hand comes into view, hovering just a few inches from my chest.
I jerk to a stop, my gaze snapping up and meeting Ari’s, Mason’s twin sister.
The second our gazes meet, all the regret and guilt pours in, choking me so when I open my mouth, nothing comes out.
She drops her arm, a small smile on her face. “You were five seconds from knocking me over, I was fully prepared to push you onto your butt if you kept coming,” she teases.
I don’t deserve a smile from her, but I’m grateful she always seems to offer me one.
“Shit, sorry. I’m just…postgame adrenaline, you know?” I lie, making an excuse of wanting to put my bag down to get away from her.
Instead of tossing it in the back, I climb into the cab of my truck, setting it on the floorboards, and let my eyes close. The adrenaline thing wasn’t a total lie, but it’s a different sort of crash, one that smacks me back to the reality of my situation.
I just wish I could let it all go for a while, but I can’t. It just won’t fucking go away.
I knock my knuckles against my temple, trying to block out the noise, to no avail.
My head falls back against the headrest, a long sigh escaping my lips, and I squeeze my eyes shut. When they open, my gaze lands on my rearview mirror, locking with a soft-blue pair.
I hold my breath, waiting for pity or worry or, worse, understanding, not that she could possibly, but that’s not what I get.
Those pretty, pink lips curve up on both sides, a bashfulness blended in as she blinks as an excuse to drop my gaze.
My lungs seem to open up a little, and an unexpected low chuckle escapes me, but then I remember what Brady said.
She has someone else’s number on her cheek tonight. My eyes snap back to the mirror, but she’s already turned away, disappearing into the crowd.
A frown pulls at my brows, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m pushing the door open and climbing back out, driven by a sudden need to know who she came to see play tonight, and studiously ignoring the frustration the thought causes.
It’s not like I care.
I mean, why would I?
I bend and fold, sliding through the crowd, doing my best not to get stuck in conversations, when I finally spot her several spots over. She’s talking to Payton as Mason loads up Little D.
My feet carry me that way, but then a few guys are in front of me, beers in hand already and phones out. “And here the dude is! Chase Harper, ladies. Chase, tell them how you learned to fucking fly!”
I scoff, my eyes bouncing back to Mason’s Tahoe to find the doors closed, no Paige in sight.
Damn it.
Whatever, it’s better this way. It doesn’t matter whose number she was wearing.
It wasn’t mine, and that’s what I need to focus on.
That’s good. Great.
Clearing my throat, I entertain my teammates a couple more minutes, then turn back to my truck, only to stop short when a tiny, little blond is sitting on the tailgate all alone.
My feet seem to freeze in place.
She hasn’t spotted me yet. She’s looking down at her phone, her little legs swinging back and forth, hair shielding her face from view.
For some reason, I have to force my feet to move, and the closer I get, the more I see.