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)
Brady raises a brow, his grin way too fucking telling.
I’m already on my feet when he opens his big-ass mouth.
“Hey, Pai—”
I slam my palm over his mouth, wrestling him to the floor as he laughs his ass off.
I flip him, wrapping my arm around his neck from behind, and go to roll him for a pin, but he spears his legs out, pushing up and reversing me, rolling around a few times, chopping arms and legs until we’re chuckling and heaving, lying flat on our backs beside each other.
“Still think you should tell Trust Fund to get fucked.” He huffs.
I punch him in the side, making him grunt.
“Talk a little louder, asshole. And it’s not a date. They’re going to some event for her grandfather’s company. It’s…work.”
“Sure. And I didn’t take advantage of you not coming home last night.”
I chuckle, shaking my head.
“Where you been going, anyway?” he asks, a little quieter this time. “Got someone casual somewhere?”
I swallow, shaking my head, frowning up at the popcorn ceiling. “Nah, man.”
“Then where?” Mase pushes.
Moving so I’m sitting on my ass, my arms draped over my bent knees, I drop my gaze to the old carpet.
“My truck. Out behind the stadium.” I take a deep breath. “My mind just gets heavy after the adrenaline crash, you know? A lot going on. I have to run through the game, break it all down to put myself in a better headspace. I can’t really do that with dozens of people partying in the house.”
“Deaton is usually out by the time I get home, if not well on his way. You can always come here, man.” Mason’s brows are dipped low, worry written all over his face.
I nod, and then the girls are barreling down the hall.
“Get back in here!” Cameron shouts.
“I need to get my things out.”
“Girl. You said I could have two hours, and you were still pulling shit out of the oven when we got there!”
Ari and Payton file into the living room, dropping down near where Little D is napping on the love seat.
“Two hours is an insane amount of time to spend getting ready. It takes me ten minutes on my best day.”
They go by in a blur, and I barely see the tail end of Cameron’s ponytail as they turn the corner into the little kitchen.
“That’s because you’re like this little, freaking fairy-tale chick with perfect skin and… Oh my god! No freaking way!” Cameron shouts.
Paige’s laugh reaches me. “I just need to set it all up.”
“You are out of your damn mind if you think I’m letting you open that container and risk you ruining the final product.”
“I am a human, not a product.” Her humor is clear.
“Still,” they playfully argue. “One time I opened a lid off a soup Ari made, and it sprayed all over me from the evaporation or pressure or some weird shit. Not happening. Not before your first date.”
Brady kicks me, and I kick him back.
“Oh my god, how many times do I have to tell you it’s not a date?” Paige whisper-hisses back.
I raise a brow at Brady, unable to hide my smirk of satisfaction.
He goes to open his mouth, but then there’s a knock at the door.
I don’t realize I jumped to my feet until my hand wraps around the handle, and my boys chuckle behind my back. I yank it open, my eyes connecting with Prescott.
He smiles wide, a big, pink bouquet in his hands, as predicted.
Should I tell him she prefers softer colors?
“Hello, Chase.”
I nod my chin, standing there blocking the doorway until a throat clears behind me.
I blink and step back but don’t motion him inside.
I close the door, leaving him on the other side, and when I turn, the air is sucked from my lungs.
Paige stands there in a soft peach-colored dress. It’s elegant, graceful on her tiny frame, resting on her shoulders and falling to her feet, the color making her blond hair shine a little more. Her blue eyes are brighter than normal, and I think it might be from the thick, dark shadow swiped across the lids, far more than I’ve seen on her before. Her hair is up in a ponytail but fancy, with curls falling down her back and she’s just…
“Damn.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak, her tongue pressing to the roof of her mouth before she drops her chin a little. She’s fighting a smile, and I wish she wouldn’t.
I wish she’d give it to me, full force.
In my peripheral vision, I see movement and turn to look at my friends, all three staring at me expectantly. I glare, and every single one makes some sort of face that tells me I am not doing what they want me to here.
I don’t even know what I want to do, so what the hell?