Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I mean… his stitch wasn’t much of anything.
“I can be average. And I think you’re seriously discounting the value of snacks. I bet I can change your mind.”
I have no clue if that was a rebuke to me to not be so short-sighted or perhaps it was a promise he’d show me just that. It’s been playing on a loop in my brain like a cursed earworm.
With his smirk. That ridiculous face. The unreasonably charming delivery like he was already imagining us on a picnic blanket sharing Doritos and childhood embarrassments.
When I woke up this morning, I told myself I wouldn’t watch it anymore.
But I’m weak willed and watched it three times while Buttermilk stared at me disapprovingly. I avoided his gaze that said Girl… you are being stupid.
The comments didn’t help my resolve. My followers and those who don’t even follow me were resoundingly in favor of me going out with him. Sure, there was the occasional nasty comment that he was way out of my league, but I ignored those. I learned early on if you put yourself out there in the public realm, you must grow a thick skin.
Besides… they’re not wrong. He’s totally out of my league.
In an effort to push the idea of Lucky Branson away, I did go through a variety of other stitches that came in from men who wanted a date. While very cute, they were all incredibly average in their stitches and I DM’d two of them that I thought had potential to at least meet up for coffee.
I head across the teacher parking lot, my brain filled with a wild jumble of kindergarten and hot athletes. Now, I don’t believe in manifestation or serendipity, but I have an almost out-of-body experience when a large man steps out from behind a beat-up Toyota Corolla with a dented fender and a No thoughts, just vibes bumper sticker.
Said large man is instantly recognizable as Lucky Branson and I resist rubbing my eyes because I think I might be seeing things.
He’s wearing worn jeans, a hoodie with frayed cuffs and sneakers that have clearly seen things better left unmentioned. There’s no posh millionaire athlete standing before me. His hair’s unstyled, he’s wearing wire-rimmed glasses, and he’s holding a brown paper bag that looks suspiciously like it contains a bologna sandwich and a pack of Fruit Gushers.
I freeze, my hand fluttering near my throat. “Oh my God.”
“Hey,” he says, smiling like we bump into each other in school parking lots all the time. “Hope this isn’t creepy.”
I just stare at him. “You’re outside my workplace.”
“So… bordering on creepy.” He tilts his head, grimaces. “Fair.”
There’s something about that move, the tone, that weirdly puts me at ease. “What are you doing here?”
“Showing you how aggressively average I can be.” He holds up the brown bag. “I brought snacks.”
I stare at him, my eyes cutting to the car in confusion. “You drove a Corolla to my school.”
“Astute observation,” he commends.
“It’s so very… average.” I cock a well-warranted eyebrow. “And it seems staged.”
“Busted. I borrowed it from our equipment manager’s son,” he says proudly. “Also this hoodie, which smells like Axe body spray. Trying too hard?”
I blink.
Lucky shifts his weight like he’s suddenly not sure if this was a good idea, and I find that so relatable. I feel like that all the time, but I also don’t let it deter me.
I seriously doubt it would deter him either.
“Look, I know this is weird, and I probably should’ve just sent another video, but I figured—why not make my case in person?”
“Your case?”
“That you should go out with me.”
“Wait a minute,” I say, holding up a hand. “How did you find me? That’s a bit stalkerish.”
Lucky’s chin pulls inward, his eyebrows furrowed as if I just said something stupid. “You say where you work in your TikToks. You have several videos on being a teacher.”
“Okay, not so stalkerish,” I admit. I did put that info out there because a lot of my content has funny stories about my kids.
“I’ve watched all your videos,” he says.
“That’s totally stalkerish,” I accuse with a pointed finger, but I’ll never admit… I’m a little flattered. But my eyes land on a black cord hanging low on his neck, edging the collarbone. “Is that… a rabbit’s foot hanging from your necklace?”
Lucky winces, absently rubs at it. “Oh, yeah… wow. I watched a lot of your videos and you have a rabbit. That must seem insensitive.”
“Not to me,” I say drolly. “But Buttermilk would probably be offended. Really, why are you here?”
“Like I said… to get you to change your mind. Go on a date with me. And I’m thinking you’ll say yes since you just implied I’ll meet Buttermilk.”
I huff out a frustrated breath, glancing over at the kids and then back to him. “It would be a waste of time. I’m totally not your type.”