Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Okay, fine. Two out of three ain’t bad. There’s nothing steady about a gig playing pro ball, but I wouldn’t change a damn thing. I’m happiest when I’m chasing a target and carrying that football to the end zone.
That’s the closest thing to heaven as far as I’m concerned—crossing the white chalk by the goalposts and putting six points on the board. Fucking bliss. Beautiful, heart-pumping bliss.
I wait at the curb for about thirty seconds, then a black town car pulls up. I lift my thumb in the air like I want to hitch a ride.
The window slides down in the back, and Jillian pokes her head out, a pair of big red sunglasses on her face. She pushes them up into her hair. “Hey there. Want a ride? I have candy, and I lost my puppy. Will you help me find it?” she says in a singsong voice.
“Oh yes. Do you have Skittles, please?”
She tosses her head back and laughs. “Tropical Island flavor.”
I let my tongue fall out, like a dog, then I grab the handle, yanking open the door. My throat goes dry when I see her seated on the cool black leather.
Holy sexiness.
I can’t even joke about hitchhiking and stranger danger or anything at all in the universe, because she stuns me. She wears jeans, pink sandals, and a silky soft blouse that falls perfectly against her breasts, revealing a hint of flesh. A slim silver chain with a heart locket hangs on her neck. That lucky pendant gets to touch her skin.
“You look . . .” I search for the right word. Hot? Luscious? Pretty? Good enough to lick from head to toe? So sexy I want to strip you down to nothing and get acquainted with every square inch of your body? I stave off a throaty groan of appreciation, swallowing it harshly. But I don’t entirely want to hide how I feel, either. I want her to know what I see when I look at her.
And compliments are part of the strategy to get her to see me in a new light. “You look beautiful.”
Her face is blank at first, as if she’s not sure what to make of me. Confusion flickers across her pretty brown eyes, the color of melting chocolate. Then, a spark of something flickers. Maybe happiness? Appreciation? She’s so hard to read.
“Thank you. You always look sharp.”
I’ll need to work harder to earn anything other than a professional compliment from this woman. I slide into the car, set the bag on the leather seat, and gesture to my getup. “You like my sharp bathing suit?” I point to my trunks, then flip-flops, then the T-shirt I’ll take off at the beach for the shoot.
She raises her nose, as if she’s sniffing. Maybe she’s ferreted out the scent of a delicious cherry pie. But she doesn’t mention it. “It’s perfect. Exactly what I wanted you to wear.”
I peer at her outfit. “You have a bikini on under that?”
“No way.” She shivers for effect as the car pulls away and threads into light morning traffic on the way to the bridge.
“You’re not going to swim while I shoot?”
“It’s sixty-nine degrees at Stinson.”
I snicker. “You said sixty-nine.”
She laughs. “That joke never grows old.”
“And I don’t intend to ever retire it from my joke repertoire.”
She bends her head and hunts through a few canvas bags by her side, as well as one of her endless number of purses. Fishing around, she finds what she’s looking for. “First, this.” She hands me a magazine.
My smile spreads when I flip it over. “Damn. Nice work.”
“It’s all you,” she says, gesturing to the shot of me on Sporting World. “The whole spread is amazing, but Lily and I are quite partial to the cover.”
Pride spreads through me. Landing the cover of Sporting World is no small shakes. “This is going on my wall of glory.”
“That sounds like exactly where it belongs. And,” she says, reaching into the purse once more, “I have a gift for you.”
I blink, surprised and a little excited. “You do?”
“I was thinking about our conversation at dinner, and I thought you might enjoy some pomelos, since they’re a sign of luck. So I picked some up for you at the market.”
“I’m going to sound like the biggest dolt, but what’s a pomelo?”
She hands me a reusable bag filled with three pieces of fruit, each bigger than the average grapefruit. I reach into the bag—a bag of pomelos. “They’re like oranges, but more mellow and with a less citrusy flavor.” She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “I know you’re a health nut, so I figured fruit was a good thank-you gift. Is it okay?”
Any gift from her is a great gift. I smile. “I love it. I will eat the entire bag of pomelos. Probably tonight.”