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)
“We used to pretend we were twins when we were younger,” I say. “Because we’re the same age.”
“Fun. It’s always good to have a friend you can play pranks with.”
“That’s her. She’s adopted too. We met because of that—at a picnic our parents took us to. And we instantly connected.”
“Because of the adoption aspect?” he asks with genuine curiosity.
“Mostly because we were debating if we wanted brownies or cake, and whether swings were more fun than slides. But later on, we connected on the adoption thing too.”
He smiles. “Nice. The brownie versus cake debate is real.”
“I know, right? But it’s cake for me.”
“Shame. I’d pick brownies.”
I sigh heavily. “It’s a decent second choice. I’ll grant you that,” I say, then pause “What about you? Have you always been a dog person?”
“My animal magnetism is pretty impressive, isn’t it?”
I laugh, as we walk the puppy down a deserted stretch of beach. Jones asked Delia if he could take Lulu for a stroll. No surprise, Delia said yes. “That’s one word for it. But tell the truth,” I narrow my eyes and ask him in a faux accusatory voice, “did you slather Alpo all over your lips?”
“You caught me, but it was beef jerky. I gnawed through a whole stick while you weren’t looking, just to excite Lulu.”
When she hears her name, the pup spins in a circle in the sand, then scampers to the end of the leash. Jones walks a little faster, as per Lulu’s wishes, and I keep pace, too. “Seriously, what’s with your animal charms?”
“So you admit I’m charming?” he asks with mischief in his eyes.
Charming as in the ultimate flirt, yes. “Lulu seems to think so,” I concede drily.
We wander along the shoreline, the waves crashing lightly against the sand. “We didn’t have dogs when I was growing up, and I wanted one so much. I asked my parents all the time if we could get a puppy. I had this whole campaign planned for Christmas when I was eleven. It was free adoption day at the Sacramento shelter, and so on.” He turns to me, his gaze locking with mine. “But we never got one.”
The sadness in his blue irises hooks into me, and tugs on my heart. “Were your parents allergic?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Honestly, we didn’t have the money. My parents were strapped for cash my entire childhood. They said they wanted to get a dog for the four of us, but they couldn’t afford another mouth to feed, and that was that. I always told myself that I’d adopt a dog once I was drafted, but then I didn’t want to bring home one that I couldn’t take care of, being on the road so much. It wasn’t until Trevor moved to the city that I knew I could finally get a pet. Plus, obviously, I was helpless to resist Cletus. Once I met him while I was helping out at the shelter, I had to take him home.” He holds his arms out wide. “He gave me no choice.”
“Cletus is the very picture of irresistibility. I can see why you were powerless against his charms.”
“He gave me a puppy dog face, and that was that.” Jones bats his eyes, imitating Cletus it seems, then tips his chin at me. “What about you? Did you want a dog?”
My feet sink into the sand as we traverse the beach and memories of my childhood wishes return. “I wanted everything when I was a kid. I was an only child, so I was convinced I needed a four-legged friend since I didn’t have a brother or sister. I’d have taken anything. Dog, cat, hamster, bunny. I even tried to get a hedgehog once.”
“A hedgehog? Those are pretty damn cute.”
“I know. But I had no luck, either. My mom was allergic to everything, so we never had any pets. The ironic thing is my dad finally got a dog a few years ago after my mom died.”
Jones stops in his tracks, reaching for my arm. “I didn’t realize your mom had passed.”
Sometimes, I think I know him well. I work with him, share his stats and performance with the media, and I sit down with reporters when they interview him. But that’s superficial. There’s so much we haven’t talked about. So many conversations we haven’t had. “She had a heart attack four years ago,” I say, doing my best to keep my tone even and ignoring the lump in my throat that forms inevitably when I talk about her.
“I’m really sorry.”
“Me, too,” I say softly. “She wasn’t that young, though. Not that that makes it easier necessarily. But she was sixty-five. She was over forty when she adopted me. My parents were both a little older. They didn’t have any luck trying to have a child the old-fashioned way. Ergo, I’m their kid.”