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)
And yet, it’s a risk I want to take.
We share most of the food, working our way through a Caesar salad, a mango and mint salad, an appetizer of salted edamame, a steak for him, and French fries for me.
“Just one,” I say, waggling a fry. “You can do it.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You temptress.”
“You healthy eater, you.” I swipe the fry through some ketchup and brandish it like an offering. “Can you resist now?”
Rolling his eyes, he grabs the fry and pops it into his mouth, chewing then making a satisfied smack of his lips. “There. Just so you know I’m not afraid to break the rules every now and then.” He holds my gaze as he says that, and I want to look away, but I can’t. I just can’t. I like looking at him far too much for my own good. So much I might break the rules if I have a chance.
He taps the table. “I’ll have you know, you addicted me to a certain citrus.”
“You bought more pomelos?”
He nods. “I can’t get enough of them.”
For some stupid reason, that makes me happy.
As we eat, we talk about the calendar and the sponsorship, but quickly the conversation moves to other matters. I ask him about his family and learn how close he is to his two brothers and his sister. He shows me pictures on his phone of them growing up. Shots where he’s jumping into an above-ground pool with them cannonballing, too. Pics of them swinging high at the playground. Laughing in front of a Ferris wheel. It’s sweet, not just the pics, but that he’s showing me. Almost like he wants me to have the same experience that my dad gave him. “If you ever come over to fix something for my parents, you should ask to see their photo albums,” he jokes, but then turns instantly serious. “Wait. I was naked in a lot of pics. Scratch that.”
“You can’t just drop that and move on. I need more,” I say.
With a laugh, he drags his hand through his dark brown hair. “I was a naked kid. Running through sprinklers. Running through the house. Running anywhere in the buff.”
“And to think I was blushing when my dad showed you my baby pics where I had too many clothes.”
“Pretty sure I had none on,” he says.
“And did your brothers and sisters join in the Jones Beckett Nude Tradition?” I ask.
“Nope. That family tradition was mine and mine alone,” he says, then closes out of the folder.
“It’s sweet that you keep so many family pics on your phone,” I remark.
“Yeah, I like them,” he says, then he tells me he’s saving money in retirement accounts for all of them, and his greatest dream is to provide for every single Beckett. I learn, too, that he bought his parents a spacious new home, and he provides for them so they no longer have to work.
“That’s seriously amazing, Jones,” I say.
“They’re as cool as your dad. You should meet them someday.” The offer sounds so earnest that I nearly believe he means it.
“That sounds nice.” I can almost picture driving up to their home, bringing a huge bouquet of fall flowers, meeting his mom and dad, chatting with them, since I’d be so eager to get to know the parents of my—
I swerve the car in the other direction. The not-my-boyfriend-in-any-way-shape-or-form direction. “I bet they’re so proud of you for all you’ve done on and off the field.”
“They are, but I’m proud of them, too. Raising four kids on next to nothing wasn’t easy, and that’s why I work hard to take care of them now. I guess that’s why some of the things that happened with my last agent were so frustrating. I’m not suffering financially. But I want to be able to do everything I possibly can for them.”
I nod, completely understanding the drive to help, to support. “I get it. I feel the same way about my dad. That’s why I try to see him as much as possible. Just to be there.”
“The least we can do is take care of the ones who took care of us. Hell, that’s part of why I’m so glad my brother moved back to San Francisco from New York. He’s the sibling I’m closest to, and helping him with his beer show is my way of repaying that smart bastard for the way he helped me in high school.”
“He did?”
Jones nods. “He’s the creative one in the family, and since eleventh-grade essays on Huck Finn are the foundation of hell, Trevor made sure I didn’t burn in the fiery depths.” He pauses, then winks. “I bet you loved high school essays.”
I narrow my eyes. “Confession: even though I was an English major, I think essays ought to be abolished. They are the devil’s work.”