Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
The women laugh, linking their arms in mine and steering me. We get in line behind two Avix U football players, waiting for our turn to make a sundae, when my mom squeezes me suddenly.
I look down at her, a small frown building, when she waggles her brows. And then a throat clears from behind and ruins all the fucking fun.
The traitorous women who most definitely did not want ice cream giggle and gawk, eyes bouncing from me to the person I refuse to acknowledge who, shocker, was sitting on the bench right next to the ice cream table.
“Cameron!” my mom mutters through her teeth, a big fat smile on her face. It’s a reminder not to be rude. Too bad she doesn’t know he deserves it. Unlike Vivian, she’s not the most perceptive person in the world, but to be fair I don’t think Vivian has picked up on it yet either, and I haven’t given them any sort of interaction to study.
They will most definitely analyze the shit out of this now.
Lips pinched in a tight line, I spin around, not expecting him to be so close. I stumble slightly, and his hands shoot out to catch me, latching on to my waist.
Our eyes lock and he smiles. For a moment, I forget to be angry, the chill of his hands on the sliver of exposed skin just below the hem of my shirt short-circuiting my brain.
“Wait, I know you!” Vivian approaches, and I can hear her smile. “You’re a quarterback as well, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Both moms seem to melt, and I flick my eyes to the sky.
“You play well. Quick on your feet,” Vivian says, complimenting him.
“Thank you.” His eyes fall to mine, and I glare at him, my back to my family. “I didn’t mean to interrupt—”
“So why did you?”
He pushes a little closer, and I hold my breath as his arm moves around me, only to lift once more and reveal he’s picked his phone up from the tabletop. He gives it a little shake before stuffing it in his pocket. “I was sitting here.”
Yeah, no shit.
My mom fights a laugh, and I whip around to find her hand on her mouth, though she quickly spins, facing literally nothing behind her.
“Are we even getting ice cream?” I ask.
Vivian nods. “Mm-hmm.” She moves forward, scooping some into a bowl at a snail’s pace. “So what’s your name again, young man?”
“I’m—”
“Alister, this is Mason’s loving and devoted Martha Stewart of a mother, Vivian,” I say, jumping in.
Alister’s face falls and he lowers his gaze, having enough sense to look slightly guilty.
“And I guess I’m chopped liver, also known as Clair, Cameron’s mom.” My mother’s voice is teasing, and she sticks a hand out to shake his. “It’s lovely to meet you, Alister.”
“You too, ma’am.”
I step aside, so I’m not sandwiched between the two and have enough space to turn if needed—or drag one of them away should it come to that.
“So why have you been staring at my daughter all afternoon?”
Dear god. I sigh, pinning her with a look.
“She’s impossible to look away from,” Alister says, and my head whips right back around.
I glare at him, and he fucking winks.
Winks!
I swear, if my mother still had her uterus, it would be fluttering. Country women, man. They love a good wink.
I’d like to tear his eyelashes off one by one.
“So how do you two know each other?” Vivian asks, making a second, smaller ice cream bowl that can only be for baby Deaton, what with the Froot Loops she adds to the top.
“We were fuck buddies all last year, and he wants to be again,” I deadpan.
Alister’s eyes shoot wide in horror, and after a single second, my family responds exactly how I anticipated.
They laugh loudly, shaking their heads, completely undeterred and used to my shit. I am my father’s daughter after all. If only they knew I wasn’t teasing.
It takes a moment, but Alister relaxes—though only a little; his laughter is stiff and fake.
I scoot forward, slapping two giant scoops of vanilla into a bowl and dumping a mountain of sprinkles on top.
There’s a shuffle behind me, and I don’t have to look to know he moved closer. Then his lips find my ear.
“Don’t forget the chocolate syrup,” he rasps.
The memory sends heat through me, and I don’t mean to look to the side, but our gazes catch regardless.
His eyes soften, regret and longing so easily seen that I become instantly aware of the audience we have.
Vivian and my mother have gone quiet, but I see them out of the corner of my eye. There will be no missing that.
“Cam,” he whispers, stepping in more.
“Don’t.”
“Baby, please,” he murmurs, reaching for me.
My eyes start to close, the anticipation of his touch making me warm and fluttery, but then a sound somewhere to the side snaps me out of my momentary lapse in sanity.