Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Nope. Went to a bar for a celebration margarita, met a cute biker named Deadshot, and ran away to Vegas. We’re getting married in the morning. Can’t wait to introduce you.
He sends back a straight-faced emoji with one eyebrow raised.
JK. Home, safe and sound. GN.
You’re an idiot. Good thing I love you. GN.
I smile and set my phone on the couch beside me, picking up the remote instead. I’m always too hyped after a game to go straight to bed and will spend a couple of hours watching reruns of whatever stupid show is on so that my brain will finally settle enough to sleep.
Tonight, it’s not the television or my bed calling to me, though. It’s my phone.
I pick it up, telling myself this is a bad idea. Maybe the worst idea I’ve ever had.
Still, my fingers hover over a new text. One to Griffin.
“Don’t make it weird, Penny. Just say the same thing you said to Dom. Totally normal, brotherly congrats.”
Great game! Congrats on the win!
Send.
“See, it’s fine,” I tell myself. Except my fingers are still going.
Are you okay after that fight with Patterson?
Surprisingly, I don’t mean the one from the first period. Griffin and Patterson went after each other a couple more times during the game, and the last one, when the Vortex was getting desperate, resulted in Patterson going into the penalty box.
New phone. Who dis?
I swear to God, I’m going to kill this man the next time I see him. I knew I shouldn’t have texted. Dom’s right, I’m such an idiot. My phone dings again.
I’m fine, Penny. And thanks.
Okay, he was teasing me, just like always. Because everything’s fine between us. Nothing weird, nothing flirty, just normal. So why am I hugging my knees tighter, gripping my phone harder, and grinning at the screen?
Did you send Paul the tickets you promised?
Keeping things all business seems like a good idea.
Yeah. Left tickets for tonight and tomorrow at will call.
Okay, well, that’s that. Conversation over. Ding!
What are you doing?
I stare at the four little words that could mean so many different things. Is he asking if I’m available for something like an ice cream run or a booty call? Or maybe both? Is he asking why in the hell I’m texting him? Is he being literal, like wondering if I’m watching TV or lying in bed?
I have no idea how to answer that, so I tell him the truth.
I have no idea. Like if an idea is a lightbulb, mine’s completely dark. It probably has that weird rattly sound when it’s burned out too. I might be drunk. Or drugged. Or sleepy. Probably all three, so I’m gonna go now. Forget this happened.
Penny . . .
Those three dots are no more helpful in deciphering the male brain. And if I can’t dissect that simple thing, I have no chance at figuring out my own. I blame Layla.
I’m going to bed. GN.
A second later, I send one more text.
I’m not really drunk or drugged. And I’m wide awake.
I know. GN.
Chapter 13
Penny
I sleep in on Sunday, not crawling out of bed until eight in the morning. I know that’s not late for everyone, but it is for me. If I snooze past six thirty, I feel like I’ve missed seizing so much of the day. I’m looking to carpe diem, not carpe sleep-’em.
The Hawks have back-to-back games almost every weekend, but the cheerleaders only perform at home games, and these weekends take a toll. It’s like running a marathon two days in a row. I’m sure the players would argue that they have it harder, and they probably do, but this morning, I feel like I got hit by a car. Not a big mom-mobile minivan but a small Fiat at least, with sore muscles and a raging desire for sugary cereal to make up for the energy I expended.
Instead, I throw some berries and granola in a bowl of blended cottage cheese and sit down on the couch to eat a healthy breakfast in peace.
But peace doesn’t come.
We won again last night, beating the Vortex three to two in the second action-packed battle of our double-header weekend, which is amazing. That part was fine. It was the rest . . .
The hours spent watching Griffin play. Cheering a little harder for him than everyone else. Worrying every time a play went violent and he was right in the middle of it the way he always is. Telling myself that I was being stupid and that Layla was seeing things that aren’t there. Replaying the text exchange in my head on repeat and feeling stupid for even texting him in the first place when I never have before.
That’s why I didn’t do it again.
After last night’s game, I went home, showered, got food, and stared at the television for a couple of hours. I sent my usual check-in to Dom so he wouldn’t worry, and then stuck my phone under the couch cushion and sat on it so I wouldn’t do something embarrassing like text Griffin again. My plan worked, but I felt unsettled about it all evening.