Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 101758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Xander has tattoos on his upper right shoulder and biceps. And I swallow hard because he’s sculpted so beautifully, it’s enough to make me sweat.
“That’s not an answer,” he says with a low voice.
“I just couldn’t sleep. My mind doesn’t want to shut up.”
“What are you thinking about?” He drags his thumb over his lower lip, and my thighs clench. If I’d known he was down here, I would have thrown on his hoodie because right now, I’m just in a tank top and sleep shorts, and that doesn’t feel like enough.
Not that he hasn’t seen everything the universe gave me anyway.
I push that thought out of my head and nibble my lip.
“I don’t think my mom is going to leave peacefully in three days,” I finally admit. “Or at all, let alone nicely. I shudder to think what she’s doing to my house right now.”
“Do you honestly think that she’ll damage your things?”
I take another sip and sigh. “I don’t want to think that, but she’s so vindictive. Jealous, I guess. Not that I have everything in the world, but I do have nice things because I’ve worked my ass off for them.”
“Most parents would want their kids to do better than them.”
I nod slowly. “Except for our moms,” I remind him. “And that really pisses me off for us, Xander.”
“Yeah, we didn’t win any prizes in the mom department, that’s for sure.” He pushes his hand through his hair.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” I ask him.
“I don’t sleep well,” he admits. “And I like the dark.”
“Okay, vampire.”
He smirks, but then some pieces start to shift and move together.
His memory is bad.
Sometimes he can’t find the word he wants.
Doesn’t sleep well.
He didn’t forget about me because he didn’t care or because he’s a jerk. And he didn’t forget about that one night a couple of years ago on purpose.
For a millisecond, I’m relieved. And then that shifts to worry.
“So, I have a question,” I say.
“I’m an open book, Red.”
I move to the island, just across from him, and lean on the counter. His gaze dips to my cleavage for a heartbeat but then comes back up to my eyes.
“Why isn’t the concussion in your medical records?”
His face doesn’t change at all. There’s no reaction.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I take a breath and let it out slowly.
“So now we’re lying to each other, X? Okay. Good to know.” I’m not angry, I’m hurt. And I can’t stand here and have this intimate conversation with him in the dark if he’s going to lie through his perfect teeth.
I wonder how many of those perfect teeth are fake?
So, I turn to leave the kitchen and walk up to my room because I can’t sit here and listen to lies.
But before I get to the stairs, a strong arm wraps around my waist and picks me right up off my feet.
“Don’t go.”
“I’m not interested in having a conversation filled with half truths. I’d rather go overthink in bed by myself.”
He sighs and turns me to pin me against the wall, his arm resting above my head, and frowns down at me.
“No one knows about the concussions.”
“Plural?”
“Three,” he says, and then swallows hard. “My family doesn’t know, most of the team doesn’t know. Only the surgeon and the head coach. How the fuck did you figure it out?”
“I’m a professional, trained to work with athletes. Memory issues, can’t sleep. Do you have headaches?”
He looks like he doesn’t want to answer, but finally he nods curtly.
“Not often anymore, but sometimes.”
“Are you more irritable than usual?”
“In the beginning, but not now. It’s mostly the memory and sleep. Sometimes bright light still bothers me.”
“When was the last one?”
“When I tore the knee.”
I don’t like that. It’s been more than three months, and he’s still having sleep issues. He might always have the memory problems.
And I hate that I’m the thing he can’t remember. I hate it so much.
“I wish I’d known,” I tell him, resolved not to let my lower lip tremble or shed any tears.
It’s not his fault that he forgot about me.
About defending me in high school. Or being the one nice person besides Chris in my teenage years.
Or kissing the fuck out of me on New Year’s Eve three years ago in Denver.
It’s not his fault.
A shiver rolls through me, and whether it’s from being chilled or having this man stand so close to me, I’m not sure.
Probably both.
“Come on, you’re cold.”
He takes my hand and leads me over to the couch, where I sit in the corner, and he covers me up with a fluffy blanket.
“Oh, this is nice. I didn’t see this here earlier.”
“I pulled it out of the closet. I can buy more so you have plenty to choose from.”
I smile at him as he sits next to me and pulls my feet up into his lap.