Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Keep your cool, Autumn.
She didn’t ask me a question, so it’s not something I need to address. I hold my tongue, keeping my head down, feeling an indignity I didn’t deserve.
He sets the pen wordlessly down on the sign-in sheet, lowers his hand, and slides it across my shoulders to bring me into his side. Kissing the top of my head, he asks, “Are you ready, babe?” In the opposite of me, there’s no shame in his tone, only a pride that we’re better than this pettiness.
This small gesture gives me strength I didn’t know I needed. I don’t have anyone to lean on outside my family, or someone in my life who cares for me on a deeper level. But this feels a lot like the real thing.
We turn to leave, and on our way out, he says, “Gossiping gives you wrinkles.”
I may be grinning like a goose who got her gander, but I catch the look Brandon shoots her. Hot damn, that was sexy. I honestly didn’t know the golden boy and Cove’s hero had a callous bone in his body. He plays dirty in the most civilized manner I’ve ever seen. Gets ’em before they see him coming. After witnessing that lethal look, I wouldn’t want to cross him.
Even when we’re out of the prying eyes of the office staff, he doesn’t release me. His hand actually tightens around the curve of my shoulder. And I’m gobbling it up like a hungry hippo. I never took myself for the kind of girl who liked PDA. Maybe because I’m not, but with him, things—beliefs, habits, expectations—are changing at a breakneck pace, and I can’t keep up. And for some reason, for the first time in my life, I’m okay with it.
Apparently, according to Mrs. Carson, false rumors have already spread. My job is on the line, but not because of my work ethic despite what she’s heard. So what am I really risking anymore if people are going to believe the lies anyway?
This is what Dolly means about being spontaneous. Stop questioning and overanalyzing every little thing that happens in life and go for a ride to see where it takes you. I’m not sure it’s wise advice, but what if I trusted the process for once?
I slip my arm around his back. He doesn’t look down or flinch. Both are good signs that it’s not unwelcome. When we approach a group of kids, he doesn’t waver, making them part like the Red Sea for us. I catch them gawking with hearts in their eyes while staring at him. And I’m really starting to see the appeal. More so, I feel it. I like his arm around me, holding me like I’m precious, the woodsy scent of his cologne permeating his T-shirt, and that he took offense back, in the offense for me. I really like that it feels like I’m part of a team. Us against them.
We turn down a hall, and at the far end, the display case that I never much looked at back in high school stands in tribute to the many players who’ve played for the school, including my dad and Brandon, who are featured in the center.
My dad’s jersey is pinned at the back, hanging in honor of him, and the number 7 is ironed on the front. “We never cared about football growing up.” I lean down to look at the other items they’ve collected to represent the great Charlie Season. “He didn’t watch a lot of games, though it was sometimes on in the background. He was such an outdoors guy and was always spending time with us rather than reminiscing about his football days or losing hours on a Sunday to a game on TV.”
“Your dad was a great guy and sounds like the best father.” It’s odd how just hearing him mention mine reminds me that his hasn’t lived in this town in a long time. I’m sure it’s not something he’s anxious to talk about. I had my dad for a short time, but he was fully present and loved us with all his might.
“Thank you.” It shouldn’t feel like bragging to talk about my dad, but my heart hurts for Brandon to say much more.
He slides his hand from my shoulder as he bends down to see what the school’s collected for him. “I don’t know where they get this stuff. I haven’t seen that lucky rabbit’s foot since middle school. It never made it to high school with me. Who’s donating this crap?”
Looking at his display and then my dad’s, I see what he means. “It’s all random stuff. There’s a brass key that looks like it opens a castle door, but there’s no description. Why does that key matter when it comes to my dad and football?” I pop upright, my gaze darting to Brandon as fast as his flash to mine. “The key.”