 by Sara Ney.jpg)
Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
With too much on my plate, the very last thing on my mind was a relationship—the football draft was looming and dating got in the way. I never understood why my teammates bothered with girlfriends. None of us had the time.
When my sports agent suggested that being seen in public with a respectable girl would be good for my bad reputation, I couldn’t think of a single person to help me out. The only girls I knew weren’t wifey material, and the ones who were? Might catch feelings.
Except Ryann Winters.
Responsible. Sarcastic. Smart. Ryann was perfect but there was one clincher: she was my teammates ex-girlfriend and I had recently been paid by him to dump her.
Not the best start to a fake relationship…
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
one
dallas
“The best way to start a relationship is not to start one at all.”
– Dallas Colter
“I don’t mean to sound like a cynic, but why are you datin’ her to begin with?”
With my foot up on the locker room bench—the one directly in front of my cubby—I glance over at my teammate Diego, who’s standing beside me, his hands poised to grab the padding around his shoulders. He’s keen to spill his guts about some girl he’s dating, something about breaking up with her and blah blah fucking blah I don’t have time for his bellyaching.
His face is scrunched up like he didn’t understand the question.
“Why am I dating her to begin with?” He shrugs. “I dunno. I thought we’d have a ton of sex and it would be more fun.”
“Fun? Banging the same chick all the time?”
Honestly, I’m not banging anyone at all, so it’s not as if I have any room to talk.
But still.
That’s beside the point.
I finish tying my sneakers, then rise to my full height. Smack Diego on his uniform chest plate with a smirk.
“I said I thought we’d have tons of sex—I didn’t say we were having tons of sex.”
“And how’s that workin’ out for you? Your dick fall off yet?”
“It’s not working out.” He pulls at the waistband of his shorts and takes a look down the front. “And no, it hasn’t.”
“Why ain’t it workin’ out?”
Diego follows me to the drinking fountain where I intend to fill up my water bottle. He’s like a stray puppy who’s lost his way—or a pestering fly that won’t quit dive-bombing me.
Too bad I can’t swat the bastard away.
“There’s no chemistry.”
That sounds like a him problem, not a Dallas problem.
Still, I humor the guy, raising a brow, feigning interest. “Shouldn’t you have realized there was no chemistry after your first date?”
I’m no expert, but that part seems obvious.
“How the hell should I know? I’ve never had a girlfriend before!” His voice has risen an octave, panic across his brow.
“You’ve never had a girlfriend before?”
“No.”
Now why on earth does this fact surprise me? It shouldn’t. Lots of my teammates haven’t had relationships. Being a serious athlete doesn’t leave much downtime, let alone time for dating.
Fucking, yes.
Dating, no.
“Yeah, me neither.” I scowl at him because he hasn’t left my side and insists on breathing down my neck. “How long have the two of y’all been together?”
“Two months.”
Two months? Is he being serious? That’s not a relationship. That’s…that’s…dating. Or ‘seeing each other’, as some people say.
I squint over at him. “And you’re sure she’s your girlfriend? That doesn’t seem like an awful long time. I got eggs in my fridge older than that.”
“You have eggs older than that? That’s actually disgusting.” Diego laughs, watching as I fill my water bottle.
I roll my eyes. “It was a metaphor.”
“Dude, are you going to help me or not?”
Without hesitating, I give him a firm “Not” before walking back to my cubby. I need to pack my shit up and get gone so I’m not late for my athletic trainer, Shelby, who hates it when I’m late. And I’m almost always late.
As I’m stuffing things in my bag, Diego gets even closer, encroaching on my personal space with his nonsense.
“You’re seriously not going to help me?”
“Help you with what?”
Here I am listening to his bullshit, the whining—what more does the dude want from me? I’m not a relationship counselor.
Glancing up, I catch sight of myself in the small mirror inside my cubby, the scruff covering my cheeks, jaw, and chin.
Damn, I need a shave.
On the other hand, it’s getting cold, and the fur on my face helps on those long walks to class.
On the other hand, I’m starting to look like a caveman.
Whatever.
Who gives a shit?
“I need help breaking things off with Ryann.”
This gives me pause. “Her name is Ryann?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s a guy’s name.”
Diego rolls his eyes. “Can you focus for one second?”
“I’d focus if I gave two shits.”
“Dude, I’m your mejor amigo. You have to help me out.”
Whoa, where did that come from? The closest people I have as best friends are my brothers because family doesn’t fuck you over, and family doesn’t ask you to do things like break up with their girlfriend.
I’m Diego’s best friend? Since when? “Helping you out is one thing. Breaking up with a chick for you is another.” I heft my duffle over my shoulder. “Why are you bein’ so dramatic? Send her a text and be done with it. Also, stop callin’ me dude.”
Bein’ so dramatic…
I cringe hearing my Southern accent creeping in; it’s something I’ve been trying to lose, but man, when I get salty with someone, it tends to slip out.
“I told you…I’ve never had a girlfriend before.” His hands are splayed as he pleads with me.
I snort. Big deal if he’s never had a girlfriend before—as if that’s an excuse for being a dipshit. “I’m telling you it’s been two months and she’s not really your girlfriend. Just stop messaging her back. She’ll get the hint.” I walk toward the exit.