Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“Want to get some air?”
While the front yard of the Snake Pit was crawling with students, the back yard was a serene garden, a hidden oasis that it seemed no one bothered to investigate because it was far too quiet to be part of the party. Shawn and I walked by a small pod of people passing around a joint before we found a bench along the stone path, a bubbling bird bath and feeder in front of it along with a rose garden that I was fairly certain had to be landscaped by a paid company.
No way was there a college football player with that green of a thumb.
Shawn gestured to the bench for me to sit first, and once I had, he sat right next to me, his thigh brushing the outside of mine. My cheeks heated at the contact, but he seemed unfazed, simply reclining and widening his stance as he threw an arm along the back of the bench.
“Color me impressed,” he mused, eyes trailing over the garden.
I chuckled. “Yeah, not exactly what I expected to find back here. I was assuming it’d be more of a trash-littered patch of dirt.”
“Is it your first time here?”
I tucked my hands under my thighs. “Yes. Although, from the time I’ve spent in the locker room, I’m pretty used to the noise level. And the smell.”
“The locker room?” Shawn frowned.
“I’m the Public Relations Assistant Coordinator for the team,” I clarified.
Shawn sat up a little straighter. “No shit?” He shook his head. “You’re just full of surprises. Forgive me, but… I can’t picture you in that role at all.”
“That’s part of the reason why I picked it,” I said with a smile. “Who would look at me and see someone confident enough to boss around ginormous football players?”
“I guess I should expect the unexpected with you, shouldn’t I, Giana?”
Shawn offered me a lazy smile, and I bit the inside of my lip, heart picking up its pace inside my chest. I was so used to staring at him on a stage. It was unnerving to have him staring back, and so closely.
Talk about his music.
Clay’s words snapped me back to the present. “I’m surprised you don’t have a gig tonight,” I commented.
Shawn relaxed into the bench. “I like to take a Saturday off from time to time. And believe it or not, I’m a pretty big football fan. I wouldn’t miss the first game.”
“It is kind of hard to believe,” I admitted. “That someone so artistic would also be a football junkie.”
“What, I can’t sing John Mayer songs and also paint the school colors on my chest and scream like a banshee in the stands?”
I chuckled. “Body paint? Now that I’d like to see.”
It was a joke, light and effortless when I said it, but Shawn cocked a brow at the insinuation that I wanted to see his body, and I instantly paled.
“Um. I mean, the school spirit, of course. Not the body paint. Or the body. Not that I wouldn’t like to see your body. I mean, not that I would—”
Shawn just smiled, letting me ramble on, no trace of any intention to stop me from embarrassing myself further. So I clamped my mouth shut, burying my face in my hands.
“Sorry,” I murmured through them. “It’s been a long night.”
When I peeked back at him, his smile was gone, concern etched into his features. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I frowned, wondering what he meant, and I was just about to tell him I only meant that I was a little tired after staying out so late last night when I realized he was referring to Clay.
Talk a little shit about me.
I folded my arms over my chest, sinking back. “Not really.”
I aimed for sad, poor neglected girlfriend as I trained my gaze on my kitten heels, not offering anything further.
“Is he always like that?”
The question was soft, timid, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask it.
I shrugged. “He’s a football player. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just playing the part.”
I was surprised how easy that excuse tumbled out of me, and surprised even more when Shawn slid a little closer, one hand coming down to touch my knee gently. He waited until my eyes flashed to his, and I wondered if he could hear the way my heart accelerated at the feel of his hand on me.
“It means something if it hurts you.”
I melted at the words, at how sincere his expression was. It was a line straight out of a romance novel, further proving to me that Shawn Stetson was a bonified book hero. My lips parted to answer him, but then his eyes fell to my mouth, and any attempt at speaking failed me.
He stared and stared as I held my breath, and slowly, his eyes crawled back up to mine. That hand on my knee tightened, just a fraction, and he leaned in, just a centimeter, his lips on track for mine…