Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“I watched it on TV…when I saw you sitting next to him in the green room, I could’ve sworn my heart stopped.” Grant searches my face for a reaction but he won’t find it there. It’s inside my chest thumping double time. “You were wearing this dress that was too big for you.”
I remember that dress. I borrowed it from one of the other models I was living with at the time and didn’t try it on before that night.
“Man, that thing was ugly,” he continues with a smirk. “But you were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen…” Dancing blue eyes move over my face. “Still are.”
I’m the one blushing for a change.
“It took me three years to get the courage to ask your brother if you were dating anyone. He said you were unavailable.”
If I didn’t love Cal so much, I’d hire a hit man.
“I kept asking him but year in and year out he kept saying the same thing––” His hand runs up the side of my leg and grips my hip possessively. Pulling me closer, he guides my leg over his, strokes my breast. Pelvis to pelvis, the hard length of his erection brushes up against me until I can barely think straight. “Was he telling the truth?”
“Kind of.” My face puckers at the memory of how much I was drinking back then. “I was in a hot and heavy love triangle with Mr. Grey Goose and Sir Belvedere…then I found out I was pregnant.”
Unlike my parents, my dependency was strictly an emotional crutch. Which is why I could function and start and stop at will, one could argue also inevitably prolonging the pain. Everyone saw me surviving, taking care of my child, and showing up for work whenever I was booked so they assumed it was under control.
“And Ronan?” He kisses my collarbone and moves up my neck, the scrape of his short beard causing me to shiver and lean in. I pull back and stare into his face before answering. I want him to see the truth on mine.
“It was never anything real. Our broken parts matched…that’s all.”
Whatever crosses Grant’s mind makes him look vulnerable. “You remember the Super Bowl party Cal had at the house––when he was still married to Kim?”
“Don’t remind me,” I reply.
The year the Titans won the Super Bowl it happened to be in New York, at Met Life Stadium. Cal and his first wife threw a party at his gated property in New Jersey. Everyone on the team was invited, the staff and their families. I’d gotten so shit-faced I woke up in the guest bedroom, alone, with a raging headache and only a foggy recollection of the night. The next day I checked into an outpatient rehab.
“When I saw you I thought––this was my chance. We had a nice conversation…I was about to ask you out when you excused yourself and said you’d be right back.” My stomach sinks, foreshadowing what will surely be a terrible punch line because a vague notion of what happened is creeping back to me. “You were speaking to Cal when I found you in the kitchen.”
“I think I remember,” I mutter, slapping a hand over my eyes.
“I heard Cal say, ‘Leave him alone. He’s a good guy.’ And then you said, ‘Your meathead teammates bore me. I’d rather join a convent than date one of them.’”
I rock my hips against him and cup his beloved face. “Grant––” I wait for him to look at me. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. I was drunk and Cal hurt my feelings. He made it sound like I wasn’t good enough for you so I said something stupid. I’ve always been really good at hiding how drunk I was…In all honestly, I would’ve ruined it anyway.”
A concerned frown doctors his face. “When did you start drinking?”
“France. Paris wasn’t much better than Florida. The girls I shared the flat with no better than the ones at home. I was lonely, so far from the boys. The drinking started, the pills to keep the weight down––being told you’re fat all the time when your self-esteem is already in the toilet doesn’t help,” I say quickly, in the hope that if I rip off the scab fast enough, maybe it won’t hurt as much.
“I hated how the pills made me feel. I quit immediately. The drinking stayed with me––that’s how it started. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, too many to count. You should know that. You need to go into this with your eyes open.” I finish by clearing my throat, the aftertaste of my past bitter.
Grant nods, no evidence of contempt in his expression. He never fails to surprise me. Every time I think this is it, the place where he draws the line and recoils from me, he does the opposite, accepting me for who I am. Mistakes and all.