Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Rowan stretches out beside me. His head is only a few inches from mine. The tips of our fingers touch but don’t entwine. And yet, I’m acutely aware of them.
Of him.
All it would take is a slight movement, and we would be holding hands. The temptation that crashes over me only serves to confuse me more. If I’m being completely honest with myself, I’m ridiculously aware of Rowan on every level. I’m hyperaware of the way his chest rises and falls with each deep inhalation. No one has ever made me feel like this, and I’m uncertain what to do with it.
“It wasn’t a big deal.” His voice drops, becoming rough and low. “I understand why you did it.”
And yet, the hurt that had flashed across his face tells a different story.
“I shouldn’t have. You were only trying to help. The rumors have circulated before, and I’m sure they’ll make the rounds again before I graduate.” I’ve enjoyed going to school here and playing soccer, but the gossip is one thing I won’t miss.
“Justin is an asshole for turning everything around on you.”
True story.
“Yup, he is.” For the umpteenth time, regret flickers through me. “I wish I’d realized it sooner.”
“Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”
I rotate my head until our gazes can lock. A small smile simmers on his face.
“Please, you’ve never liked any of the guys I’ve dated.”
“Can I help it if you have terrible taste in men?”
“Oh, really?” My brows shoot up across my forehead. I’m about to argue when I slam my mouth shut. He’s right. I have shitty taste in men which is exactly why none of my previous relationships have worked out.
“Fine. If there comes a time when I’m ready to date, I’ll let you pick out the next victim. You couldn’t possibly do any worse than me.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” he shoots back. “Although, you might be surprised by who I choose.”
The scrape of his deep voice sends a fresh wave of nerves cascading down my spine. The way his blue eyes sharpen on me has the bottom of my belly hollowing out.
A heavy silence descends.
He raises a brow in challenge. “Not going to ask who I have in mind?”
It’s a loaded question, and we both realize it. I’m not quite ready to go there. Not when I’m still licking the wounds Justin needlessly inflicted earlier this morning. When neither of us takes the conversation further, the thick tension permeating the air gradually recedes, leaving behind a surprising tranquility as we lay stretched out in the middle of the football field. It feels as if something unidentifiable has shifted but I’m not sure what; or even how it happened.
After about five minutes, I clear my throat and force out the rest. “I also wanted to thank you for coming to my defense. You didn’t need to get involved.”
When he turns his head, I do the same until our gazes collide. Confusion furrows his brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”
I jerk my shoulders and try to come up with a plausible explanation before finally admitting the truth. “I guess we’ve never really been friends.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” A heartbeat passes. “Why do you think that is?”
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and chew it thoughtfully before refocusing my attention on the cloudless sky overhead. It feels as if I’m walking through a minefield. One wrong answer could blow me to smithereens.
When I remain silent, he says, “Demi?” A strange urgency fills his voice. One that brings the tension that always seems to simmer beneath the surface back full force. He rolls onto his side so that his head is propped up by his palm, and he’s able to stare down at me.
My tongue darts out to moisten my lips. “I don’t know...”
How can I explain that I’m frightened by the intense energy we always generate? That I’ve never experienced this level of attraction with anyone else. Maybe it’s one-sided, and he’s unaware of it. Somehow, it would be worse if he did feel it because there’s not a damn thing that can happen. Rowan is Dad’s star quarterback. And I’m the coach’s daughter. I’m not the type of person who believes rules are in place to be broken.
“I think you do, and I want you to tell me,” he urges. When I fail to respond, he continues. “You’ve always kept me at arm’s length. Are you finally going to tell me why?”
“That’s not true,” I whisper. But Rowan is right, that’s exactly what I do.
A knowing smile settles on his lips. “Yeah, it is. And I get the feeling it’s purposeful.”
It’s shocking to realize how much he’s noticed throughout the years. Too scared to reveal the truth, I scramble to come up with an alternative that’s believable. “I’m not sure you’ll understand...”
The intensity of his stare never wavers. “Try me.”