Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Why would he?
He doesn’t owe me a damn thing. I ghosted him. I avoid him. What am I even doing?
“I’m an idiot,” I say once Callie lands her dismount. She high-fives Coach since she stuck her dismount and then turns to look at me. “He has absolutely no reason to agree to anything I ask.”
Callie scoffs, but before she can say anything, Coach says, “Is this the woes of Cameron’s love life or gymnastics practice?” We all snicker at that as I line up to take my turn. “Instead of worrying about boys, worry about your toe hang and how you keep arching out of it, huh?”
He gives me a look, and I smile. “I’ve slayed that skill today.”
Coach’s eyes narrow. “Slayed? You poked it, barely, with a toothpick. Straight legs, pointed toes, White.”
I chuckle to myself as I clap my hands together, the chalk flying. Before I can go, though, Callie comes up next to the bars to watch. Our eyes meet, and she says, “Just like I know you’re going to land this skill, I know he’s gonna agree.”
“So, I shouldn’t try to miss the skill to make myself feel better in case he does the opposite of what you say?” I ask, my heart unable to slow down at all.
I feel like I’ve downed six Red Bulls, but I swear my heart freezes with the ice-cold look Coach sends me.
“You miss this skill on purpose, you won’t have a spot in the lineup for our first meet.”
“Jeez,” I mutter, making sure my grips are on tightly. “I was just kidding.”
I wasn’t, but he doesn’t need to know that.
And just to prove my statement more, I slay the skill. But that doesn’t give me the confidence I need to face Benson.
I’m late.
Which isn’t that much of surprise for anyone who knows me. I’m pretty sure when they discovered the time blindness disorder, my photo was added beside the definition. I thought I had enough time to shower and straighten my hair since I wanted to look presentable and enticing to Benson, but maybe I should have left my hair to dry. Or maybe not put on a full face of makeup. Or change my outfit six times.
Not that any of that matters as I run into the meeting rooms of the sports complex like I’m running toward a vault. We were going to meet at a coffee shop, per his suggestion, but I decided it’d be better to be alone, so no one hears us or bothers us. After I pass by three meeting rooms, I finally find him on his phone, sitting casually, his long legs out in front of him. His ankles are crossed, each cord of muscle in his legs on display. He is focused on his phone, so I draw a deep breath as I take him in.
Damn, he’s stunning.
His dark curls, which are usually wild and unruly, are wet and combed to the side, giving him some extra length on one side of his head. Dark hair dusts along his jaw, accentuating his chiseled cheekbones and masculine jawline. His thick, rosy lips are pursed as he stares at his phone so intently, I almost don’t want to bother him. But I know I have to. As my breathing goes back to normal, I start for the door while I move my eyes along his body. His Bullies pullover hugs his shoulders, and even with the extra fabric, it’s hard to ignore the pure strength it covers. He’s wearing a pair of black shorts, his legs thick and coarse with hair. His black Nike socks are high on his calves with bright teal Crocs on his feet.
As I walk into the room, he cuts his eyes up to me, taking me in through those dark lashes. I swallow hard as heat rushes through me. And my heart…I don’t know if it’ll ever beat right. We say nothing for a long minute as we stare at each other.
He sets his phone between his thighs, not breaking eye contact as he leans back in the chair. Not only does the chair protest his weight, but the movement he makes fills the room with his cologne. Sandalwood and rosemary. I know that scent because I went shopping with him to get it one time. My body burns, my cheeks flushing when I remember running my nose along his neck, taking in his scent as he brought me to the edge with his fingers between my thighs.
Oh, I know for a fact that I’m making a bad choice. Such a bad one.
Heat swirls in Benson’s eyes as he drinks me in, leaving me utterly breathless. I don’t understand it; we haven’t had any communication, but my body yearns for him. His tongue then shoots out, wetting his lips, and I jerkily reach for the chair, sitting down as far from him as I can. I exhale, letting my breath out with a whoosh before I urge myself to say, “Thanks for meeting with me.”