Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Alex laughs and I love the sound of his husky voice reverberating through laughter. “We’re away this weekend, but maybe next weekend?”
“Oh, okay.” I don’t know why, but I feel let down.
“You can watch us on television, even though I know you’ve never watched a game in your life.”
“How would I do that?” Gosh, I feel like a boob not knowing the basics of how to watch his game on TV.
Alex reaches for my hand. “If it’s okay with you, I can come by on Friday and download the app for you and show you have to navigate to our game.”
“I feel like—”
“Someone who doesn’t watch sports,” he finishes for me. I’m grateful he interjected before I would have called myself something a lot more derogatory.
“I’d like that.”
Alex finishes his lunch, and then we clean up. “Would you like a tour?”
“I’d love one.” He follows me into our open-plan space. I formally introduce him to everyone and then finish at my workspace. “It’s empty.”
“What are you talking about? I have my laptop, a plant, my phone, and that stack of paper in the corner are the manuscripts or proposals I’ve read.”
“And those books?” Alex asks about the two-tiered shelf under my window.
“Those are the published books I’ve edited. I get a copy from the printer before they send a box to the author or bookstore.”
Alex goes to the shelf, picks one up, and thumbs through it. “This is incredibly cool.”
“Thanks. I like my job.”
“You really must love reading.”
I shrug. “I do, but I love helping create a world where a reader can get lost. Many people use reading as an escape from reality. It’s nice when you can get lost in a book.”
“Do you ever have time to read for pleasure?”
“I do. In between edits, I’ll read. What about you? From everything I’ve learned, you’re busy.”
Alex nods and sets the book back on the shelf. “Once the season is over, I’ll read a memoir or a self-help book.” He turns toward me. “I’ve been thinking. I was wondering if you’d be able to help me write a children’s book.”
“A children’s book?” I ask.
“Yeah. Something I can hand out at charity events or when I visit the children’s hospital. I want to write about football, but from a kid's point of view.”
He wants to write a children’s book. And give it to kids.
“Oh, Alex,” I say as my hand covers my heart. “I’d love to help you.”
The smile I’m beginning to love spreads across his face in elation. “I’m happy you said yes.”
Did he think I’d say no?
There’s a pause, neither of us knowing what to say, until he says, “I should let you get back to work.”
I want to blurt out, “But when will I see you again?” as if we’re starring in some cheesy drama. Instead, I ask, “What are you doing for dinner?”
“No plans,” he tells me.
“Want to have dinner together? You can show me how to watch football. Six, my place?”
“I’ll be there.”
EIGHT
ALEX
For whatever reason, Kelsey makes me nervous. My palms sweat whenever she’s near, and my heart races, like the anticipation of seeing her is going to send me into cardiac arrest. I don’t ever remember feeling this way when I started dating Maggie. She was just . . . there.
Our relationship progressed slowly. At a snail’s pace, according to her. We bought a house together, which we sold when she decided to move to London. Our breakup wasn’t messy. We didn’t fight or say mean things to each other. Our time together ran its course.
Except, she hurt me when she took the job in London. In the same breath, she opened my eyes to how stagnant we were as lovers. While we were good friends who were supportive of each other’s careers and great for each other’s images, our love life was somewhat lacking the excitement both of us craved. We’d friend-zoned ourselves without even realizing it.
I don’t want to be Kelsey’s friend or a decent lover, and I don’t care if she’s good for my image—although how could she not be? I want to be her boyfriend and the one who ravishes her body at night. Hell, any time of the day, to be honest. I love the idea of lying next to her in bed and just being there while she reads. I want to sit next to her on the couch and watch her red pen make annotations that make zero sense to me. When I look around my house, I imagine her here. She’s on the couch, in the office working on a manuscript, lounging by the pool or setting up candles near the Jacuzzi tub. Her clothes are in my closet and her scent lingers in every room of my house.
But how do I tell her this after knowing her for days? The last thing I want to do is come off as someone who is looking for a rebound relationship because that’s what it looks like to me. Until I saw her with Myles, I never believed in true love. Still not sure I do, but there’s something between us and I want to explore it all.