Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
And somehow, I knew he didn’t just mean the game, but he was proud of me for what I’d said about Houston, too.
8
HOUSTON
“Did you and Cain Payton really get in a fistfight in Vegas last year?”
“Have you been to the Playboy Mansion?”
“What was dating Lila Monroe like? Are her tits real? They’re fake, aren’t they?”
“No way. They’re real!”
“Psht. Because she says so?”
“Who cares if they’re real or fake? She’s hot as fuck. How could you fuck that up, man?”
The questions came rapid-fire and on top of each other, a verbal pile-up that left me slack-jawed as I stared at Canyon High’s football team. Or maybe I should’ve said former football team since Cullen’s appearance at their practice had turned them into gossip-loving teenyboppers. “Is this a football team or a bunch of cub tabloid reporters? Jesus.”
Cullen looked amused, though, and cut me a sidelong smirk before addressing the eager gazes of the boys surrounding him. I hadn’t seen them this keyed up since they took down a rival private school with a Hail Mary pass last season. “Yes. Yes. And no comment about Lila Monroe because I’m a gentleman.”
I cracked up. “Since when, the last thirty seconds?”
“Thirty-five. It’s never too late to start.”
“Right.” I shook my head and turned my focus away from Cullen’s smirk. It was too knowing and smug, and when he aimed it at me, somehow, it felt like there was an added electrical undercurrent. Living together had made it worse. The second he walked through the door after practice, I knew he was there, even if I didn’t hear him come in, a shift in energy and tension I felt all through my body. “So, how about we actually get to some football. Do some drills. After—” I paused. “Some gassers.” Everyone groaned at that. “Cullen’s gonna keep y’all company and run them with you,” I tacked on. Served him right for smirking at me like that. Gentleman, my ass.
“Hey, it’s my day off,” Cullen protested.
“Which means a couple of gassers won’t hurt you.”
“Alright, you can do them with us, too. And don’t even try to pull the busted knee card.”
“I’m totally pulling the busted knee card.” I waved them off. Downfield, Coach Beam was working with some freshmen, and all the questions about Cullen’s personal life were putting us behind schedule. “Get your butts out there.”
“Is McRae always this bossy?” Jericho asked. He was one of the school’s wide receivers and talented enough that I suspected he’d have plenty of scholarship offers. He also had a mouth on him.
“Always.” Cullen nodded solemnly, then glanced over at me with a twinkle in his eyes. And that smirk on his lips. Again. “But sometimes it’s not so bad. C’mon.”
I watched as the guys walked onto the field, Cullen leading. I’d been half-joking when I told him earlier to get his ass off the couch and come to Canyon High with me, and even more surprised when he shrugged and did. The guys had gone as apeshit as I’d expected them to, and that had been amusing to see. I’d never thought I’d be good with kids, but after having worked with these guys for as long as I had, I’d gotten invested in them. Protective, even.
After gassers—I tacked on an extra one for the reappearance of Cullen’s smirk earlier—we ran some drills and plays. Cullen remained on the field with the guys the entire time, like one of the team, and got so into it he didn’t even call me out or give me the usual lip the entire time.
When we got to the scrimmage, he trotted off the field and joined me on the sidelines along with Coach Beam.
“Good of you to take time out of your day to come,” he told Cullen, clapping him on the shoulder before thumbing at me. “Not sure why this guy keeps showing up, considering the shit pay.”
“There is no pay.” I grinned.
“Exactly,” Coach said with a chuckle. “If I had a quarter mil, I’d throw my hat in the ring. You’ve been good for this team. Y’sure you want to go on that interview in Cali?” He said some version of this every time I went on an interview. “I hear the weather is shit.”
“Not to mention he’d be in bed with the Rush’s biggest rival. Traitor.” Cullen narrowed his eyes at me, a playful glint in them.
We all laughed, and then Coach lasered in on Tate as he flubbed a pass, barking out a “don’t fall back so much next time, Tate. You ain’t Manning yet.”
“He’s still getting in his head on that play. Getting too nervous,” I said, and Coach nodded. “We’ll get him there, though.”
Aware that Cullen had gone unusually silent, I glanced over at him to find him staring at me, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “What?”
He shrugged and turned his attention back to the field. “Nothing.”