Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“I’m hungry,” Nola says. My stomach growls loud enough for her to hear. She covers her mouth and cackles. I roll my eyes and pray no one else heard it.
“Thanks.” It’s her fault. Lately, food doesn’t interest me. My mother has picked up on the fact I’ve lost weight and barely eat. I don’t have the heart to tell her or anyone in my family about Ben and what we’re going through. How do I tell my loved ones when I don’t understand myself?
“We can head into the stadium and get something,” I tell her.
“Or we can introduce you to people, tell them who you are, and see what they give us.” Nola waggle’s her eyebrows and she smiles like the Cheshire cat. Nola doesn’t care that she’s intermingled with a famous family, and rarely tells people who she’s engaged to, until she wants something. Even then, she’s joking. She’s never used Quinn’s name to get anything from anyone. She likes to tease though.
“Or we go find my dad and drag him around the parking lot with us.”
Nola’s mouth drops open and she gasps. “Oh my, can you even imagine? We wouldn’t make it past the first row. Of course, if we did this, I’d have to get a bullhorn to let everyone know Harrison James walks among us.”
This time, I laugh. More times than not, my dad and uncles can mingle without anyone realizing who they are, until it’s too late. Of course, there are those super fans who recognize them immediately and alert everyone else to their presence.
“I can’t believe we aren’t sitting in a suite today. Do you think anyone is going to bug Quinn?”
I shake my head. “They haven’t yet,” I point out. “He’s never in a suite when he’s in Portland, neither is Liam. They like to be where the action is.”
“Yeah, true.” Nola sighs. “Truth be told, I don’t want to wait in line for food.”
I laugh at her statement. There are definite perks that come with being who we are or who we are related to. “Tell Peyton, I’m sure she can set something up.”
“You tell her,” Nola says as she bumps her shoulder with mine. “If it comes from you, it won’t seem like I’m looking for handouts.”
“Peyton would never think that of you,” I tell her. “You’re going to be our sister, we love you.”
Nola beams and throws her arms around me. We hug it out for a minute in the middle of the parking lot, with tens of thousands of people surrounding us, and no one knowing who we are. It’s an amazing feeling. I suppose if my hair wasn’t tucked under a ballcap and I had on my Noah Westbury jersey, someone might give us a double take. As is it, everyone is either wearing a Pioneers jersey or one for the other team. It’s nice to blend in.
We make our way to the family entrance and show our passes. Nola grabs my arm and drags me to the family area where there’s food. I lean in and ask in a hushed tone, “Are you pregnant?”
Nola stops dead in her tracks, turns, and looks at me. Her eyes are wide, scared. “Why would you ask such a thing?” she asks in a noticeably clear southern accent. Most of the time, I barely hear it because I’m used to it, and she works hard to speak without a drawl. I actually don’t mind it and think it’s rather cute. It gives her character, and she stands out among the rest of us, which isn’t a bad thing.
“You’re yanking my arm out of the socket for a hotdog.”
“Not just any hotdog, Elle. The hotdog. Ballpark hotdogs are the best.”
“We’re not in a ballpark,” I point out. “We’re in a stadium. What if the hotdog sucks?”
She waves her hand and dismisses me. “Same diff.”
I’m not sure it is, but who am I to argue. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Nola starts to walk, but I stand there. She turns and puts her hands on her hips and juts out her right leg. “I am not pregnant.”
I shrug. “Wouldn’t matter if you were.”
“It would to my parents. Those southern values run deep. My mother harps on me every time we talk about how Quinn and I are living in sin, and how we should be married by now. How no one likes a long engagement. Lord, I could go on and on.”
I close the gap between us and place my hands on her shoulders. For a brief moment I’m about to tell her about Ben, and how he feels the same way, but then I stop, and start to wonder if there’s something wrong with us—Quinn and me—because we’re both engaged but haven’t set wedding dates. Unlike Peyton, who couldn’t walk down the aisle fast enough. I chalk her quickness up to her accident and the fact that she knew she would marry Noah when she was five.