Total pages in book: 191
Estimated words: 182070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Nice, I was not—or half the time I wasn’t. But that was everyone. At least that’s what I was going to tell myself.
This man who was trying to be my friend again gave me a slightly brighter smile than the one before. “I told you back then boys were dumb.”
I snorted, and it felt natural. Right. “They still are.”
Zac’s smile turned lopsided in the blink of an eye, and I could see the affection flare back up behind his eyes. And that was natural and right too. Familiar. “When’d you lose it, Peewee?”
Why my virginity was the first thing that popped into my head, I had no fucking clue. Then I got it. It. The weight. The “baby fat” as I’d clung to calling it.
“It took a few years, but… ta-da.” I snorted and shrugged. “I’m happy.”
That very white smile that had been a product of three years of braces according to Boogie—because in my head it felt like he’d only had them for a couple months—went full beam on me. “Happy looks good on you.” His nostrils flared a little. “You’re somethin’, kiddo.”
Something.
Considering all the women he’d seen, the actually beautiful women he’d seen, I was going to take his compliment for what it was: he’d cared about me, and what I looked like had never mattered to him. It was a compliment from a wonderful man who had told me not to let dumb boys get to me. Who had gone to school to pick me up with Boogie when I’d been sixteen, scowling the whole time because Boogie had told him I’d been upset that this boy had called me an ugly name since I wouldn’t let him copy my homework and it had gotten to me.
“Thanks, Snack Pack,” I told him sincerely, clinging to that memory, him demanding I tell them who’d made me cry. I never did tell him, but he’d really tried to get it out of me. Him and Boogie. “So,” I shrugged for about the eightieth time, “you want some frozen yogurt?”
He gave me a side look that said, “What do you think?
I smiled at him and handed it over. “Hey, was that Trevor I saw run upstairs when I got here?”
“I’m sure it was. He’s here this week. Most of the time he’s in LA, sometimes he’s in New York, and every once in a while, he makes some house calls to the couple other players he manages just to make sure they aren’t screwin’ up.”
“You and CJ let him stay here? Or is this CJ’s house and he lets you stay here?” I finally asked, trying to figure this shit out.
“This is Trevor’s place. His ‘Houston’ house.” He used quotation marks and waggled his eyebrows. “He’s from League City.” That was a suburb on the outskirts of Houston. “He’s only here a week out of the month, if that. He lets me and CJ stay here.”
Ohhh. That kind of explained things. The bare minimum furniture. The fact the house looked brand new, because no one really lived in it.
“No use wastin’ money stayin’ somewhere when I won’t be there for long, you know?”
Something slender and sad slipped over and into my chest slowly. God, I hoped things went well for him. I hoped he could settle down for the remainder of his career and be happy.
I understood what he meant. I’d followed him closely enough to get it. He’d been released once back in Dallas, and now Oklahoma had said, “See ya.” I had a tiny memory of overhearing Zac tell Boogie years ago about how much he and his mom had moved around Texas before they’d moved back in with her parents.
I kept my mouth closed and my thoughts to myself.
“Not so bad, huh?” he finished, but I didn’t like the way he asked it.
I should bring it up to Boogie, have him make sure he was really fine. That was best friend territory, not person-I-haven’t-seen-or-remembered-in-ten-years territory.
I was going to stay in my lane. I knew my lane and felt comfortable in it. I still hadn’t even gotten around to asking him about his tryout in San Diego. Part of me hoped he’d bring it up on his own, but I’d give him a chance. Or at least a little while.
“I’m glad you think living in this big-ass house isn’t so bad,” I told him with a straight face, hoping to lighten him up a bit in the meantime. “I’m sure it’s hard to slum it in the master suite.”
He stared at me for a second. Then his laugh drawled out of him, all slow and lazy. But even his features lit up.
“I mean, these hardwood floors aren’t marble, old man. I don’t know how your sensitive feet can stand it.”
He straight-up groaned, but I caught a peek at those flashing white teeth, and it was nice. Real nice. “All right. I deserved that.” He glanced up at the vaulted ceiling, those lean cheeks pulled wide with the smile still on his face, a big smile. “This place is bigger than five of the houses we grew up in, huh?”