Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“A proposal? Sorry, I’m too young to get married.” I chuckle, laughing at my own joke, the cold air creating puffs out of my warm breath.
He rolls his eyes. “Har, har—you’re funny.”
“What?” I smirk. “I’m a catch.”
“Such a catch that Diego dumped you.”
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, prepared to spar.
“Screw. You.”
“No, thanks.”
Letting out a frustrated grunt, I stomp down the sidewalk, fumbling for the app on my phone my parents said I could charge to their credit card so I won’t have to walk home after work when it gets cold.
I also need to get away from this megadouche.
“I’m kidding.” He’s still behind me, hustling to keep up. “Ryann, stop.”
He hasn’t said please, so I don’t heed him, bossy asshole.
“I might need your help.”
Might need my help? For what?
I roll my eyes heavenward instead of stopping like he wants me to. Didn’t his mother teach him any manners?
We walk on.
At the busy street separating campus from Frat Row, I look both ways so I can safely cross, hoping he’ll abort his mission and go on his merry little way.
Students who recognize Dallas give us our space but also stare, visibly trying to decide if they should interrupt us to greet him and at the same time wondering what the hell we’re about, glaring at one another.
“Please.”
Ah, there it is.
“What do you want?”
He glances around, sneaky like. “Maybe not here.”
The crosswalk signal turns green, so I step down into the street, hoofing it across, Dallas right behind me.
I walk to the next block before whipping around. “What?” I toss my hands in the air, exasperated. “This is as far as you go.”
I look him up and down and immediately regret it.
“I have a proposal for you.”
“Uh-huh, you said as much before you insulted me.”
One would think this would be the perfect opening for him to apologize, but no—not him. Not Dallas Colter, almighty campus legend. God forbid.
Yeah.
The jerk is a campus legend according to the Googling I’ve done despite myself, every glowing word grating on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
The Most Anticipated New Player in NFL History…
Dallas Colter, following in and filling very large footsteps…
Dallas Colter, Most Eligible Bachelor on Campus…
And my favorite headline from Sports Illustrated?
One-Track Minded: Dallas Colter Hasn’t Had a Girlfriend Since Middle School
As if. Give me a break.
“When did I insult you?”
“Um, when you said Diego dumped me.”
“But he did.”
“I know that!” I’m practically stomping my foot on the ground like a child. “You just don’t say that to someone’s face.”
“Okay. So you’d rather I lie to your face?”
I slash my hand through the air. “How about we don’t talk about it? Like, at all.”
He huffs. “You brought it up.”
Oh my God. “What do you want? Get to the point.”
He stares down his nose at me, brows rising.
Dallas has a knit winter hat pulled down over his hair now; it covers his ears and the mop of glorious black hair I now know exists.
“Are you always this moody?”
Moody?
“Sorry I’m not falling at your feet like everyone else does.”
“Everyone does not fall at my feet. That’s absurd.” He crosses his arms and leans against the traffic pole, legs crossed at the ankle, looking way too casual.
“You were saying?” Let’s move this along before my boobs freeze off.
“I know you just got out of a relationship.” He punctuates this statement with an eye roll. “And I’m not saying I’m looking for one, but I have this agent—”
“You have an agent?”
“Yes.”
“For what?” Seriously. He’s what, twenty-one? I work at ROSCOE + MIMI serving pancakes during the lunch shift and he has an actual agent?
“Um…to negotiate contracts and to get me through the NFL draft?”
“Oh.”
Dallas uncrosses his legs. “Anyway. He’s worried I’m not approachable enough.”
“Approachable enough for what?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Team owners or whatever.”
I smirk. “You are kind of a grouch.”
He frowns. “No, I’m not.”
“Uh, yeah you are, but okay.”
He stares me down. “As I was saying, Eli was telling me that a lot of teams want someone family-oriented. So they can relate to their fans.”
“Uh-huh.” Losing interest and still waiting for this crosswalk to turn green, I begin digging through my backpack for a piece of gum. Wish I had a pair of mittens or something to keep my hands warm—suddenly they’re freezing cold.
I pop gum in my mouth and rub my palms together, willing the lights to change color.
“…help me out for a few weeks.”
“Huh?”
“Are you listenin’ to a word I say?”
Listenin’.
So Southern.
“I heard half of what you said, most of it was ‘blah blah blah are you listenin’ to a word I say.’”
Finally, the light changes and we’re not alone any longer, students at the corner joining us on our walk across the street.
We’re like a small herd of sheep.
Dallas Colter is still trailing after me, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his hat. Shoulders slouched. He either doesn’t want to be recognized or he’s freezing cold. Can’t tell which one.