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)
“Because you’re so much fun?”
Fun? Eh, no.
Popular, yes.
“I mean, I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t be curious, though I’d probably be bored out of my mind.” Ryann studies me. “How are your grades?”
I shrug. “Good. I got a 4.0 last semester.”
She squints. “But are those regular classes or like, the fake classes they put athletes in so they pass and barely have to use two brain cells?”
I smirk. “Regular classes. You know, like the ones you’re in.”
Smart-ass.
She scratches her chin. “What’s your major?”
“Business.”
Ryann nods.
“What’s yours?”
“Mass comm.”
“Sounds like a copout. What does that even mean?”
“I want to be in marketing or advertising.” She thinks for a second. “What will happen to you if the football thing doesn’t work out for you?”
I scoff. “The football thing is going to work out.”
“But what if it doesn’t?”
“It will.” I pause. “Why are you arguing with me?”
Ryann has the balls to shrug, nonplussed. “What if you twist a knee or break your leg and can’t play? Then what?”
Obviously, I’ve thought of that, but she doesn’t have to freaking throw it in my face.
It’s something most athletes think about on a regular basis, if not every single day they step out onto the field. Will this be the day I strain a muscle? Will this be the day I tear a ligament? Will this be the day…?
“Let’s pretend I don’t get hurt and I play football, and I’ll only need my business degree when I retire, mmkay?” Jesus.
“Fine.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “So you want to hang out and be photographed with me so everyone in America gets warm fuzzies when they think of you and wants to buy posters with your face on them for their kids’ bedroom walls.”
I nod. “Yes.”
I have no idea what’s going on behind those green eyes right now, but when she opens her mouth, I’m so sure she’s going to tell me what I want to hear.
She doesn’t.
“I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll think about it? That’s it?”
This chick needs to enter a poker championship. Expression blank, she regards me. Blinks a few times.
Takes a bite of apple.
“Yup.”
ten
ryann
“I asked my client today what he’s looking for in his relationship. He looked at me and said, ‘A way out.’”
– Dr. Laura Winters
Dallas needs my help in more ways than one.
The guy is a mess, and I’m not just talking about this “need” to be seen with me in public to help his career.
Ridiculous.
A veritable commitment-phobe if I’ve ever seen one, as was made clear when I Googled him and learned a bit about his past. He had a father who was cheating on his mother—in the public eye, no less—which would surely sour a young guy on monogamous relationships.
“Not to sound like a brat, but…what would I be getting out of this? Why should I help you?”
“Nothing, I guess.”
Nothing.
Yet there he sat, wanting a favor from a girl he’s known all of one week, barely. He had no problem breaking up with me for my boyfriend, and he has no issue asking me to play house with him for who knows how long, all to benefit him.
He’s done me dirty twice now.
The ego on this guy.
He wasn’t helping Diego for the money; he did it because he was bored and because he was at the theater across the street anyway and it was barely an inconvenience to walk over and wait for me.
The nerve.
I’m mad all over again, stewing over the nuances of our meeting. The discovery that we’re in the same business class.
I’ll give him some credit—the dude doesn’t give up.
He needs my help all right, but not because he needs a pretend girlfriend.
Nope.
Dallas Colter needs to be taught how to treat a woman, and as the daughter of two relationship therapists, I’m the perfect person to do that.
eleven
dallas
“If you don’t remember her name in the morning, just take her to Starbucks.”
– Drake giving dating advice to his brothers
“You did what?”
My brother’s eyes are wide, cereal spoon halfway to his mouth.
“I invited Ryann Winters to the house.”
Drew sets his spoon down; it clanks in the glass bowl. “Wait…isn’t that the chick you dumped?”
“It is. How do you remember her name?”
“Because—she has a dude’s name. Those you don’t forget.” He resumes eating, holding his spoon like it’s a tiny shovel.
I set my own bowl in the sink. “Anyway, she’ll be here tonight to hang out, so don’t act like an asshole.”
“Me? Since when am I the asshole? You’re the one who holds that title.”
My brother isn’t wrong; he isn’t actually an asshole. In fact, Drew is one of the coolest, most decent dudes I know—and I’m not just saying that because he’s my brother.
“All I’m saying is, don’t say anything stupid.”
I invited Ryann over to discuss the terms and details and to get her to commit to helping me, once and for all.