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)
“Are you serious?”
I shrug. “I guess so.”
“Wait—how am I just hearing about this? Have you been holding out on me?”
Yes and no.
Mostly yes.
“We have a class together and he started sitting by me.” Which is kind of annoying since he never shuts up. “He barely fits in the desk.”
“What class is it?” Sav asks.
“Business communication.”
She pulls a face. “Ugh, I have that next semester! If I’d known he was in it, I could have switched.”
I want to roll my eyes but refrain. “You would have transferred so you could stare at the back of Dallas Colter’s head?”
“Stare at his head, make small talk, try to get him to ask me out.”
Ask her out?
Oh Lord, don’t tell me she’s one of those girls who chase guys based on their status. Sav? She seems so…so…down to earth. And…decent. And here she is talking about getting him to ask her out when I’m the one who brought her here to the game on his dime!
She thinks you’re just friends…
Well, after tonight, when I’m plastered all over the friggin’ sports channels and God only knows where else, she’ll know we’re not just friends. She’ll know it’s real.
Real fake.
I have to bite my tongue, staring down onto the field, armed with the binoculars my dad told me I should bring. He was so jealous when I told him; because I’m not a huge sports nut, we’ve never done any games the times he’s come to visit. When he found out I’d be spending the day at a game (after having to swap shifts with another server at work, mind you), he told me to grab some cheap binoculars.
I hold them to my eyes, moving them around the sidelines, scanning for number fourteen.
I spot Dallas right away—he’s catching balls with some guy not in a uniform. A short while later, someone comes to spray water in his mouth, then takes the football from his hands. Another dude walks over with a clipboard; that guy is wearing a headset and holding the mouthpiece and I have no idea what’s going on.
It’s loud and electric in the stadium, louder and more exciting than I could have imagined as someone who’s never imagined they’d be here watching men run around in tight pants throwing a leather ball on a field and tackling each other, but here we are.
I don’t know the rules.
I don’t know how the game is played.
I have no idea what the positions are or what their jobs are, but by the third quarter, I’m jumping up and down and screaming with the rest of the crowd as our boys in red catch a ball at the end of the field near the goal post.
Everyone loses their minds.
I gasp. “Holy shit! That was Dallas.”
Winnie smacks me on the arm, appalled by my lack of attentiveness. “No shit that’s Dallas—haven’t you been paying attention to your man?”
My man.
I blush, tempted to tell her that’s not what he is but also remembering my promise not to tell a soul. Not yet anyway. Maybe not ever.
“I was paying attention, I swear! But it happened so fast. I only took my eyes off the field for a second.”
Seriously, who can focus with all the commotion? The marching band is playing, the fans are shouting, people are wearing costumes or have their bodies painted. Drunk, sober. It’s a veritable sea of red, and I’m drowning in the middle of it, determined to keep up with it all.
“Maybe if you weren’t gawking through those stupid glasses you wouldn’t have missed it.”
“I didn’t miss it. It just surprised me!”
“He’s had three touchdowns already—how is this one a surprise?”
Um. She doesn’t have to sound like such a bitch, her tone implying You’re so dumb, Ryann. I instantly regret inviting her when Rookie wanted to come—he’s a fan, and Sav is only here to make digs and muse about the best route for dating a football player.
Down on the field, they’re in the fourth quarter. I don’t know where the time went, but it flew by, our team winning by two touchdowns or points or however it’s scored, the crowd in no hurry to depart. Everyone seems keen to party despite the concession stands having cut off the alcohol flow after halftime, a rule I did not know existed.
There are locker room interviews with the athletes and coaches up on the massive screens, and I stare, phone in my hand, watching for Dallas.
My palm vibrates.
Dallas:
You still here?
I gave him my phone number after letting him know I was coming to the game, friends in tow, once I was able to convince my coworker to swap shifts.
Yes, we’re slowly gravitating toward the exit.
Want to meet me in the parking lot?
Which parking lot, you weirdo
I park at the back, there’s a section for us by the entrance closest to the locker rooms.