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)
Okay. Text me later.
I will. Send me any updates…
forty
dallas
“Great boobs, good personality, shaves her legs regularly: that’s the holy trinity.”
– Duke Colter
This whole situation is a goddamn mess, and there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it.
I’ve called and texted and called Ryann so many times it’s borderline inappropriate, but short of showing up at her apartment, my hands are tied.
The media is having a field day with the story, running it on several news outlets, football’s golden boy now a philandering cheater after going public with a girlfriend just days ago.
Total.
Fucking.
Mess.
Even my mother has called, crying about the story. Telling me what an embarrassment it is and how she can barely go to the grocery store without being stopped by anyone with an asshole and an opinion.
Those weren’t her precise words, but they were close.
Mom has never called to reprimand me before. She knows the routine, knows how the media works. But the photograph was too damning to ignore, even for her.
Ryann will not talk to me.
Which means Ryann does not trust me.
Like I said, the whole situation is a goddamn mess.
I wonder if she’s working at the diner today. It’s been a while since she’s had a shift. Seems like since she and I started hooking up, she’s swapped shifts, called in, or taken off more often than not, one more thing for me to feel shitty about.
I stew at my desk, considering an ambush.
She would hate it, but I have to talk to her and tell her my side.
Standing, I grab a hoodie from the back of my chair and pull it on over my head.
Call to my brothers, “Going to see Ryann at work. Who wants to come with me?” as I bound down the stairs to the front door, stepping into a pair of sneakers.
Drake materializes. “I wanna come.”
Of course he does.
“Wait for me!” Drew barrels down the steps too, almost biffing it at the bottom, pulling on a pair of clunky boots that don’t go with the outfit he’s wearing: sweatpants and a sweatshirt.
“Easy there, tiger.” Drake smacks him in the arm. “Train hasn’t left the station yet.”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe I should go alone.”
“Don’t be an imbecile.” Drake laughs. “You’ll fuck it up if you go alone.”
Of course I’m going to fuck it up; either way, I’m screwed. Still gotta go say my piece to Ryann, plead my case. The competitor in me has to share my side of the story or bust.
My brothers and I pile into my truck, all three of our giant bodies crammed into the front seat.
“Must you be so obnoxious?” I ask Drake when he puts his hand on my thigh like we’re dating.
“Actually? Yes.”
I slap his hand away so I can focus on driving and not his idiot behavior, aware of the fact that I’ve never gone into the diner where Ryann works.
My hands clench the steering wheel, gripping it as if I were driving through a snowstorm and needing every ounce of concentration. Knuckles white, stomach in knots.
“Why are you so nervous, bro?” Drake asks, popping a stick of gum in his mouth.
“Why am I nervous? Because, you asshole, I don’t want her to tell me to piss off to my face without hearing me out, that’s why. Which she is totally going to do—and I did nothing wrong.”
“That’s where we come in. We’ll just explain what happened.”
“You don’t know what happened,” I announce. “You were in the house.”
“Duh. But when you came inside, you were super pissed. That has to count for something.”
“Please don’t try to help me while we’re at the diner, okay? Just let me do the talking.”
Something tells me Drake would only make things with Ryann worse.
Love the dude, but he’s a horrible negotiator.
For the rest of the short trip, we’re silent, the twins glancing at me ominously every few seconds to gauge my emotional state.
“I’m fine,” I reassure them as I slide into a parking spot. “Everything’s fine.”
But everything isn’t fine.
When Ryann sees the trio of us walk through the front door of ROSCOE + MIMI, it looks as if she wants to flee through the back, the stack of plates she’s carrying almost slipping from her hands when I stride forward.
She fumbles with them as I take a seat in one of the booths, watching as she sets the plates on a nearby table.
Drake and Drew sit in another booth, my wingmen to the end.
Ryann stomps over. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you.”
She gives me a hard stare. “There is no loitering.”
No loitering? “What does that mean?”
“You can’t just sit here and not order something.”
My brows go up. “Is that an actual rule or did you make it up to get rid of me?”
Ryann raises her brows. “It’s an actual rule.”