Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“You’re way too good for some guy who gets paid to knock other guys around on a field,” he whispers against my mouth. “Just remember that.”
I grimace, wishing he didn’t have to bring his anti-athlete snobbery into this. And seriously, who doesn’t know that quarterbacks do the ball throwing and not the knocking around?
“Ready to go home?” he asks.
Home. The place we stay when we sleep together is hardly home to either of us.
George has a daughter in Chicago and lives there Thursday night through Tuesday morning to be with her. He teaches a Tuesday/Wednesday/Thursday schedule at Starling and lives in a studio apartment near campus those days. This weekend was one of the rare exceptions when he stuck around Starling for department obligations.
His phone buzzes on the table, and he cuts his eyes to it before looking back to me. “Do you mind? I’m waiting for a call from my secretary about arrangements for next month’s speaker series.”
“On a Sunday?”
“No rest for the wicked.” Winking, he grabs the phone and swipes to answer it. “George Alby speaking.”
I point to the bathroom, and he nods toward the street and mouths, Meet me outside?
“Sure.”
In the bathroom, I wash my hands and breathe. Until I started talking about Easton, I didn’t realize how much I was dreading tonight’s conversation. If someone accused me of intentionally omitting my history with Easton from what I’ve shared with George, I would’ve denied it like crazy. But now? Now I realize I didn’t want to talk about it because I knew George would make me face a past I’m not ready to face.
It’s not like Easton and I are going to try to have something real now that he’s back home. I wouldn’t want that even if I was single. I have too many feelings of rejection and heartache where he’s concerned to ever want that.
I close my eyes and remember the buzz that went across my skin when Easton found me alone in the kitchen. The way I could feel him enter the room. Intellectually, I’m totally on board with letting Easton go forever, but my pheromones haven’t gotten the message yet.
With a deep breath, I push out of the bathroom and back into the restaurant toward the front.
“Ma’am?” Our waiter from earlier nods to our table. “Your date left his jacket.”
“Oh, no! Thanks.” I grab George’s jacket off the back of the chair. When I sling it over my arm, something falls from the pocket and bounces off my shoe before rolling under the table. “Shit.” I drop to my knees and reach under the table.
When my hand closes over the soft velvet box, my heart seems to stop in my chest. No. We’re not there yet. Surely this isn’t . . .
I stare at the box, terrified to open it and find out what’s inside.
“Ma’am? Are you okay?” the waiter asks.
I quickly hide the box under George’s jacket and stand. “I’m just clumsy. Thanks again.”
Through the windows at the front of the restaurant, I can see George pacing the sidewalk as he talks with his secretary. That’s one of the things I love about him—he’s passionate about his job. While I enjoy my time in the classroom, George thrives on all of it—the advising, the committee work, the publishing. The man even gets a freakish pleasure from grading papers.
And he really is a good listener, and fun to be around. There’s a lot to love about him, but I don’t even know if I could say that I love him. We’ve never even met each other’s families.
I didn’t think he wanted to change that.
I clutch the box in my hand. Maybe it’s not what I think. Maybe he bought me a necklace or earrings. Maybe it’s not even for me.
Holding my breath, I open the lid and shut it just as quickly. My eyes burn, and I’m not sure why. I am definitely overreacting. There has to be a reasonable explanation for George bringing a giant solitaire diamond ring to dinner with me.
I shove the box into the pocket of his jacket and head out front.
George’s eyes go wide when he sees the jacket over my arm. “I can’t believe I forgot that.”
“The . . .” I clear my throat and force a smile. There’s no way that ring is for you, Shayleigh. Chill the fuck out. “The waiter made sure I didn’t forget it.”
He drags a hand through his hair, making a mess of the dark blond curls before tying them back into his signature manbun. When he takes the jacket from me, he pats the pockets before his shoulders relax and he smiles at me. “Sorry. I’m just a little frazzled tonight. Come on. Let’s go.”
I take a deep breath. “Actually, I think I want to head home.” I squeeze his arm, an effort at reassurance for myself as much as him. I’m totally not running away from a romantic evening with George that may or may not include a ring. That would be unreasonable when there’s no reason to think that ring is for me. Maybe he’s . . . holding it for a friend. “I’m going to hole up in my apartment and work on my revisions all day tomorrow.”