Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
The last thing I saw before my vision was occluded by other bodies on top of me was the ref’s hands shooting up.
Touchdown.
Head still spinning, I was yanked upright, registering the smack of my teammates’ hands on my shoulders and ass, their whoops of joy.
“Fucking A!” LaForge shouted, eyes filled with glee. “Holy fucking shit. What is that, your third?”
Interceptions returned for touchdowns were pretty fucking rare. I’d spent countless hours studying Deion Sanders and Rod Woodson’s tapes, convincing myself I could do the same. It’d still taken me two seasons before I managed my first.
My lips split in a grin as I knocked a fist against LaForge’s. “It’s my fourth. Second this season.”
“Jesus Christ, dude. Drinks are on me tonight, and you’re definitely coming out with us.”
For the first time in a long time, I decided I’d actually do it instead of begging off to be a loner in my hotel room or striking out solo like I usually did.
With the Royals solidly in the lead, I played the rest of the game like my feet had wings, high on the sense of accomplishment and wondering, distantly, if my parents might have seen the play.
Or if Tucker had.
I didn’t have to wait long. I was leaving the locker room when my phone pinged, and the way I scrambled to pull the fucking thing from my pocket should’ve been embarrassing.
Tucker: That interception was fucking insane. What’s it feel like to touch the sky?
Realizing I was grinning at my phone like a fool, I schooled my features as a couple of teammates passed by me and then leaned against a wall to compose my reply.
Me: I was always told clouds were just water vapor. Nope, they feel like cotton candy.
I was poised to type more when LaForge clapped a big hand on my shoulder. “Ready to go, man? I’m gonna buy out the whole fucking bar for you tonight. Who you talking to?” He tried to peer over my shoulder.
“No one.” The lie was bitter on my tongue, at odds with the glow suffusing my veins. “A friend,” I corrected myself, frowning as I tucked my phone away, because that wasn’t exactly it either. I didn’t know what Malik Tucker was to me anymore, but it wasn’t “no one.” “Let’s go,” I said and shoved off the wall.
12
TUCKER
I was always told clouds were just water vapor. Nope, they feel like cotton candy.
I didn’t know why I couldn’t stop staring at the text from Patrick. I couldn’t say what kind of response I’d expected out of him, but that wasn’t it. Maybe something with more bravado? Cockier or more indifferent like it didn’t matter to him, because he knew he was that fucking good. But this wasn’t either of those things. This was real.
Damned if I didn’t want more real from him.
Me: You celebrating tonight?
I was home in Denver, hanging out at my place. We hadn’t played today, and I’d sat around watching the Royals game with Andre, but his mom had picked him up in the third quarter. Jesus, if any of the guys had seen me, I’d have been embarrassed as shit about how I was hoping for something good for Patrick. How I’d wanted him to win and the buoyancy that had filled my chest when he’d made that interception and taken it all the way to the end zone for a touchdown. I wasn’t supposed to want his team to do well, only I did, and I sure as shit shouldn’t have felt fucking giddy about it, only that had been the case, too.
Luckily, Andre hadn’t noticed anything.
I glanced at my phone again, looking for a response that hadn’t come. It had only been a couple of minutes, but eagerness made my muscles twitch, which was fucked-up beyond belief.
Leaving my phone behind, I went into the other room to get on my treadmill. The thirty minutes I ran ticked by slowly while I tried to pretend I wasn’t anxious to get back and see if Patrick had replied. He was messing with my head in a way I wasn’t sure what to think of.
Sweat made my eyes sting before I wiped it away. I did a slowdown, then ended my jog. I told myself I wasn’t going back to check my phone, but I was a fucking liar because that’s exactly where I went. It still sat face down on the arm of my couch. When I turned it over, I saw his name at the bottom of the screen and…Jesus fuck. Why was I smiling? This motherfucker was getting me twisted.
Bougie: LaForge is trying to feed me all the alcohol in Vegas. Might celebrate by getting my dick wet.
Every muscle in my body went tight in an uncomfortable way, jealousy spreading through my bloodstream like a virus. The thought of someone else touching Patrick made my gut clench up and my stomach rumble.