Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 85267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Jackson: Lol good.
Jackson: Hey Charlotte?
I shiver at the sight of my name.
Me: Yes?
Jackson: I’m gonna hit the hay—we have two practices tomorrow and one starts at 4:30—but I’ll talk to ya soon.
Me: 4:30…in the morning?
Jackson: Yup.
Me: Dang. That’s stupidly early…
Jackson: Yup, but you get used to it.
Me: I would never get used to that, solely based on principle.
Me: Anyway. See you soon.
Jackson: Later, Charlotte.
And there goes that shiver up my spine…
Sixth Friday
Jackson
She showed up.
I mean, she said she was going to, but I didn’t actually believe her. Not really, not even a little. I assumed she’d stand me up.
I’ve categorized Charlotte as one of those girls who isn’t into the lifestyle I live. Surrounded by fake people. Strict routine. Strict diet (her sandwich that day did not count because I was fucking desperate). Shit tons of working out. Coaches, professors, and agents riding my ass.
It’s too much for me to handle sometimes, and a girl like Charlie? No way would she deal with the bullshit that comes with being an elite college athlete.
Not that this is a date.
Just an invitation for two friends to attend the same party on a Friday night. I’ve never seen Charlotte out, not at a house party, not on Greek Row, not downtown at the bars. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if she’s even legal.
Granted, I don’t go out that much myself, but I know I’d remember seeing her out if I did. Truthfully? I spend most of my Fridays lamely cruising up and down the street, nostalgic about home, needing something to fill my time so I don’t spend it doing things I shouldn’t be doing—partying, drinking, sex.
Distracting things.
Unsure about whether or not I should approach her or let her come to me, I jam my hands into the pockets of my jeans and stand rooted to the spot. I’m in the corner of the living room, near the kitchen door, with a bird’s-eye view of the entire party.
Charlotte isn’t alone; she’s with three other girls—one from the car that I recognize and two that I don’t. They’re all shorter but cute. Done up like every girl in the room, they ordinarily wouldn’t stand out to me.
But now I know what a smart mouth Charlie has on her, what a brat she can be. I’ve seen with my own two eyes how riled she gets when she’s got her dander up or her panties in a twist.
The thought has my lips tipping up at the corners, and I hide the smile behind the neck of my beer bottle.
It’s a nice night, not too cold, so she has foregone a jacket and stands at the door in a cute shirt tucked into dark denim. Her blonde hair is down and wavy, and tonight she’s wearing more makeup than I’ve seen her in.
Her lips are glossy—I can see them shining from here when she cranes her neck to glance around the room and the light hits them just right.
Is she looking for someone?
I’m no fool—I know she’s looking for me. I take pleasure in the fact that she hasn’t spotted me yet and I can watch her for a few more undisturbed seconds before the spell is broken.
Charlie is beautiful.
So beautiful it makes me slightly uncomfortable. I might be headed to the pros and have an amazing career ahead of me, but physically, Charlie is out of my league.
I’m a brute.
Scarred.
Tall. Bulky. Bruised.
Sore.
Light on my feet for the position I play but large nonetheless.
I run a palm along my jawline. I didn’t have time to shave this afternoon; my entire face is scratchy.
Fuck, my shirt is wrinkled, too, while she looks so fucking pretty. Why she agreed to meet me here is beyond me, especially after our rocky start.
It’s loud in this house, packed to capacity, and takes a few minutes to weave my way through the strangers gathered for the party. Her friends have all gone their own ways and when I reach her, she’s standing alone smiling, lips moving as if pleasantries are coming out of her mouth; words I can’t hear because it’s so damn loud in this house.
“Hey.”
“Hey. Having fun?” I catch her question because I’ve bent myself at the waist, leaned down to listen, and tilted my head at an angle so she can talk into my ear.
“Meh.”
We wouldn’t be able to carry on a conversation inside if our lives depended on it, so thank God they don’t.
“Want to go somewhere quiet? So we can talk?” Jesus, I’m shouting, eyes roaming the perimeter of the crowded living room. Toward the kitchen, landing on the stairs that go…well, upstairs.
Pull them away and refocus on Charlie.
She rolls a pair of eyes so blue when she catches my gaze on the stairs, I compare her irises to the ocean. Fuck. I must be drunk. That was a dumb notion, and she’d gag if I said it out loud.