Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
My interactions with him are just so out of the ordinary. Since returning to Pine Hill a few months back, I spend my days with Cook and Christine, with my nan and her caretakers. The only man putting the moves on me lately is Patrick, and that creep doesn’t count. I don’t want to keep thinking about Ben, but it’s futile to fight against it. He’s got me wound around his finger already. He barely touched me yesterday, but I swear I should have a mark from it.
The truth is, he could have done whatever he wanted to me, even in front of his friends. He could have trapped me against the car, locked his arms on either side of my hips, bent down, and kissed me. He could have skated his hands wherever he damn well pleased, and I would have let him. Hell, I probably would have begged for more.
With that embarrassing realization, I throw off my blankets and get going for the day. Instead of shimmying into my uniform and heading down to Dale’s, I dress in a white t-shirt and jean shorts. I grab my tote bag and fill it with my water bottle, advanced electrical engineering and programming textbooks, and an apple. I don’t bother fixing my hair, letting the long strands whip against my face as I head toward the car.
I always spend my days off at the care home. Today, my motives are twofold. For one, I’ll get to spend as much quality time with Nan as I can. For two, I’ll be reminded of the harsh realities of my life, beyond Ben and his brief visit in Pine Hill.
Chapter Eight
Ben
I’m the first one at the diner again, ringing the bell over the door as I walk inside. This time, Raelynn looks up and spots me straight away, one of her dark blonde eyebrows cocking up in question.
I don’t say a word as I head toward my seat at the counter.
She grabs a mug and sets it down in front of me, watching me with cunning eyes as she pours my coffee.
“You gonna make this a habit, Castillo?”
I shrug and bring the mug to my mouth, blowing away the steam for a second before I take my first sip. It tastes like crap, but I don’t come to Dale’s for the coffee.
“I came by yesterday and you weren’t here.”
“Did you? Can’t get enough of Cook’s food, huh?” she teases.
My gaze holds hers for a beat too long, my barely-there smile telling her exactly what I can’t get enough of.
She clears her throat and gets busy setting up for the day.
I don’t think she quite realizes what’s happening here, but I can’t say I blame her. She knows nothing about me or what’s been happening in my life this past year. She doesn’t know how rare it is for me to take an interest in someone, anyone. I should be back at Coach Dalton’s compound, resting before practice starts. Instead, I woke up at the crack of dawn and drove myself to a crappy roadside diner so I could have the pleasure of being in Raelynn’s company while she works. She has a magnetism about her—a lure I can’t escape. Maybe it’s just been so long since I’ve been around a woman who’s not a part of the professional athlete scene. I could namedrop some of my friends and she’d probably blink up at me, bored.
But there’s more to it than that.
Even if she were in Los Angeles, courtside at one of my games, she’d still arrest me. She’s a ray of sunshine from her golden blonde hair to her freckled cheeks, pink lips, tan legs…
She looks up and finds me watching her, and she frowns.
“You have that look about you,” she says thoughtfully.
I sniff and snap my attention back to her face. “What look?”
She shrugs. “Just…you have this way about you sometimes. I think it’s the reason I initially thought you might be shy.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s…I don’t know…a loneliness.” She’s fiddling with a dishrag, not looking at me anymore as she continues, “Most of the time it’s hard to see what with all that confidence. But like right now, for example, it’s there.” She shakes her head, and I watch her cheeks take on a subtle hint of pink like she’s embarrassed by her honesty. Quickly, she concludes, “I guess, just sometimes you have sad eyes.”
I have no idea what to say to that.
I could tell her the truth. That I have absolutely everything anyone would ever want—the money, the fame, the championship rings—and deep down, under the thin veneer, I am lonely. Being in this diner with her is a comfort, and she doesn’t even know it.
“No one’s ever told me that.” I look down. “About my eyes.”
It’s the closest I can get to telling the truth.