Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
As Heather the angry badger charged in our direction, doing a terrible job of hiding her distaste for me, I smirked around the sucker and mumbled, “See you at dinner.”
“Josie, come in, hon.” Becca opened the door, a yellow kitchen towel draped over her shoulder as she smiled before heading back to the kitchen. “You don’t have to knock. You know that.”
“Smells amazing.” I ignored her comment. Colten had a girlfriend who was not me. I no longer felt like I should enter their house unannounced.
“Colten’s upstairs. Dinner will be another twenty minutes or so.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I crept up the stairs as I had done many times before.
“Mosley,” I leaned against the doorframe of his bedroom as he scribbled on a page of music at his keyboard.
Becca bought him a keyboard after his dad took a sledgehammer to the piano when Colten called him a “fucking bastard” for cheating on his mom. Trenton Mosley wasn’t a patient man by nature. After spending years trying to destroy his marriage, his career, and all credibility with his two sons, the last thing he expected was his youngest son having a moment of brutal honesty after reconciling with Becca.
“Watts.” He glanced over his shoulder, flashing me a big grin.
“Where’s your dad and brother?”
That beautiful grin? It fell right off his face, a big chunk of an iceberg breaking off and falling into frigid waters. “Don’t know. Don’t care.” Returning his attention to his sheet music, he continued to scribble notes.
Padding my way to him, I glanced around his room, looking for signs of Heather. A photo. A gift she might have given him. A friendship bracelet since she wore approximately a dozen on each wrist. “Play me something,” I said, sitting next to him in the opposite direction on the edge of the narrow bench.
“What do you want me to play?”
I shrugged. “Anything.”
His long fingers rested on the keys, caressing them lightly before pressing a single key. Then he started to play the very familiar beginning to “Fallin” by Alicia Keys.
How ironic.
Did I keep falling in and out of love with Colten Mosley? It was too early to say. Still, I’d known him for what felt like forever. Living across the street for five years, same school, sharing a seat on the bus, spending every free moment with him … it made it hard to remember what my life was like before he and his family moved to Des Moines from Houston, Texas.
“Do you play that for Heather?”
He stopped playing as if my words made him forget the notes. Glancing over at me, he narrowed his eyes a fraction. “Heather hasn’t been in my bedroom.”
“Well, she’s been to your house.”
“Are you spying on me, Watts?” One corner of his mouth turned up into a slight grin.
I rolled my eyes. “You wish. I’m not spying on you. I’m simply not blind. I’ve seen her car in your driveway. That’s all.”
He maintained his smirk of skepticism. Did I once (maybe twice) use binoculars to spy on him to see if he did, in fact, take Heather to his room? Maybe. If I had, I never would have admitted it to anyone.
“You did good today. Freshman starting varsity. Can you believe it? You know you’ll get lots of offers to play in college. Right?” Once again, I managed to say something that dissolved all joy from his handsome face.
“Yeah, I mean … it’s possible. My dad sure thinks so.”
“I’d imagine he’s pretty proud of you.”
Colten grunted, flipping off the power switch to his keyboard. “His pride is the least motivating thing in my life. In fact, when I think about something making him happy or proud, all I want to do is the exact opposite.”
“Sounds like a great plan for completely blowing your future.”
He sighed, scooting off the bench before moseying to the window, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Baseball isn’t everything. There are a lot of happy and successful people who didn’t choose to play baseball in college.”
“True …” I stood and followed him, stopping a foot or two from his backside. “But a very small percentage of the population has your talent at playing baseball.”
He turned, eyeing me for a few seconds. “You’ve said I’m good at playing the piano.”
I nodded several times.
Colten’s head slanted to the side. “You said I’m good at climbing trees and skateboarding—almost as good as you.”
It became increasingly difficult to not offer a submissive smile as he listed off his talents.
“Maybe I’m one of those people who will be good at whatever I set out to do.”
Lifting a shoulder like I didn’t want to give him a total pass on ignoring the obvious fact that he would be pursued hard by colleges wanting to recruit him, I offered a murmured, “Maybe.”
“Not everyone’s future is mapped out from birth like yours.”