Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 97882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
And my current roommates made sure that reputation didn’t die with them.
Julep smiled a little as we walked down the hall to my room, her eyes wandering over the old photos and odd knick-knacks, like a lawn flamingo that had been turned into a beer bong, and a beheaded torso of a half-woman, half-fish creature that was rumored to have given the team of 1999 good luck.
They won the championship that year, so on superstition alone, that statue would remain at the Pit forever.
I nudged the door to my bedroom open, and unlike every other bedroom in this house, mine was actually clean. I made my bed every morning, usually had a candle burning to keep the bachelor smell from invading my space, and always kept my belongings tidy. Just one glance at Julep told me all of that surprised her.
“It smells like teakwood in here,” she commented as she set my duffle bag on the foot of my bed.
“Just covering the moldy foot stench.”
She actually smiled a little then, folding her arms over her chest as she started walking the edges of my room and looking around.
I pretended to unpack my bag, all while watching her as she ambled along my desk, my walls, pausing when she saw something that piqued her interest. I noted how she hovered over my copy of Atomic Habits, how her eyes lingered on the photo of me, Hannah, and our parents on the boat. Thankfully, she didn’t ask about them — just kept right on perusing until she hit my stack of CDs.
She picked one up, chuckling before holding the cover of Jay-Z’s The Blueprint toward me. “You know you can listen to music on your phone now, right? In better quality.”
I shrugged. “I like to take my Discman on my morning runs.”
She looked like she was trying not to laugh as she picked up the ancient white and gold relic that still miraculously worked. She marveled at the corded headphones before unclipping the lock and looking inside.
“Green Day,” she commented. “Nice.” She paused, shaking her head as she shut the cover again. “You really run with this?”
“Every morning.”
“Why?”
I stilled, the truth to that question making my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth. It had been Hannah’s, and I’d teased her for listening to it even back then because we both had iPods. But she’d insisted that CDs were better, that there was something cool about them. She thought everything about the 90s and early 2000s was cool, even though she wasn’t even born until 2003.
When she and Dad had disappeared, I’d snuck into her room every night, slipping her earbuds into my ears and playing the same CD she’d left in that Discman over and over.
Crazysexycool by TLC.
It took me years to be able to change it.
“I guess I’d worry less if that broke than if my phone did,” I lied. “Plus, it feels kind of nostalgic.”
Julep smiled as if she appreciated that answer before she moved on to looking at all the posters hanging on my wall — the largest one of Tom Brady.
“So, you run every morning, huh?”
“I do. Part of my routine.”
That made her quirk a brow and turn to face me. “You have a routine?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“At twenty-one?” She snorted. “No.” Then, she moved over to my window, the one that overlooked the garden. “Is this part of your morning routine?” she asked, nodding toward it.
“Yes.”
She shook her head, leaning a hip against the bottom window frame as she faced me. “It’s kind of strange, you know. That you’re a college quarterback and you like to garden.”
“And you’re a college athletic trainer who likes to pole dance.”
The corner of her mouth sparked up but died quickly.
And suddenly, as if all the sources of free-flowing air in the house had been plugged, the air grew thick and heavy. It was like we both realized at the same time that we were standing just a few feet away from each other in my bedroom.
Alone.
I’d been so focused on football since the season started that I’d almost forgotten how striking she was, how her long, brown hair flowed over her shoulders, her thick lashes framing those endlessly dark eyes. I’d almost forgotten those lean, tan legs and the narrow angle of her waist. I let myself take her in, let my gaze wander the length of her before slowly climbing back up.
She didn’t shy away. She didn’t cover herself or adjust her stance or make any sort of comment — though we both knew I was raking my eyes over every inch of her. She stayed perfectly still and calm until I found her gaze again, and then she tilted her chin a little higher, and the only thing that gave her away was the slight bob of her throat.
“I’ll let you get settled,” she finally said, her voice softer than before. She pushed off from where she’d been leaning against the frame and made her way toward the door. “Limited movement,” she reminded me, spinning to pin me with an aggressive finger point.