Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“I’m sure your wife would love to hear you say that.”
“Hey, I might be married, but I’m not fucking blind. And Arianna Petrelli is rocking some serious curves.” A pause then. “You don’t think she’s hot?”
“She’s okay, I guess. If you like that kind of thing.”
“If you like that kind of thing.”
Wow. Thanks, quarterback.
“Um…pretty face, great ass. Sure, her rack’s not huge, but there’s a definite handful there.”
“You have issues. Like, seriously, you should talk to a doctor.”
A chuckle. “Look, all I heard is that she’s been seen in your car a lot this past week, and if I’m hearing, so is Coach.”
“So? All I’m doing is giving her a ride home.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?”
It’s Ares’s turn to laugh. “Don’t be a dick, Thompson.” Ah, so it’s the fullback he’s in there with. “Ari doesn’t have her license anymore, and she was taking the bus. I live in the city, not far from her, so I offered to drive her.”
There’s a pause. Then, “So, you’re really not hittin’ it?”
“Do I look stupid to you?”
And the compliments just keep coming.
“Is that a trick question?”
“Fuck you.” Ares chuckles. “And, no, I’m not hittin’ it.”
“Then, you are as stupid as you look, quarterback. ’Cause, if I were single, I’d be tapping that in a heartbeat.”
“Nah. She’s Coach’s daughter. That’s a recipe for disaster in itself. And all the shit that went down with her earlier this year…she has baggage a mile wide. And baggage doesn’t interest me.”
Pearl Jam’s “Black” is playing in Ares’s truck. And it’s apt because it’s the color of my mood right now.
“Baggage doesn’t interest me.”
The words have been on repeat in my head all day, and I’ve been getting angrier and angrier.
I don’t know why it bothers me so much. It’s not like I’m interested in him in that way.
Sure you’re not, Ari. You keep telling yourself that.
Fine. I do like him. A little bit. But I know he has no interest in me in that way, so I’m not paying attention to my feelings. Instead, I’m tamping them down.
And, yes, it stung when I heard he wasn’t interested in me. More so because I had baggage.
But, mostly, I’m pissed because I don’t like being the topic of conversation for him and his buddy while they’re doing reps.
It’s disrespectful.
Yeah, but it’s not like he respects you. Remember how he used to talk to you? The things he said?
I know, but I thought things had changed after that night with Kyle. I thought he saw the real me now. Not just the screwed-up girl who’s clinging on by her fingernails to stay sober.
But, clearly, nothing has changed. He still sees me that way.
I didn’t want to ride home with him tonight. But I also didn’t want him to know I’d overheard.
So, here I am, sitting in his truck.
Angry and hurt and a million other things. Fingers curled into my palms in quiet contemplation.
“You okay over there, Jailbird?” he asks, finger tapping on the steering wheel in time to the beat of the song.
“Mmhmm.”
“Sounds like it.”
“I’m fine.” I grit my jaw and stare out the passenger window.
I can feel his eyes on me again, but I ignore him.
“I meant to tell you this morning…Gigi loved the painting. I gave it to her last night.”
“I’m glad.” I’m speaking as few words as possible because, if I say more, my anger will come spilling out.
“I made the donation to AFSP.”
“Good.”
He swings the car to the right and firmly hits the brakes, stopping by the sidewalk, and we’re still a five-minute drive from my apartment.
“Okay, what gives?” he says in a frustrated tone.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing. Sure.” He nods, disbelieving. “So, nothing is the reason you’ve barely said a word for the last half an hour, and you won’t look at me now.”
I turn my eyes to him. “I didn’t know it was a prerequisite to talk.”
He looks annoyed, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes that I can’t decipher. “It’s not, but usually, I can’t get you to stop talking.”
Nice.
Maybe, if he’d kept his mouth shut, then I wouldn’t be feeling like I do right now.
Shitty.
And like I really want to drink.
No, I don’t. I’m not going to let his carelessness with words lead me down the path of spiraling thoughts.
“Are you going to tell me what’s eating you anytime soon?”
“Why?”
“Why?” he echoes, brow rising.
“Yeah, why? Why do you even care if something is bothering me?”
He looks surprised. Like he’s not actually sure of the answer himself. “I just…do.”
I laugh humorlessly. “Good answer.”
“Fucking hell, Jailbird.” He tosses his hands up, irritated. “Because we’re friends; that’s why.”
“I thought I had too much baggage to be your friend.”
He frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“I heard you…in the gym, talking to Thompson about me.”
“So?” His face doesn’t change. Not a trace of guilt there.