Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
I had no idea what he was talking about.
My brain was too oxygen-deprived to process it, though, not to mention I was getting angry at my father for butting in—again.
“Listen, I’ll call you back when I get back home from my run,” I grumbled.
Now just wasn’t the time.
This was my time. The time where I did what I wanted while I thought about nothing but the goddamn audiobook I was listening to.
I’d made it another hour before I decided that I’d run far enough.
Tonight, I’d hit the gym, and I didn’t want to be too tired to do the leg work out that I planned to do, and if I pushed myself any harder on the run, I might very well get to that point.
Slowing down to a walk for the last mile, I breathed deeply and waited for my heart rate to go back to normal.
My phone pinged again in my ear, but I ignored it.
Messages and calls were a normal thing for me.
They were certainly normal when my publicist was trying to get me to agree to give interviews that I didn’t particularly want to give.
It was getting to the point where I was about to tell her not to call me for at least two weeks because she was aggravating me so badly.
Then again, everyone was fucking annoying me at that point.
Everyone but one woman who refused to answer my texts.
A woman who had a very good reason to.
A woman I’d screwed over—badly—once upon a time, but was determined to make something happen with somehow, someday.
If I could only get her to talk to me…
Surprisingly, miracles did happen, even for already lucky guys like me.
Because, when I got home from my run, Conleigh was standing on my front porch examining my bushes, and I forgot everything that I was supposed to do that morning.
Calling my father back was put on the back burner. Answering the twenty-five emails that my publicist had sent while on my run was pushed to tomorrow. Oh, and going to the clubhouse for a party? That was definitely put off as well.
“Uhhh.” I hesitated at the bottom of the drive, unsure what to say. “What’s up, Conleigh?”
I didn’t want her to leave because I said something stupid, so I settled for something that wouldn’t make her go for my throat.
She looked over at me. “Are you aware that our houses look exactly alike?”
I grinned as sweat dripped down the length of my face. “Yes. I noticed that when I came over to take you to lunch and you blew me off, remember?”
Conleigh flushed bright red. “So…about that.”
I started up the driveway and walked—stalked—toward her.
When I got to her, I stopped and crossed my arms over my bare chest, very aware that the move put the muscles of my arms on display.
She didn’t disappoint. She looked, and she liked what she saw.
Then again, our attraction to each other had never been one of our problems.
We wanted each other. Badly. But both of us were too afraid to admit it.
It was the other stuff that didn’t come as easy. Like the fact that she hated what I represented—a rich man who wasn’t easy to push around and who didn’t like that she was trying so fucking hard to do everything on her own when it would be easy for someone like me to help her.
The stubborn little shit.
“Can we go inside?” she asked, her eyes warily scanning around my neighborhood.
The area where I lived was a quiet neighborhood in Bear Bottom, Texas—about a forty-minute drive from where Conleigh lived in Kilgore.
She was looking around like someone was going to pop out of the bushes and take a picture of her, plastering her all over the papers.
“Conleigh,” I laughed. “Nobody is going to take your picture again.”
I say again, because it had happened before.
A few days after I was drafted number one by the first team that I played with, I’d gone to see Conleigh at her work.
I’d been excited, and I’d wanted to share that with her.
Unfortunately for me, I’d literally just became the hottest commodity to women everywhere because of my pretty face and muscular body—not to mention the promise of that big paycheck I’d be bringing in.
All it took was one single picture of the two of us together, with me hugging her tightly to my body, and she was labeled as a poor girl that I had befriended because she was on the outs with her parents.
From there, my diehard fans began doing their own research.
Females, ages eight to sixty-three, dragged poor Conleigh through the mud, and it was all because of that one innocent picture.
“About that…” She snatched the keys out of my hand before I could even head in the direction of the door. “We need to talk.”
My brows rose as I watched her use my keys to open the door and then followed her into my house. I winced when I saw how dirty it was.