Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
At least for the time being, I had a feeling Reese was right. Marie and I were going to get along just fine.
“That’s Shelly. She’s Crusky’s current girlfriend, but don’t make eye contact for too long or she’ll start thinking we’re talking about his wife.”
“Huh?”
We were three beers in, and four shots. We’d also eaten a slice of pizza, so I was pretty sure that absorbed one of the beers. Saying I was more than tipsy would’ve been… What was I saying again?
I burped. “Crusky has a wife and a girlfriend?”
He was no longer the Cruskinator to my inner fangirl, but Crusky. I was talking like I knew him, which I didn’t, not really. He teased me once, though.
And I was talking to myself again.
I focused on what Marie was saying, blinking a few times because that seemed to help.
“—going through a divorce, but the wife is fighting it and it’s taking foooorever.”
Marie nudged me with her shoulder, leaning in from where we were standing. The game hadn’t even started. She’d brought us up to this box area because family could come up here, but it was really just to grab a few free drinks and food. She asked if I wanted to stay. The other choice was a pair of regular tickets. I opted for a fill-up, then the seats down below.
“Can’t say I blame you. It’s dangerous being up here.”
I hadn’t known what she was referring to, but when more people came into the box, I got it then. Wives. Families. I recognized the guy who’d barked at me at Reese’s and ducked when he looked back at me. Marie was shorter than me, but a little heavier. I hunched farther down.
She stopped talking about Crusky’s love life and frowned at me. Moving her hotdog out of the way to see me, she asked, “What are you doing?”
“Hiding.”
The guy moved, frowning at me, and I turned my head—because I was two again. If I couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see me.
“Marie?”
Fuck. Damn. Incoming.
“Hey, Stan!”
Why’d she have to sound so friendly? Marie was my new ally. Right? Wrong. I was just visiting. Of course she’d cozy up to him.
“Hello…” He sounded stiff, and I couldn’t avoid this any longer.
I turned, standing tall again, and locked eyes with him. He wasn’t as hostile as before, his eyebrows were still pinched, confusion clouding his eyes more than anything else.
He put a hand out. “You are?”
Okay. Fine. He was playing this game.
I gave him a big smile. I loved games like this. Fitting my hand in his, I gave it a firm pump. “I’m Marie’s friend.”
She looked down, her shoulders shaking, trying to smother her laughter. She was failing so miserably.
“Right.” He sighed and pulled his hand away. “What’s your name?”
“What’s yours?”
Déjà vu again. This was a Keith 2.0 moment, except this guy was a lot younger. He didn’t look too much older than Reese.
“What?”
Marie entered the fray. “This is Stan. He’s Reese’s manager.”
“Ah.”
I didn’t care. I should have, but I didn’t. Reese and I were not a permanent thing. And even if we became—nope, I was not thinking that way. Stress, expectations, all the normal worries about relationships were starting to weigh me down, and that wasn’t Reese and me. I wouldn’t let that happen. We were fun and carefree. Free, being the key term there.
I plastered a smile on my face, nodding again. I was tempted to bow, but refrained. “It’s nice meeting you.”
I made a point of turning to look out at the gym. The team’s cheerleaders were on the court, doing a dance for the crowd. Thunder was waving his arms around.
I could feel Marie and Stan exchange a look, but it wasn’t happening. I wouldn’t get pulled in, get a label put on me, and then have to endure another round of suspicious questions. He and Marie had both put me through the wringer, but then she’d introduced me to tampon-shot-disguising tubes and told me I was hot, so I was a little in love with her.
They still hadn’t started talking, so I looked back. “Excuse me. I’m going to go to the bathroom.”
Stan’s entire face was twisted in a question mark.
Marie coughed. “Oh. Okay.” She finished her hotdog, wiping her face with a napkin. “We gotta go out for the restroom. You want anything else?”
I had a full beer in hand, and my own hotdog was starting to feel unsettled. “Nope. I’m good.” I smacked my groin. “Just gotta pee.”
Stan’s head reared back, and Marie’s eyebrows shot up.
She seemed transfixed, so I led the way—around a few groups of women who looked like they could be supermodels, and men I knew had to be in positions of power and wealth to even be in that box. Once outside, I was grateful. Marie had been following, but I looked back through the door, and she’d been caught by one of those groups of people.