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)
My hand shook. My throat trembled. Really? Had he really?
Then…whatever. I still needed to get my carry-on, no matter what.
I took a picture of the napkin the server had just put on my table. It was still intact and the logo hadn’t been shredded. I sent that picture, no words with it.
I slammed my drink and agreed to another when the server almost immediately offered.
Feeling ditched, whether it was real or not, sucks balls.
Two drinks later, a flash of brake lights illuminated the hotel’s windows as a car paused, then went to park.
I knew who it was. It was another expensive-looking car, just like his manager A-hole’s.
Another knot to swallow.
Reese was so out of my league. I had one job offer on the table, and really, if I didn’t take it, I’d be homeless.
What’d Reese see in me? The charm of my random questions? Really?
Humor could only go so far. What was I doing?
Marie had ditched me. Then I’d had this three-hour whatever-it-was.
Even though this all seemed a miscommunication, I couldn’t ignore the hurt swimming in my gut. The pain sliced me, thinking Reese had decided he was done with me. And sorry, but those thoughts do exist when you’re sitting in a bar for three hours and that phone won’t buzz back.
It was a wake-up call.
If he could hurt me with just this small blip, what would he do if I really let him in?
One more time.
One more night.
That’s what I’d give Reese. I’d fly back tomorrow, I’d take the camp job, and I’d learn to love it. That’s where I belonged—with Owen and Hadley, Grant and Sophia, even with Trenton coming to visit. Maybe a dinner with Janet too.
I was still reminding myself of that, ignoring the piercing stabbing in my chest, when Reese came in. No ball cap on. No hood over his head. He was dressed in jeans and a regular-looking shirt.
Bad move, pal.
“That’s Reese Forster!” one of the pervs exclaimed, and not quietly.
“What? No.”
Someone else, “What’s Forster doing here?”
“Yeah.” A pounding sound. A barstool scratched across the floor.
As Reese saw me, his eyebrows pulled together, his face clouded over, and he looked beyond me.
The two business guys had forgotten me. They zoomed past, and man, I caught a whiff. They were more loaded than I thought.
“Hey, man!” The first one held out his hand. “I need to shake your hand. When you went head-to-head against Zorskianova tonight, it was amazing ball work.” The guy was salivating.
I had my first flicker of pity. Been there, done that too.
He and his friend fawned over Reese, and the other table of customers approached—a quieter couple and another female friend with them. They asked for autographs, then pictures. The staff came next, all while Reese was ten feet from me.
I sat and watched, finishing my last drink.
Once that was done, another two hotel staff had come to get autographs, and hotel customers were coming out from their rooms. Word had gotten out somehow, so I silently paid for my drinks, and began to walk outside.
“Oh—okay. It was nice to meet you all.” Reese saw me going, scribbled the last autograph, and pushed it toward the guy waiting. “I gotta go.”
“But… Come on, one more?” a lady asked. She’d just stepped into the bar, her shirt barely covering her rack. One guess what she really wanted.
“I can’t. Sorry, guys.”
I was almost to the front door, and I could hear Reese coming up behind me. People were grumbling, and a few called out good-natured goodbyes and congratulations. Then Reese was next to me.
His hand came to the small of my back.
I sucked in a breath, tensing, but I didn’t pull away.
One more night.
“Hey.” His hand had been cautious, but when I didn’t jerk away, it pressed more firmly against me, anchoring me to him. “I’m really sorry. I left my phone at the house—”
“Let’s just go.”
His hand left my back. “You’re mad.”
I shook my head. “No.”
I was, but I was trying to tell myself I shouldn’t be. It had been a mishap. Simple.
Tell that to the baggage that was rising up in me, threatening to choke me. That shit wasn’t rational.
Falling in beside me, he hunched his shoulders forward. “I can understand why you’re mad, but it was all a mistake. Really. Marie said you went to the wrong seats, but I’m pretty certain she was the one who messed up—if she even went to the seats. Stan told me she was taking shots the whole time in the box, and I’m sorry about her. Marie’s usually really cool. Her doing that doesn’t make sense—but again, that wasn’t me.”
We were almost to his car.
“Hey,” he said more firmly. He caught my hand and pulled me to a stop.
I glanced back and saw a crowd had formed at the hotel’s entrance. A couple girls had followed us to the parking lot.