Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Go figure.
“And me, of course,” she tacks on promptly.
My jealousy melts away as I flash her a grin before looping my arm through hers.
Mia Stanbury has zero interest in meathead jocks with a penchant for sleeping with every girl they come in contact with, which means she’s definitely not into Colton or his best friend, Beck. Although, I’m pretty damn sure the dark-haired football player has a major thing for her. In fact, I have my suspicions that something might have happened between them, but Mia has never mentioned a word, no matter how much I’ve interrogated her. And you better believe that I asked all sorts of probing questions.
As we walk past Colton and his entourage, I can’t resist throwing one last look in his direction. After all, who knows when I’ll see him next. Electricity sizzles through my veins as our gazes collide. It takes everything I have to propel myself forward. Once I’m past him, the air rushes from my lungs.
That’s the moment I realize that moving on from Colton won’t be possible until another guy is able to rouse the same kind of feelings inside me.
And that, my friends, is all sorts of depressing.
Chapter Three
Colton
Late spring of freshman year...
The soft strains of stringed instruments fill the theatre as I crack open one of the double doors and carefully slip inside the darkened space. A few people seated in the back turn and stare as I settle gingerly on a seat in the last row.
I’ve arrived in the middle of someone’s performance. The ballerina leaps across the stage before halting. With her arms stretched out in front of her, she strikes a pose before gradually folding in half and sweeping her arms across the floor. The spotlight dims as the music fades into nothingness. There’s a moment of hushed silence before applause breaks out in the packed auditorium.
Did I miss it?
Is the show over?
I’d planned on getting here earlier, but Coach kept us an extra thirty minutes. We might not be in season, but practice and lifting start up again in late winter and go through the summer. When you play Division I college sports, there’s no downtime. It’s more like a job. I wish I’d known that when I signed my NCAA paperwork senior year of high school. Some of these guys, like Beck, plan on turning pro after college. So, for them, they need to be constantly working out and improving their game.
After much thought, I decided not to continue playing football after graduation. The plan is to work for my father, which probably means attending business school. We’ll see. That’s yet to be determined. As much as I love the sport, I’ve gotten my brains beat to shit enough already. And my body? Some days, I feel like a seventy-year-old man rolling out of bed in the morning.
So, senior year will be it for me.
I plow a hand through my still-damp hair as the curtain drops into place. The showcase has been on my radar for months, just like it was last year. I can’t believe I missed her performance. I’m halfway to my feet and ready to sprint unnoticed from the auditorium when the heavy screen rises, and the violin section of the orchestra takes up their instruments.
My heart stutters as my gaze fastens on to her. Carefully, I lower myself back onto the seat again. The last girl had been wearing the full ballerina getup. You know—pink leotard, tights, puffy tutu, hair slicked back into a bun, and a small silver crown decorating her head. Kind of overkill, if you ask me.
Alyssa, on the other hand, is outfitted in a tight, long-sleeved shirt that bares her midriff and black booty shorts that match the top. Her hair is swept back into a ponytail, and she’s barefoot.
Her arms are stretched above her head, and her chin is tilted upward as if staring at something only she can see. Even from this distance, the expression on her face is one of serenity. Almost as if she’s alone, unaware of the hundreds of spectators watching her every gesture.
It’s only when the tempo of the violins change and other instruments join in, giving more depth to the music, does Alyssa break her pose. Her movements are graceful. Deep and sweeping. She soars across the space, using every square inch of the stage. My breath catches, becoming trapped in my chest as I lean forward. My gaze greedily follows every step. Every arc and bend. Every spin and dip. It doesn’t take long before she becomes one with the music, conveying a story to the audience. Her expressions change and contort. She is pure poetry in motion as she lights up the stage.
Everything about her is captivating. It doesn’t take long for the audience around me to fall away. And then it’s like she’s performing solely for my pleasure.