Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to cry in front of him, in front of all these people.
“Of course it means something,” I say, my voice trembling. “But they’re my family too. They’ve been there for me my whole life, and I’m going to navigate this situation in a way that feels right for me.”
Harrison shakes his head, his expression full of disappointment.
Relief slams into me when I see Blake returning down the aisle. Thank God. This was getting way too intense for my comfort.
I get it. I know why he’s upset. But he’s rushing me, and I don’t like to be rushed. I’m not ready to have that conversation with my parents. I’m not ready to know if they deliberately chose to adopt me and not Harrison. Fine, maybe I’m stalling. Or maybe I genuinely need the time to process this new relationship, this unfamiliar tie, before I open the door and let the rest of my family in. Either way, I feel like he’s forcing me to make a choice between the only family I’ve ever known and the brother I just found, and it’s unfair of him to do that.
“Are you okay?” Blake asks, studying my face.
“All good.” I’m a pro at faking smiles, and the skill doesn’t leave me today.
I must convince her, because she sits down and takes the cup I hand her without pushing the issue.
“How’s your mom—”
My voice is drowned out by the sound of the stadium announcer bellowing over the loudspeakers, signaling that the game is about to start.
The Briar players burst out of the tunnel in a blur of black and silver. Our quarterback is usually the one who runs through the paper banner, but today the entire team bypasses it, leaving it intact. Instead, the players throw their arms high over their heads to get the fans going. The crowd lets out a roar, and the hum of excitement pulsing in the stadium makes it feel like it’s a living, breathing entity.
As the rest of the team jogs onto the field, followed by their opponents, the announcer’s voice once again reverberates in the air.
“Ladies and gents, boys and girls, we have a special announcement before the game begins,” he booms. “One of our players has something he’d like to say.”
I feel Blake stiffen beside me.
“Oh no,” she moans, already sensing where this is headed.
Seven strapping Briar players start to line up on the field. Each one holds a big, white plaster board.
Blake turns to me, wide-eyed. “He wouldn’t, would he?”
A grin nearly cracks my face in half. “Have you met him?”
“No. Noooo. Make it stop.”
“Sorry, Logan. You did this to yourself.”
The first player, a behemoth linesman with a shiny, shaved head, holds up a sign that reads “I.”
“Oh my God,” I say. “This is the greatest thing ever.”
“No, it’s not,” Blake hisses, while Harrison chuckles on my other side.
“Is this the boyfriend?” he asks, his sour mood seeming to fade courtesy of the spectacle below.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she replies through gritted teeth.
The next player’s sign says “AM.”
Blake sinks lower into her seat.
“SMITTEN,” reads the third sign, followed by “WITH” and “YOU,” until the players are all holding signs that spell out:
I AM SMITTEN WITH YOU, BLAKE LOGAN
Isaac Grant then comes bursting through the paper Briar U banner like he’s breaking the finish line tape in the Olympics. He jogs up to the deafening screams of the crowd and stands in front of the poster-holding teammates.
Then he points directly at Blake and shouts, “I’m smitten, angel!”
The fans explode into cheers and whistles, while Blake’s cheeks turn a deeper shade of crimson. She buries her face in her hands, mortified.
“This guy is insane,” she mutters.
“Yeah, but also kind of romantic,” I admit, despite myself. “Like, in a ridiculous, over-the-top, completely unnecessary way.”
Blake peeks out from between her fingers, clearly torn between being touched and wanting to crawl under a rock. “Is he gone?”
“Yup.”
She raises her head, then glares at me when she realizes Isaac is still standing there, his eyes locked on her.
With a sigh, she gives him a little wave, and his entire face lights up. The boy is smitten all right.
I don’t miss the jealous scowls from every female in our vicinity. “Uh-oh, the claws are coming out,” I tease her. “As in you’re in grave danger from the members of the Isaac Grant fan club.”
“They can have him,” she mutters. “I don’t like attention.”
“Well, get used to it.” I pat her on the back.
“Nope. It had better not become a regular thing. I don’t know if I can handle this level of public humiliation on a weekly basis.”
I laugh, despite the lingering doubt in the back of my mind about Isaac’s sincerity toward Blake. The love bombing is a red flag, for one. And yes, Isaac is good-looking, charming, and clearly willing to go to great lengths to impress her, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s all just for show. Grand gestures are nice, but they don’t always mean what we want them to mean.