Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
“What is it, Hawkins?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “I’m not the one being weird. You are. What’s up with this therapy-hour-with-Darren shit?”
“Ha-ha.” He walked over to his bag and finished getting dressed.
“Where’re you going?” I asked, wanting to make sure we didn’t somehow end up at the same place. My plan was to go to a hotel bar, hide away, have some drinks and some food, and come back pretending to be sexually sated.
He rambled on about a woman who lived locally, blah, blah, blah. That was all I needed to know. When he was finished, I grabbed my sneakers and pulled them on. I was just wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, but then grabbed a baseball cap and pulled it down low. Fuck, where were my sunglasses? I looked over to see them on the nightstand. “I’m out.”
“Have fun.” Darren bumped fists with me, and I left.
I looked down at my phone while in the elevator, hoping no one else got in, or if they did, they wouldn’t recognize me. It was fucking ridiculous. I loved meeting fans. Always had. I liked being good at football, liked knowing people looked up to me, but something was different tonight.
I didn’t breathe until I was outside. I’d ordered a car from my phone, and it was there when I walked out. The driver was a woman who didn’t seem to recognize me. We were quiet for most of the drive to an upscale hotel a few miles away. It wasn’t long before I was sitting toward the end of a long bar. The lights were dim, and hundreds of backlit bottles stared at me from behind the counter. The bar wasn’t too full, but it wasn’t empty either. Maybe I should have just gotten a room, which was sad as fuck. Would I really leave one hotel room to sit alone in another just to make it look like I was having sex with someone?
“Good evening.” The bartender smiled. “Do you need a menu?” she asked, no recognition on her face, and I breathed. Jesus, it was shitty to feel like I spent so much of my life holding my breath.
“Yeah, please. Thanks.” She’d just handed it over when there was movement to my left. I looked over to see a man in slacks and a white dress shirt sit down one chair away. He had the top couple of buttons on his shirt undone, a light dusting of dark hair on his chest showing. It matched the midnight shade on his head, which was in a faded crew cut, a little longer and styled on top. His eyes were ice blue, with thick lashes, and he had stubble along his jaw.
Heat skittered beneath my skin when he looked at me and grinned. My eyes darted away like he would take one look at me and know I was attracted to him. My sunglasses were beside me, and I thought about putting them back on, but that would be ridiculous.
He took a menu too. The bartender gave us a few minutes, walking away to help someone else. He rested his elbow on the bar top and rubbed his face. “Fuck, it was a long day.”
I tried to reply, my voice coming out strangely husky when I said, “You can say that again, man.”
“Fuck, it was a long day.” He winked, and as stupid as what he’d said was, I snickered. “You in town on business?” he asked.
“Yeah, you?”
He nodded. “Weston.” He held out his hand, and I just sat there for a moment, looking at it like an idiot.
“Anson.” Finally, we shook. His hand was smaller than mine but not by much, warm, with veins crisscrossing along the top. I pulled back. Should I not have told him my real name? I probably shouldn’t have, but I’d just opened my mouth and let the truth out. Then I cursed myself for caring. It wasn’t like we’d do more than chat at the bar before I went back to my hotel, so why did my name need to be a lie?
“Anson. That’s unique. I don’t think I’ve heard that before.”
Apparently, Weston wasn’t much of a football fan. I found that…refreshing. “I’ve never met another one. Guess I’m special.” I smiled at him, then froze as a heavy weight settled in my chest, squeezing tighter. Did it sound like I was flirting? That was something I would have said to Darren or any of the other guys I knew, but Weston wasn’t them, and his hand had felt good in mine. He was fucking gorgeous, and in another life, maybe I’d be with a guy like him.
The corners of his lips stretched out, the right side kicking up slightly higher than the left. “I can see that…you being special.”
Holy fuck. Was he flirting with me? Was that what this was? Christ, I’d never even flirted with a guy before, never had one flirt with me. The hairs on my arms stood on end. My feet twitched with the urge to run as far and fast as I could because…because I wanted it, wished I could have it. Wished I could flirt and stumble into an elevator with him and go to his room the way Darren would with a woman.