Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Adjectives?” I sigh. “Okay. I’m a man. Handsome. Charming. Studly. Humble,” I add for good measure.
She opens her eyes long enough to give me a look of disapproval. The way her nose wrinkles up is adorable.
“I’m a student,” I tell her, pausing to see when she’ll have had enough. I’m also not sure if that’s an adjective, but whatever. She doesn’t stop me, so I continue. “Ferocious. A football player—”
“Ugh,” she groans immediately.
“What?”
“I knew it,” she moans, hitting the headrest with her ponytail.
I have no idea what’s happening here. I only know she’s slightly freaking me out.
“Larissa?”
“I should’ve known.” She looks at me, resolution in her eyes. “You’re an athlete.”
It’s more of an accusation than a statement, and I’m not sure what to do with that. I’ve been accused of many things in my life but never of being an athlete. It’s usually more of a positive connotation, a conversation starter.
“Yeah. That’s what I said,” I deadpan.
She smacks her lips together. “Everything is starting to make sense.”
“I’m glad it is for one of us.”
She glances toward the door and then back at me.
“It’s too late. We’re already here,” Larissa says.
“It’s too late for what?” I run a hand through my hair. “What are you even talking about?”
“It’s too late to have you take me back home.”
I flinch. “What? Why do you want to go home?”
“Because you play football.”
She scrunches up her face in a way that I think is supposed to express her dislike of my sporting habits but instead makes me laugh. This further annoys her.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” she asks as she grabs the door handle and steps outside.
I scramble to get out. Before I can get around the car, she’s already standing at the front.
I grin at her. “I need to know why me playing football is such a problem for you?”
“Just because.”
We start up the walkway to the house. Her arms are crossed over her chest, but I don’t get the feeling she’s mad at me. Just … at the football player in me.
I don’t know what to do, so I laugh.
She stops at the top of the stairs and sighs.
“Look, do you remember last night when I told you I had sworn off men right before I met you?” she asks.
I nod even though I don’t actually remember. I’m not about to fight Larissa on this. Not with her already riled up about something I don’t understand.
“Well, I didn’t swear off all men, Hollis. Just one specific little category of them.” She takes a deep breath. “Athletes. I promised myself I was not even entertaining the idea of being with an athlete in any way, shape, or form.”
She turns away from me and rings the doorbell.
I take a step forward and nudge her with my elbow. When she looks at me, I smirk.
“Does this mean you were entertaining the idea of entertaining me tonight?” I ask.
“Ugh,” she groans, looking at the giant chandelier hanging over our heads.
“Because, if you were, I’m technically not an athlete anymore. My season is over. So if you wanna …”
Before I can get the thought out, the door swings open. Lincoln greets us with a broad, genuine smile.
“Hey, Hollis,” he says, extending a hand. It’s good to see you. Thanks for coming, man.”
We shake hands. Lincoln steps to the side to allow us to enter his home. I look at Larissa and wait for her to enter first.
“Don’t I know you?” Lincoln asks as she walks by.
She smiles up at him adoringly. “Yes. I’m Larissa Mason. Coy Mason’s cousin.”
He tilts his head back and laughs. “That’s right. Coy Mason. How the hell is he, anyway?”
“He’s okay. He’s Coy, so you know how that goes.”
“That I do. Just saw him on the television a couple of days ago on one of those entertainment news reports, actually. And I hear him on the radio all the damn time. Danielle loves his music.” Lincoln shuts the door behind me. “How do the two of you know each other?”
“We met in a bar,” I say, figuring it’s best to leave it simple and as vague as possible.
Lincoln looks at Larissa and winks. “I won’t tell your cousins that you’re picking up men in bars.”
She grins. “I’d appreciate that.”
He turns and heads down a long hallway, motioning for us to follow. “Come on. Let’s get some food.”
The house smells warm, like apples and cinnamon, and it’s precisely what I imagine the homes smelling like in the old fifties sitcoms I watch late at night.
The hallway is decorated with pictures and random art pieces that make no sense to me. Music, I understand. Abstract art? Not even a little bit.
A living room sits to our left. It’s painted light yellow and has oversized green couches facing a fireplace. On the right is a long dining room that looks like something out of a magazine that I would flip through at the doctor’s office. It’s immaculate, yet you can tell by the little touches of personal effects that people live here.