Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
He sounds so confident as if their entering the draft is a done deal, not something they have to want and make happen through all their hard work.
He’s making it sound like it’s just…going to happen. No matter what.
No questions asked.
For all I know, it will. But part of me wonders if the other three have the same passion for football their eldest brother does. Surely, they don’t—can’t—surely, one of them doesn’t like it at all?
But what the hell do I know? I just met them.
“What do we need to get done today while I’m here?” Duke asks, taking another bite of pizza. It’s sausage and pepperoni, loaded with black olives, mushrooms, and peppers.
“I don’t know, thought we’d unpack everything.” Drew scratches his head. “Practice starts on Wednesday. I wanna have this shit done so we can relax. Maybe make the living room cute.”
His accent isn’t nearly as strong as his oldest brother.
While they’re talking and enjoying their pizza, I begin organizing the kitchen without being asked, separating the Tupperware containers and arranging them in the bottom cabinet next to the oven. Stack the cups and glasses and put them in the cabinet next to the sink.
I open and close all the drawers, wiping them out before putting the silverware and utensils inside. By the time they’re done eating and tossing the pizza boxes in the recycling bin at the side of the house, I have the entire tiny kitchen arranged.
I'm not sure how long it will stay tidy and organized, but I’m happy with how things turned out, where everything fit, and how everything should be easy for them to find.
Duke comes up behind me, puts his hand on my shoulder, and leans in. “You didn’t have to do this. So thank you.”
I shiver when he pulls me into a side hug.
I stand there looking at all the cabinet interiors while he’s still embracing me, sending tiny shock waves of electricity through my veins.
Ugh.
“Want something to drink?” he asks at long last.
“Sure. Do we have any water?”
“Yup.” Duke pulls the fridge open and grabs two bottles of water from the shelf, twisting both tops off before handing me one.
“Thank you.”
He smiles—sort of—mouth curving up, eyes warm. Watching me watch him as we drink.
He seems happy being in this place with his brothers. I wonder if he misses the days when things were simpler, and people didn’t want a piece of him.
But.
Perhaps it’s always been like that for him. Maybe he’s always been surrounded by users and people who wanted clout, money, and fame, knowing if they dated or managed him, they’d have it. The idea of that thought makes me sad.
Duke is young. Here, in this house, he looks happy.
The reality of his reality has no effect on this moment and for that I’m glad.
The guys get back to work.
A constant flutter of activity, they move the living room furniture so it creates more space (for parties, Dallas says), hauling two new dressers to the second level for the two bedrooms upstairs. Move a table into the kitchen and add four chairs.
From somewhere inside the house, a speaker begins blaring music—country music, naturally.
I bop my head along to the rhythm as I locate a broom in the kitchen and take it to the front porch, sweeping away the dust and dirt and filth, thinking about how the hell there’s no grass and wondering if we should go to the hardware store and get some seed.
“Nope,” I grumble. “It’s not my problem.”
Sweep.
Sweep the steps, one by one, lost in thought while bobbing my head to the beat of the music.
I get to the bottom step and begin on the short sidewalk.
“Hey there.”
I look up to see two girls in the driveway next door; it’s not clear to me if they’re coming or going, but it’s clear to me they’re extremely interested in what’s going on inside the house behind me.
Or I should say who they’re interested in inside the house behind me.
I rest on the broom handle. “Hello.” I pause. “Do you ladies live next door?”
I force my voice to sound pleasant despite the nerves in my belly.
These are not the girls I saw on the porch next door earlier, but who knows how many people pile inside these off-campus rentals.
“No. We’re two houses over.”
Ah. “So just taking a walk, I see.”
Not.
More like they heard there was fresh meat and they came to case out the joint before any other young ladies could call dibs. Ten years might have passed since I’ve been in college myself, but some things will never change, and that’s the siren call of single females looking for a mate.
“Are you their mom?” The brunette’s eyes haven’t left the porch—it’s as if she’s willing one of the boys to come out by sheer brainpower.
I’m sorry, what now? Their mom?