Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
I blamed all the 90’s rom coms I watched growing up.
I mean, really — if Kat Stratford could make Patrick Verona fall in love with her despite him being a grumpy, unobtainable asshole who initially started talking to her only because some douchebag paid him to… how was I not going to think I had a shot with the guy who treated me like a girlfriend but swore I wasn’t?
Actions speak louder than words, they say.
But just because they’re the louder ones doesn’t mean they’re the truth.
The elevator dumped us off on the top floor with my mind whirring as it often did when I stopped long enough to let it. This was why I was always racing off to my next adventure.
If you never stopped moving, then you never had time to overthink.
“You’re here,” Jaxson said, nodding to room 5314. “I’m just next door if you need anything.”
“Are you going to bed?” I asked, frowning when I looked at my phone. “It’s not even seven.”
He blew out a breath, running his hand through his hair and looking down at me like what he should do was go to bed.
But he also looked like he could be persuaded.
“Come on, let’s shower and get dinner downstairs,” I said. “Maybe have a few drinks?”
“I find it hard to believe you’re anything close to hungry after how many Peanut M&Ms I watched you shovel into your mouth today.”
“Interesting that you’re paying so much attention to my mouth, Jaxson Brittain,” I teased, stepping a little closer.
His next breath came slower, more controlled, like the exhale would burn if he released it too quickly. His eyes searched mine, jaw ticcing.
I waited for him to call me on it, to remind me of our little boundaries as he’d called them.
But he just stared.
And I took it as permission to step even closer.
“I’ll be right here in an hour,” I said, pointing to the spot beneath my feet. “If you want to join me for dinner, then meet me here. And if you don’t,” I added on a shrug, stepping back. I swore I saw his chest release when I did. “Then enjoy your slumber. I’m sure I can find someone else to hang out with.”
His eyes flared at that, and again I found that stupid, misleading feeling swimming in my gut. He looked like the thought of anyone else hanging out with me but him was enough to drive him mad.
In all reality, I was likely just a pain in his ass — his teammate’s little sister who he somehow felt obligated to care for.
I scanned my key card and slipped inside my room, where my bag was already waiting for me, along with a bottle of champagne on ice and a marble plate with petit fours.
Calling it just a room was laughable.
It was a luxury suite, complete with a king bed, city view, and giant bathtub that was already calling my name.
I chuckled to myself, leaning my head against the door I’d just shut behind me.
“Really roughing it on the road out here,” I muttered, and then I stripped out of my shorts and top, leaving a trail of clothes on my way to the tub.
False Reality
Grace
After a quick bath, I wrapped myself in the plush robe the hotel provided and sat at the vanity, applying moisturizer to my face. At the same time, I swiped a thumb across my phone screen and tapped my mom’s contact from my favorites list, working the cream into my skin as the phone rang.
I’d sent a text to Vince just letting him know I was okay, which was about all he needed from me. He shot back a quick thumbs up emoji that told me he’d already moved on, assuming I was fine and handling myself. It was a fair assumption, since I’d been doing that since we were kids. I liked that he had faith in my strength as much as I disliked that I had to have it.
My brother would be there for me if I ever told him I needed him.
Sometimes, I just wish he could see that I needed him without being told.
“Hello, Gracie,” Mom answered, a little breathless. “Everything alright?”
My chest deflated at the greeting.
To anyone else, it would have seemed like a mother answering her daughter’s call with concern for her well-being.
But for me, I knew this was her way of quickly getting a pulse check on what kind of call this was. Because if I was okay, if I didn’t need anything — she was busy.
“Everything’s fine, Mom,” I assured her. “Just checking in to let you know I’m in Atlanta.”
“Oh! How fun! What are you doing there?” I could hear the distraction in her voice, the way you know someone isn’t fully listening.
“Trying out for a circus.”
“With your balance? Not the best idea.”