Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“Nothing’s wrong with me. What the hell’s wrong with you?” Shaw snaps back. Ethan narrows his eyes. There’s a lot of bewilderment there.
“Where’s Sam?” I ask, suddenly worried. Pointing behind him, I get a grunt from Shaw. Sam is standing there looking unsure and awkward. “Way to go, hero.” Stepping around them, I grab Sam’s hand and we walk off.
“Oh crud. You beat me again,” I say, feigning disappointment. Sam giggles so loudly I may have to throw ten more games just to hear it again. We’ve been playing a beanbag toss game for the past half hour.
“Can I play?”
Both Sam and I turn around at the sound of the deep voice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Shaw look quite this uncomfortable. He’s standing there with his hands shoved in the front pocket of his jeans like the last kid on the playground to be picked for a dodge ball team. Do I let him disrupt the happy vibe we’ve been surfing, or turn him away and possibly cause more problems down the road? With a warning glare at Shaw, I say, “You can take my turn.” I don’t miss the worried look that crosses Sam’s face.
A short while later, even though the excitement has fallen a notch or two, Sam still seems to be having fun. I can’t deny that part of me is surprised. I didn’t expect Shaw to make this much of an effort. Maybe there’s hope for him yet–– although he made sure to win at least half the games so the jury is still out. Jerk. I just hope these two have turned a corner.
“Now you take my turn,” Sam says, surprising me. I glance at Shaw and the smug look on the arrogant ass’ face makes my spine go laser straight. So he wants to play does he? Fine by me. Should I mention I was the pitcher on a championship winning softball team? I’ll keep that little beauty to myself.
By the tenth game, Sam is openly cheering me on and I have to forcibly stop myself from doubling over in laughter. Shaw has smoke coming out of his ears. The Super Bowl MVP doesn’t like to be upstaged by a girl apparently. Not that either of us are winning; it’s a dead heat even after he stopped taking it easy on me.
“One more, or are you done?” I taunt and watch those chilly eyes narrow. “That killer glare doesn’t work on me, Calvin.” The sound of his name on my lips makes his twitch. He wants to smile, I know he does, and yet…nothing.
“A picture, Mr. Shaw?” We turn to find a photographer armed with a massive camera already poised to shoot.
“Not now,” Calvin answers.
“Just a quick one,” insists the photographer and begins snapping pictures of us. Calvin’s entire body stiffens. All except for the good parts that is.
“Unless you want to be banned from team facilities for life, I suggest you erase the last three pictures.” His voice is deadly calm and his face a frozen mask. This is not his game face, one I know well from the hundreds of games I’ve watched him play over the years, this face holds malicious intent. The photographer smartly tunes into the serious threat. He nods slowly and begins scanning the screen on his digital camera. Stepping closer, he shows me the last pictures on the screen. I give him a tight smile after I confirm the absence of our images.
“Are we cool?” the young man asks Calvin.
“We’re cool.”
As soon as the photographer is gone, I turn to Calvin. “What was that about?”
His gaze stays on the beanbag he tosses in the air and catches. “I saw the look on your face when he took the picture.” Then he drops it and walks away without sparing me another glance.
All the action makes Sam and me hungry. Heading over to the food stands, we decide on a couple of hotdogs and something to drink. Then we find an empty picnic table on a quiet side of the field to eat.
“Fancy meetin’ you here,” drawls a friendly voice. I look over my shoulder to find Justin Harper loping in our direction. His crooked, carefree grin provokes one on my face, too. When he reaches us he swings a long leg over the bench and straddles it.
“Sam, this is Justin Harper, the new wide receiver for the Titans. Justin, I’d like to introduce you to Sam McCabe, Calvin Shaw’s nephew,” I say, heavy emphasis on the last few words.
“Nice to meet you, Sam.” Harper thrusts out a hand that Sam shakes with a smile, instantly taken by Justin’s sunny demeanor. Leaning into me, Justin whispers, “I have a question for you.” My whole body braces for the worst. Looking a tad self-conscious, he asks, “Is your friend single?”