Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
She snorts. “You keep telling me that. And yet, here you are, in my house, not leaving me alone.”
“Hey. You can say no.”
“True. But I’m a single mom with a limited budget—it’s not a crime to try and weasel free plumbing out of you. Or free food.”
I’m home and I’m dry.
And I’m strolling through the bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist when my agent calls, his name lighting up the screen of my cell later than usual.
Huh.
Weird.
I hit accept, put the phone on speaker, and toss it to the bed so I can continue getting dressed.
“Hey.”
“How you been?”
“Fine.” I pull on a T-shirt. “What’s up?”
Cut to the chase, dude.
I wish he’d get to the point; this small talk makes me fidgety. If he has bad news, I need him to fucking say it.
Trent laughs.
He’s new to me—I signed with him less than a year ago, and although he’s a ballbuster who does not put up with shit, he’s also up in my business. Always wants to know how I’m doing, where I’m at in life, if I’m in touch with my feelings.
That kind of bullshit.
“Is something wrong?” I can’t take the suspense.
“No, man.” I hear rustling in the background and wonder why he’s still working this late at night. “Just had some free time and thought I would check in.”
I pause in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection.
Damn, I’m handsome.
Damn, I’m hungry.
I pull on some shorts, grab my phone, and head toward the kitchen in search of pizza—or a sandwich.
“So what’s been going on with your love life? Landon said you were on a dating app?” He doesn’t waste a single second digging for the dirt, does he? Can’t figure out why he’d even care.
“Yeah. But it’s not as easy as I thought it was going to be.”
“Really? How so?”
“First of all, I had originally gone on the apps as myself, Dex the football player, and that only served in attracting gold diggers.” I yank open the fridge to inspect the snacks Carrie hopefully prepared. “Then Landon told me I was being a fucking twat and I shouldn’t be on the app as myself. So I created a fake profile with fake-ish information and—lo and behold—attracted a woman who hates my guts.”
“How can a woman you haven’t met hate your guts?”
“’Cause. We had words when I was being myself.”
There is a long pause on his end of the line. So long I have to ask, “Dude. Are you there?”
“I’m here. I’m just trying to figure out what the hell you’re talking about.”
I give my head a shake, tucking my phone under my chin so I can remove a few containers from the shelves. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, she hated me and now we’re friends.”
“Who is this person?”
I don’t have time to keep explaining this shit to him. I mean, I technically do, but why would I want to? He should learn to pay more attention.
“Some mom I met on the app.”
“A mom?” It sounds like his eyes just bugged out of his skull. “You’re dating a single mom?”
Does he have to say it like that, in that tone? Rude.
“No, I’m not dating a single mom,” I scoff. “Honestly, though, her daughter is pretty fucking cool.”
“You met the daughter?” I can hear his brows go up into his receding hairline and his blood pressure rise.
Dude needs to chill. “Can we not get into it? I’m hungry.”
“So you are dating her or not dating her?”
“Not.”
Trent is quiet a few seconds as he considers all this new information.
“Why?”
“Why am I not dating her?” I crack open a container and stare inside. Sniff it for good measure. “I just told you—she has a daughter.”
“Ah,” Trent breathes. “Gotcha.”
I don’t say more. It’s not like I need to explain what my boundaries are and why, when it comes to my personal life, because before this week, I had none.
“She’s a teacher—it’s not like she has time to babysit me.”
My agent lets out a low whistle on the other end of the phone, and it’s really fucking polarizing. “A first-grade teacher and a single mom? Man, that’s, like, the holy grail.”
Holy grail? I slap some mayo on a piece of bread with a butter knife and take the chicken from the storage container and plop it on top of the bread, too, half listening.
“What the hell are you even talking about? How do you know she teaches first grade?” I don’t remember giving him specifics.
I stuff the cold sandwich into my mouth and chew while he explains, but he ignores my questions and drones on as if I hadn’t asked them.
“Think about it. The public would eat that shit up. You, dating a first-grade teacher and a single mom?”
I stop chewing long enough to say, “What are you getting at?”
“Nothing. I’m just saying it would be great for your image.”