Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
I’m putting on my shoes and socks when Prescott appears.
“Who’s ready to go running?”
Why’s he so loud? More importantly, why is he joining me? And excited about it?
“You never want to go for a morning workout,” I say.
“It’s the endorphins. Sex makes me happy. Happy people want to go running. Running makes you even more happy. Today is going to be an amazing day.”
Today is going to be my usual form of torture: spending time with my amazing roommate while internally begging him to love me back.
He bounces around me, all ready to go. “Come on.”
I go slower. Because fuck that energy.
“You don’t seem as relaxed as I am. Did you not get enough last night?”
“I did. I just …” Couldn’t sleep after it, have been contemplating my future, our future, at what point I might snap … “Didn’t sleep well.”
“I can’t remember the last time I slept so well.”
I finish tying my laces and stand. “I’ve never wanted to punch you harder.”
“Lies. I know how to be really annoying.”
“Well, that is true. Let’s get this over with if you plan to talk the entire run. Try to keep up. Last one out locks up.” I run for the door, but Prescott pulls me back.
We struggle and fight our way to the front of the apartment, and he edges me out at the last second. He laughs all the way down the steps, and it echoes up the stairwell.
I lock up and run after him, catching up in the parking lot, but instead of slowing to his speed, I slap him on the back of the head and keep running.
In moments like these, it’s easy to let go of the growing resentment building inside me because we truly are the definition of best friends. But I know that as soon as we get home and the laughs stop, it’ll be another memory weighing down my heart.
We run four miles to Silver Strand State Beach and then turn around to head back, but as I do that, Prescott grabs my forearm to stop me.
“Aww, can’t keep up?” I taunt, breathing heavily.
His chest heaves. “What’s the rush?”
He has a point. It’s a gorgeous day; the sun is warm, but the breeze is keeping the air cool, and I’ve already learned that trying to outrun my feelings doesn’t work.
We slow to a walk, but it takes less than a minute for the real reason he stopped me to take over.
“Brady gave us his number when I dropped him off.”
Excitement flutters in my gut, but I know better than to get my hopes up. “Gave you his number.”
“No. Us. I was thinking …” He bites his lip and glances out at the water.
“If you want to date Brady, I’m not going to stop you.”
“Pfft. You know I don’t date or do relationships. I was thinking of a repeat sometime. If you want it, that is.”
We’re on the same page about that, but … “You? You want a repeat with someone?”
“He was different than the others, right?” He shrugs. “Don’t ask me why. I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“I know what you mean,” I murmur.
He has a skip in his step. “So you’re in? I thought I might have had to sell you more than that.”
“Like you said, you don’t date or do relationships. If anyone would need convincing, I thought it would be you.”
“This is not dating. It’s sex. And damn, I want to see him again.”
Yeah, so do I.
CHAPTER THREE
brady
My brother has way more talent in his little finger than most of the guys on his team combined. I should be jealous—the public consensus seems to be that I am—but that’s really not the case.
Growing up with famous football-playing dads, it was only inevitable that one of us followed in their footsteps. For me, I was happy Peyton loved football enough to take that bullet.
I belong exactly where I am: watching a game I love from the stands while my brother gets sweaty on the field below us. It’s the last home game of his college career, and in a few months, he’s going to get drafted. It’s not an if for him. The only thing we’re unsure of is what number pick he’ll be. Peyton wants first, of course, but as his future agent, I would rather see him in the top ten or even settle for first round. Not only will that take the pressure off Peyton, but it might keep his giant ego in check.
I’m allowed to say that because he’s my brother and I love him.
As much as I’d love for my wish to come true, our whole family will be shocked if he’s not first. Peyton Miller, son of Marcus Talon, one of the greatest quarterbacks of all time? Yeah, every single team will want to snap him up.