Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 82508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
I let out a loud breath. “No one. It’s a bed to sleep in instead of the floor.”
Baby narrows her eyes.
“What?”
“When I’ve asked you about your girlfriends—and I use that term loosely—you’ve had no problem describing them and giving me their name because you know I’ll never meet them.” She cocks her head. “Which means, there’s either a chance of running into this new gi—person … or … I’ve already met them.”
I don’t miss the way she switched pronouns.
Shit.
I run a hand through my hair. “If you could, like, not be so perceptive, that’d be great. Thanks.”
She throws her arms around me. “Aww, Teddy. I’m proud of you for rejecting the social convention of heteronormative bullshit.”
“Yes. Because that’s the entire reason for sleeping with a teammate.”
Her eyes widen. “It’s totally that asshole guy, isn’t it?”
“He’s not an asshole,” I grumble.
“Oh, that’s so cute.”
“Have I mentioned lately that I hate you?”
“No you don’t.”
“Right now I do!”
“Why have you been having dinner with me every night? You should go out with your boyfriend.”
I hold up my hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not my boyfriend. Definitely not my boyfriend. We don’t do dates.” Not intentional ones anyway. That breakfast date happened by chance, and it wasn’t even a date.
“Aww, that must be so romantic for him.”
I scoff. “Trust me. He doesn’t want romance. Not from me.”
“I don’t know about that. Thinking back to the night he turned up here, upset over what I’m now guessing was a jealous rage over me, that guy might want some romance.”
“Maybe, but I stand by my statement that he won’t want it from me. He still practically hates me.”
“Then what do you even see in him?”
His dick. Don’t tell your little sister that. And it’s not like that’s even true anyway.
I shrug. “He’s hot when he scowls at me.”
“Ooh, you have it bad.”
“No, I don’t.” I jump up and pull something out of my closet to wear. “And I’m going to prove it.”
“Where are you going?”
I sigh. “To ask my fuck buddy on a proper date.”
She bounces up and down and claps. “Yay.”
“I’m only doing it to prove you wrong, because you are.”
“I’m so not wrong.”
And suddenly everything inside me hopes that’s true.
19
Jacobs
The tap on my door comes way earlier than I’m expecting. It could literally be anyone at this time, but I know his knock. Slightly impatient and full of life.
I’m smiling before I even reach the door.
He’s changed since practice, and he looks good. Really good.
With a quick glance down the hall, I grab his shirt and tug him inside, but before I can push him against the wall and kiss him stupid, Beck steps out of my reach. He’s not meeting my eyes, and I’m suddenly really worried he’s here for a reason other than making out. He shifts further away.
Uh-oh.
Is he done here already?
I straighten up and do my best to hide the sudden panic. It might have been Beck’s idea to continue this, but I definitely haven’t been complaining. Every night he sneaks down here, it just makes me want more.
“So this is outside our usual schedule,” I say carefully.
Beck forces a little laugh. “Ah, yeah. I thought I’d catch you before dinner, see if you were hungry maybe?” He’s still acting weird, but at least it doesn’t seem like he’s here to end things.
“I could eat.”
“You could?”
I stare at him for a minute, not sure if he’s dicking around. “Why are you being weird?”
“I’m …” I can tell he’s about to deny it when he relaxes. “My sister maybe guessed about us.”
“Guessed?”
“Apparently your little display of jealousy didn’t go unnoticed. And neither did my sneaking out. Are you mad?”
Am I? I feel like I should be. Beck’s certainly expecting me to be. “Can’t be helped.”
“Okay, who are you and what have you done with Jacobs?”
I hold back my laugh and tug him in close again. “Who are you? You’ve been here a few minutes now and we haven’t even kissed yet.”
“You want to kiss me?”
I don’t answer him. Instead I press my lips to his and lean into the feel of his body against mine.
“Dinner?” he asks against my mouth.
“Sure, let me get my keys.”
“And maybe change your shirt?”
It’s such a weird request that I stare at him a moment. At his tight jeans and button-up shirt, and …
I swallow hard. Is this a date?
Nerves explode in my gut as I force my feet toward the closet and pull my T-shirt over my head. I don’t have many options, so I pull the first navy button-up I see from the hanger and shrug into it, while keeping my back turned firmly toward Beck.
Maybe I’m reading this wrong. That would be the most obvious option. So why can’t I bring myself to make some kind of joke while I clear up whatever is happening here? I check my hair in the small mirror. The close-shaved sides have started to grow out, but at least the length on top is sitting right.