Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
I stare at her for a long moment. "You know he's full of crap, right? If he said all of that, he's swimming in it."
"He usually is," she agrees with a laugh, "but he was serious this time."
"Wow." I sit back in my chair, shocked. And not entirely convinced. The day my dad actually stays out of something will be the day the whole world mourns because he's gone. And that isn't allowed to happen. He has to live forever. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. I don't even like Kingston."
"Uh-huh," Mom says, and she has that tone—you know, the one that says she thinks I'm as full of it as my dad is. "Is that why your laptop is open to his social media?"
"What?"
She points behind me.
I turn, see what she's talking about, and squeak, practically throwing myself out of my chair to slam my laptop closed.
"You saw nothing!" I cry. Research and internet stalking are not the same thing.
"You mean like the picture of Kingston that you were ogling?"
Dammit. Busted.
"Nothing!" I cry again.
Mom just cracks up.
An hour later, my phone dings while I'm at the piano, aimlessly striking keys like that'll give me inspiration.
I stop and scoop my phone up, frowning.
"What the hell?"
I open the notification, convinced I saw it wrong, but no. It's right there in living color. Kingston just followed me on Instagram.
"What is he doing?" I whisper…not entirely sure I even want to know. If this is his way of convincing the press to buy his lies, he needs media training. They're going to be all over this.
I want to message him to ask what he's up to now, but I don't. I don't follow him back either. I don't even open his feed. See? I have self-control.
It lasts approximately 2 minutes and 10 seconds, and then my phone dings again.
I don't even try to pretend I'm not rabidly curious. I snatch it up like it holds the answers to the universe.
"Oh my gosh," I whisper. Did this man seriously just slide into my DMs? Yes. Yes, he did.
I tap the message to see what he wants.
Kingston: I'm sorry if I embarrassed you at the game last night, princess. That wasn't my intention. In my defense, it's not every day that a man comes face to face with fate and gets a glimpse of his future. I just wanted to tell you that you have an incredible voice. It blew me away. I can't wait to hear you sing again.
"Oh, he is shameless!" I mutter, gaping at his message. I might be smiling too. Jesus. This is bad.
I set my phone down, determined not to message him back.
And then another message comes through.
Kingston: I see you read my last message. And you haven't blocked me yet. I'm taking that as a positive sign.
"It's not," I growl, glaring at my phone.
Kingston: I listened to your album last night. Not afraid to admit I listened again this morning. Jesus Christ, princess! I'm in awe. Did your dad teach you to sing like that?
I don't know why I pick up my phone to answer him. Really, I don't. But my fingers fly across the screen.
Me: No. I learned in church like every other good little southern girl.
I hit send, then realize he's probably going to think that gave him an opening.
Me: You can stop messaging me now.
I don't even have to wait five seconds for his response.
Kingston: You responded.
Kingston: You went to church? I bet you were adorable in your little church dresses, singing in the choir.
Me: Pretty much everyone in Tennessee goes to church, Kingston. Why are you in my DMs?
Kingston: Because I've been thinking about you nonstop since I saw you in the locker room yesterday. I want to see you again.
My heart flutters before I remind myself that he's probably like this with everyone. I quickly flip my phone around and snap a photo of myself before sending it to him.
It's not a good one. I'm in sweats, no makeup, with my hair in a messy bun. Basically, the way I look most days. Hopefully, he'll see it, decide that I'm not what he's looking for, and move on quickly.
That thought doesn't sting. Not even a little bit.
I'm also a dirty liar.
Me: There. Now you've seen me again and can move on with your life.
Kingston: Goddamn, you're beautiful, baby. I could get lost in those eyes and not regret a second of it.
Oh, jeez. He really is shameless, isn't he?
Kingston: And just so we're clear, there will be no moving on. I'm already planning our future.
Me: Rufus will be thrilled to hear that.
Kingston: Rufus is adorable. He's a boxer, right? Why'd you lie about being married?
"Dammit," I groan. Of course he figured that out already. I glance across the kitchen at Rufus, who is passed out in his bed like usual. I really need to stop sharing so many photos of him. How am I supposed to use him as cover if the whole world has already seen him?