Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Sloane looked up at the remnants of the church’s stone walls. Ivy and creeping vines weaved through archways that had once held stained glass, but today sun streaked in from the other side, creating a magical feeling.
“Wow,” she said. “It doesn’t seem real.”
I smiled. “I know.”
She pulled out her phone. “This would be an amazing place for a wedding. I need to take some pictures.”
I shook my head.
“What?”
“Nothing. Take your pics.” I stood off to the side, watching Sloane smile as she angled her phone and snapped photos from all different perspectives. I never thought the day would come when a woman mentioned the word wedding and I didn’t break out in hives. And I certainly never imagined I’d take out my phone and sneak a few pics myself. But it gave me a warm feeling to see Sloane love the place as much as I did—a different warm feeling than I’d had a couple of hours ago picking out thongs. Which reminded me … My eyes dropped to her ass to see if I could make out whether she was wearing one I’d picked out. Sadly, I couldn’t.
We wandered around the small park for a long time, finding all the little hidden places and reading the informational signs I’d read a dozen times before. On our way out, Sloane stopped at the stone archway where we’d started. “What do you love about this place?” she asked. “I mean, aside from how beautiful it is?”
I shrugged. “That’s a good question. I don’t know really. I guess I like it because it’s been destroyed so many times, and yet it never falls.”
Sloane nodded. “Yeah. It feels … hopeful.”
Our eyes caught. I wanted so fucking badly to kiss her. I wasn’t a romantic guy—my idea of romance was drinking a little wine on the balcony off my bedroom before plowing into a woman on all fours on my bed ten feet away. But Sloane? I wanted to dip her in the middle of the ruins of a medieval church. Which meant it was most definitely time to get the hell out of here.
Stop two wasn’t as dreamy-eyed, at least not for most people. I took her to Wembley Stadium—the place I’d played for more than eight years. It was closed to the public today, but the guys in security all knew me, so they let me give Sloane a private tour.
We walked out onto the field through the tunnel I’d walked out of hundreds of times before, and Sloane looked up at the empty stands. “Wow. How many people does the stadium hold?”
“Ninety thousand.”
She shook her head. “I can’t imagine what this must feel like with all the seats filled and people cheering your name, wearing your jersey.”
I looked up, remembering those days. “It was great when I did well, but it was brutal when I had a bad day. Same fan cheering you on the way in could be throwing his empty beer bottle at you on the way out.”
“That didn’t really happen, did it?”
I pointed to the scar on my hairline. “Playoff game. Six stitches. It was the worst game of my career.”
“I can’t believe someone threw a bottle at you.”
“I deserved it. My head was up my ass that day.” I smiled at the stands, picturing them full. “There were more good days than bad though.”
“I bet you were the most popular player with the women.”
I wasn’t touching that comment with a ten-foot pole. “The fans were interesting. That’s for sure.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Yes and no. I took advantage of the celebrity that came with it—walking into any club I wanted, never getting in trouble for stupid shit I did—but after a while you start to realize none of it is real. People want to be friends with you for the wrong reasons, women want to be with you because of your name, not who you are. After you fall for it a few times, you start to retreat. I guess on the plus side, it taught me to value the people in my inner circle.”
“Like Andrew?”
I nodded. “He might technically work for me, but I need him much more than he needs me. I’d be screwed without him.”
Sloane smiled. “He speaks highly of you, too—in between the stories of what a jerk you are.”
I grinned. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Sloane pointed up to the rafters, to the six oversized jerseys hanging there. “Your jersey is still up there?”
I nodded. “They retired it the year after I stopped playing.”
“Wow. That’s a big honor, right?”
For a change, I downplayed the accomplishment. “I guess.”
We both stared up for a while. I didn’t realize I was smiling until Sloane interrupted. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“What do you mean?”
“You look like your thoughts are up to no good.”
I smiled. “I was just thinking, I’d love to see you wearing my jersey.”