Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
She watches a few seconds longer and then she nods, backing away, but she doesn’t look away.
I do, moving straight for the cab of my truck. I’m tugging the door open when she calls my name.
“Hey, Chase.”
I turn in time to catch her tucking her hair behind her ear.
“See you at the party?”
My throat grows thick, but she doesn’t let me answer, turning and skipping over to Brady and Cam. For that, I’m grateful. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, and I don’t know how to navigate a friendship with a woman, not anymore.
The last time I had a friend that I started to look at a little, well, more, I hurt a lot of people. I don’t want to hurt her—or anyone, for that matter.
So I don’t go home, where the party is kicking off.
I drive around to the back of the stadium and park in the farthest corner of the lot. I stay there until the sun rises, and when I wake, it’s with an overbearing weight of helplessness because I might have woken on another day, yet I’m still trapped in a nightmare.
CHAPTER FIVE
Paige
“So, Paige, your grandfather tells me you’re a fan of football.” Eloise, Grant’s secretary, smiles from across the long table.
“I am.” I nod. “My dad actually played in college, so growing up, he would take me to all these random college games, mostly places we could drive to for the day or night, but we did go all the way to Texas once for my birthday. And the last couple years, my friends and I have gone to at least one away game we’ve had to travel for. This year we have plans to fly out for the night to their Vegas game, since they’ve all finally turned twenty-one.”
“Oh, fun! You’re what, twenty-three?” Her brown eyes narrow slightly, though she’s trying not to judge.
Dabbing my mouth with the linen, I nod, taking a small sip of the wine that was poured for me. I’d rather have a beer, but something tells me my grandfather doesn’t stock something as, well, basic as that in his cellar.
“I am. When my dad passed away, I both had to and needed to take time off to…arrange what needed arranging.” Pity, plain and clear, slips over every person around this table, and it’s a bit uncomfortable coming from virtual strangers. “Actually, my parents met at a college football game. The last one of the season, in fact.”
“How lovely.” She offers a tense smile.
I peek at Grant, and I can’t tell if it’s regret or frustration creasing his brows. I wonder if he wants to know that, according to my dad, my mother was sober at the time, having gotten over her addiction about a year before that. It wasn’t until five years later that she realized she loved something else more than my dad and the baby she’d just given birth to—drugs.
“Mr. Randolph, I know this is supposed to be a nice evening off work, but can I run my thoughts on the Carlson merger by you since we’re here?”
I look to Prescott, who sits across from me.
He offers me a subtle wink, and I silently thank him for taking the attention away. The last forty minutes the spotlight has been on me, and I’m starting to get a little twitchy.
If there is one thing I have learned about Grant, it’s that not a second should be wasted, so he, of course, is eager to jump right into that conversation.
Letting out a long, low breath, I focus on finishing off my risotto.
The staff comes out a few minutes later, swapping our dishes to a small, elegant dessert, and the moment I taste the zesty key lime treat, I instantly know I’d like to try to replicate it.
It’s delicate and airy, and if this were a buffet, I’d definitely go for another.
“Lost in thought or a good food coma?”
My head snaps left to find Prescott lowering into the seat beside me. With a quick flick of my gaze around the table, I realize everyone has stood and is making their way into the massive sitting room, where it looks like the staff is serving steaming cups of coffee.
My nose scrunches and I give him a sheepish look. “Bit of both?”
He chuckles, settling back in the seat, and starts to loosen his tie. “Yeah, I think I overate, too, but there’s just something about Danny’s cooking.”
“Is that the chef’s name?”
“You haven’t met him yet? I could introduce you. He’s around your age, in fact.” He grins.
“Oh no, I am happy to meet him some other time.” I laugh lightly.
Prescott joins in, reaching for his glass of water. “Yeah, I imagine you have enough on your plate at the moment. If it’s any consolation, your grandfather is the best man I know.” When I meet his gaze, he continues. “He took a chance on me when no one else would. Well, not without having to hear an earful from my father anyway.”