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)
When I go to put my cleats on, Brady tears one out of my hand.
“Bro, for real? You’re just gonna leave us hanging? Not gonna spill?”
“Oh, you mean the way that you shared when you started gettin’ all soft on Cam?”
He points the cleat at me. “That was different.”
“Was it?”
He glares and I laugh.
“This is rude.” Brady crosses his arms.
“Leave him alone.” Mason waves him off.
“Thank you.”
“It’s obvious things went well.”
Now my glare points his way.
“What?” He smirks. “Tell us different, I dare you.”
“You guys suck, and can I have my damn cleat back now? We’ve got like five minutes.”
He passes it back, but when my hand wraps around it, he doesn’t let go. This time, though, the teasing and whatnot are gone.
Brady’s grin is light. “Come on, man. You got the girl you’ve been pretending not to watch for the last year.”
“Year and a half-ish,” Mason feels the need to add.
“Shit’s been rough for you, but already today, we can tell you’re… I don’t know, lighter. Tell us we can be happy for you already.”
My lips tug up to one side and that’s all the answer Brady needs.
“Fuck, yes!” he whoops into the air, releasing my shoe. “Dude. This is perfect. So perfect. Shit is going just like we planned, brothers.”
I can’t help the smile on my lips, enjoying this feeling of… I don’t even know what it is. Contentment, maybe.
Brady hops away, knocking his helmet on the lockers as he goes. “I can’t fucking wait to graduate, boys!”
Just like that, a ten-ton truck falls on my shoulders, and I whip around to hide the proof of the hit in my locker.
It’s October. I’ve only got a few more months left here. I should tell them, let them know how much is riding on my performance, because without a bang-out season…
A firm hand lands on my shoulder, and I look over, meeting Mason’s gaze. He holds my stare a moment, and my eyes begin to burn.
“I love you, man.” He squeezes. “You know that, right?”
My throat grows tight, but I manage a nod.
He nods back, then heads out, giving me the moment he can sense I need…but if I take it, I might spiral, and I can’t do that. Not right now.
It’s time to focus up.
We’re playing Florida this week and they’re a passing team, with a quarterback that rivals Mason’s talent and a defense that is going to make me work extra hard for every yard.
I’m up for the fucking challenge, and I will come out on top.
Brady’s teasing comes back to my mind, and I chuckle, making my way toward the field.
My guy was right, though.
I tug my helmet over my head, snapping it in place as I step out on the track.
Instantly, my eyes slice to the left, to the few rows of bleachers near the forty-yard line, where all the girls are studying, a constant in our lives, silent support but support nonetheless, but this time is different.
This time, one of the girls sitting there is mine.
Shiny blond hair blowing lightly in the October air, and a fluffy blanket pulled up to her shoulders, she stares right at me, not a book in sight.
My grin is wide, and she tips her little head.
If I were closer, I bet I’d find her biting on her lip, blushing, and when I draw attention to it, it would spread. Down her neck and chest and under her shirt.
I wonder how far it would reach.
Will her whole body change colors for me if I treat it just right?
Would she let me?
Would she make that same sound if I—
“Harper!” My name is barked, and my attention yanks in that direction. Shit. The team is starting to line up for our warm-ups.
I jolt forward, jogging to where I’m required, and when I hear my boys laughing from down the line, I smirk around my mouth guard.
Yes, Brady. I would definitely be the icing on that sweet little cake.
The next two hours fly by, and by the end of it, I’m sweating like crazy, my legs playing tricks on me with how loose they are when I know they’ll be tight as hell later if I don’t drop into the ice bath before I make my way out of here.
I throw myself onto the bench, my chest heaving as I take my helmet off and accept the water jug Mase passes my way.
“You’re fucking fast, man. Maybe Mr. Carlson was right, and you should have run track.”
I laugh, almost choking on the water, and bend quickly so it doesn’t spill over my lap. “I haven’t thought about that old asshole since the eighth grade.”
“Me either.” He smiles. “I don’t know why it popped into my head.”
Brady falls at our feet. Literally, he lies on the turf, arms and legs out wide. “I swear to shit, if Richardson is the reason we get a single fucking flag on Saturday for being offside, I will personally piss in his pineapple Gatorade.”