Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Listen, give him the benefit of the doubt. Meet with him, check the vibes.” I can’t help but chuckle silently when he says that. “Then call me after the meeting.”
“Like I’m not going to talk to you tomorrow before the game,” I tell him. “I’m playing Dallas tomorrow.”
“I really wish I was coming out with Nico,” my father says. “I’m going to see if maybe—”
“Dad,” I reply tightly, “it’s more than okay. If anything comes up and I need you, you can come out this weekend and we can hang together.”
“Fine, twist my arm.” He laughs. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Talk to you then, Dad.” I disconnect the phone at the same time I pull into my driveway. Pressing the button to open the garage door and watching it go up slowly, I drive in and shut off the car before closing the door again. Grabbing my phone, I get out of the car and head into the house.
I got this house, near LA, for six point five million dollars almost ten years ago and literally gutted it, putting in another three million in renovations. The only reason I bought it was because it was right on the beach. It had panoramic views of the ocean and I loved sitting out there and watching the water. There is something relaxing and therapeutic about sitting and watching the waves hit the shore with the rumbling sound. After most games, you can usually find me sitting outside and just relaxing. In the morning, I’m usually having my coffee looking out into the horizon.
Stepping into the house, I face the open door to the downstairs bathroom, which is right next to the spare bedroom my sisters usually stay in when they come to visit. I head left past the formal living room I never fucking use but, apparently, have to have. A conversation that my mother and the realtor had with me when I was picking out the house. Especially when I gutted it and then started to rebuild it. Thinking of the resale value was the only thing that made me agree with it. Ten years later, I still hate the room and I regret it, but if it wasn’t a formal living room, I have no idea what I would have made it.
I pass the staircase before taking two steps down into the family room in the back of the house. The back wall of the house is totally glass, opening out into the ocean.
The deep L-shaped couch in the middle of the room faces the fireplace and giant-screen television on top of it. Walking over to the big square coffee table, I grab the remote and turn on SportsCenter. I make my way toward the kitchen, pulling open the fridge. I’m about to get out one of the prepared meals I have in there when the front door opens and then I hear it shut. “Jaxon!” I hear Tiffany’s voice.
I close my eyes and whisper out, “Fuck,” before I hear the sound of her heels on the floor. “In the kitchen,” I mumble as I look over and see her walking in.
Her blonde hair is perfectly styled and her face is in full makeup as she takes off her black sunglasses, placing them on the counter along with her little black purse. “I was wondering if you would be home.” She walks around the island toward the fridge as I grab the pre-prepared chicken meal out. She’s wearing a short tan skirt with a tucked-in white button-down shirt .
“I just got back,” I mention, moving around her toward the microwave.
“Do you mind if I go take a quick shower? I got my spray tan done this morning and I’d like to wash it off.”
“Yeah, go ahead,” I say, instead of asking her why she bothered to come here instead of her house.
She leans up and kisses my cheek as she turns to walk toward my bedroom. The minute she’s out of my view, I close my eyes before my head falls back and I open them to look up to the ceiling. She called a week ago, asking if we could talk. I should have said no, but I didn’t. I said yes for the simple reason that maybe if I saw her again, I could see if she was the one. You know, the whole thing with not seeing someone and then you see them and it all makes sense. Or at least that is how it plays out in the movies. I thought if I saw her, it would click something into place inside of me. But it didn’t. It just made it even more clear that she is not the one for me. I should have said something, but I left to go on a road trip for three days and, somehow, she thinks we’re going to get back together.