Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Will you let me do that for you?”
I find myself nodding again, this time more slowly. “Sure. Thank you, Jack. I appreciate it.”
“Dang, that was easy. I was so confident you were going to give me a hard time about it.” He laughs.
“I mean, I was going to give you a hard time, but for once, I stopped myself.”
My skin is getting dewy, and the water is growing cold. I can’t run the water without it drowning out the sound of my voice and ruining the conversation, but I also don’t want to sit here in freezing water—no matter how badly I want to chat with him.
He’s so handsome.
Looks so…happy.
At ease?
I shiver, shoulders above water getting goose bumps.
“Time to get out?”
“Probably. I think my toes have turned into prunes.” I give them another wiggle, though he can’t see them.
“Let me see.”
Guess not.
I turn the camera in the other direction, pointing it at my toes. They’re hot pink, freshly painted during one of the girls’ nights I have with Skipper.
Mani. Pedi. The whole shebang.
Her tootsies are always purple, and mine are always pink.
“You always did have pretty feet—even when they’re wrinkled.”
He always used to massage my feet any time we would be on the couch. He sat in the middle, and I was on the end. He’d always take my legs and pull them across his lap so he could rub my feet.
“I’m the one who should be rubbing your feet! You’re the one who’s been running around all day. All I did was go to class.”
“Nonsense. Class is all the way across campus, and you had to walk. Give me these cute toes.” He leans down and kisses my toes, biting the big toe before he begins pressing his thumbs into the heel of my foot.
“If the football thing doesn’t work out, you can always go to work in a spa.”
That makes him laugh. “And if the advertising thing doesn’t work out, you can always be a foot model.”
“Maybe I can be a foot model anyway as my side hustle.”
Jack rubs and rubs and massages one foot, then the other, until they’re good and relaxed, demurring when it’s his turn.
“No, babe, I don’t want you doing my feet.”
“Why?”
“I like to spoil you.”
“All you do is spoil me. You never let me spoil you!” It’s really quite frustrating how much effort he puts in, bringing me small things that make me laugh and smile, like cookies and flowers—little things a student can afford but treats that cheer me up nonetheless.
He’s way more creative than I am.
My contribution is picking out movies to watch and shows to binge or cooking him dinner after practice.
Lame.
“I’ll have to rub your feet when you get here. You’ve been walking around in my mind all day.”
I look back into the phone at him smiling through the screen, still petting his dog. “So cheesy, but I’ll allow it.”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Yes, of course.”
“It’s been a really long time since I’ve dated anyone seriously, so I’m nervous to bring you out here.”
My mouth opens, then closes. I feel like a guppy searching for air.
“I’m nervous too.” Actually, I’ve been a ball of nerves since he randomly showed up looking for me, nervous since he laid eyes on Skipper, nervous when we went for drinks, nervous…
You get the drift.
But I’m glad he admitted that because it makes me feel a shit ton better and gives me more to look forward to and less to be anxious about.
Chapter 14
Jack
To say Penelope is surprised to see me at the gate when she deplanes from her flight is an understatement. First, she looks around as if confused and unsure. Then she checks the signboard near the gate to verify she is indeed in Colorado.
“What are you doing here?”
“I said I was picking you up at the airport.” Smugly, I walk forward and take her roller bag and tote, slinging it over my shoulder with mine.
“But you’re not allowed through security without a boarding pass.”
I give her a quick kiss on the lips. “I have a boarding pass.”
“But…”
“I told you I had a surprise, didn’t I? This is part of the surprise.”
She follows beside me, reaching for my hand as we stroll past one gate after another, down the long stretch of corridor, garnering attention as passengers realize Jack Jennings is walking past. Though I’m in a ball cap and glasses, there’s no mistaking my identity.
People whisper.
Point.
Stare as we walk past.
I double-check our gate, leading Penelope not to baggage claim where we would normally exit, but toward gate C19—one terminal over and toward our next destination.
“What’s going on? Where are we going?” She sounds excited this time and less dubious as we walk past a Starbucks with a line that’s not to kingdom come.
I drag her over. “Do you want something? An afternoon pick-me-up?”