Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Want to know what’s legendary?” he asks, his eyes narrowing. He knows exactly where I’m going with this, and the fact that it seems to bother him is far too entertaining.
“Sure.”
“Eight seasons and over five hundred receptions. Fifty-two touchdowns, a red-zone nightmare, and has one of the most memorable catches in postseason history with a tip-to-self, one-handed, through-contact grab that sealed the Illinois Legends’ ticket to the championship.”
He sits back, his arms crossed over his chest, and smirks.
I might not know a ton about sports, but I also don’t live under a rock. He’s not talking about Lincoln Landry. He’s talking about himself. I remember that catch vividly, watching it in the middle of The Swill on a rainy Sunday evening. Everyone who understood anything about football was highly impressed by the skills required to pull off that catch. I was highly impressed with his obliques on the replay.
“Funny,” I say, feigning ignorance. “That doesn’t sound like baseball.”
“You’ve got to be—”
“I’m kidding.” I giggle. “Everyone, if you didn’t know, Drake is more than just a handsome face.” And amazing body. “He also had a Hall of Fame-worthy career as a tight end with the Illinois Legends.”
He lifts a brow. “You know that I was a tight end?”
I’m not sure if it’s his question or the way he asks it that catches me off guard. But it’s clear I knew that, and I’m not about to admit that I went home from The Swill and looked him up—mainly for pictures. This doesn’t seem like the time or place for that.
I clear my throat. “Let’s take a call from the audience. Francine, do you have one for us?” Drake pins me to my seat with his stare as I read the words on my computer screen. I ignore him, refusing to make eye contact. “We have Hannah from Chattanooga on the line. Hey, Hannah.”
“Hey, Gianna! I’m so excited to talk to you. I call in here every single week and finally got through.”
“Welcome to the show.”
“Hi, Hannah,” Drake says, oozing with charm. “Thanks for calling in.”
She squeals. “Oh, my gosh. I can’t believe I’m talking to Gianna and Drake. My boyfriend is a huge fan of yours, and he’s going to die when he finds out that I talked to you today.”
Drake chuckles. “I really like the excitement over here. I usually get guys wanting to fight it out over statistics.”
“I’m happy to make a cameo on your show,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows. “We could do my version of fantasy football.”
He can’t keep a straight face. “Not happening.”
“Hannah, what do you need to know?” I ask, laughing at Drake.
“So my question is personal, obviously,” she says. “But how do you deal with fear in a relationship? Like, my boyfriend is great, and we’re in love for sure. But I know that his parents—who have always been super nice to me—expect him to marry someone in another tax bracket, let’s say. If we continue to date, they’re going to pressure him to leave me, and I don’t think there’s anything that I can do to overcome that.”
Ouch. “Well, my first reaction is to say fuck them.”
Hannah laughs, but it’s tight. Her apprehension is palpable. I want to go on one of my little rants, but I wait so Drake can hop in because once I get started, I can’t stop.
“Wow,” Drake says, running a hand down his chiseled face. “That’s rough. I’m sorry that you’re going through this. It must be hard.”
“It is,” she says. “I don’t know what to do. Do I keep going and hope for the best, or end it now and save myself more memories to cry about later?”
Drake’s gaze meets mine. The ferocity in them could scorch the earth, but the tenderness alongside it would soothe the burn. The intensity steals my breath, and a lump settles in the base of my throat.
His jaw, dusted with a day’s worth of stubble, flexes, and it might just be the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed. A man annoyed by the treatment of a stranger? Watching his protective instincts kick in just inches from me?
Take me now.
“Do you want to go first?” I ask him.
He nods. “I have two sisters, Hannah. If one of them came to me with this situation, I’d suggest they talk with their guy about his intentions. Make sure they were on the same page. Because the one thing we can’t do is read people’s minds, and there’s no way to know if he feels the same pressure or what kind of future he sees with you without asking him directly.” His brows pull together. “Have you had a conversation like that with him?”
She sighs. “Kind of. He’s acknowledged that I’m not too far off base with my suspicions about his parents, but he sort of dances around it. I mean, I know he loves me. We’ve been together a year and a half. But, even if he says he wants to marry me, can that marriage survive? Or am I just being too dramatic about all of this, which is what he usually thinks is happening?”