Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Then, he was headed straight for me.
“Oh God,” I murmured, sitting up straighter and praying to whatever goddess was listening that I didn’t look half as much of a hot mess as I felt. I didn’t have time to check my appearance or fix a damn thing before he was standing right there in front of me, a shy smirk on his face and both hands in his pockets.
“Hi,” he said.
I blinked. “Hi.”
He watched me, his eyes floating over my blouse a brief moment before they lifted again. He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Thanks again for that tip. It was very generous.”
I smiled, somehow holding in the snort-laugh that threatened to bubble over. “Well, I love listening to you play.”
“You come to the bar on campus, don’t you?” He tucked his hand back in his pocket. “I’ve seen you there.”
He has?
“You have?”
I wanted to smack myself for not keeping the incredulousness of that statement inside, but it only made his smile quirk up more.
“How could I miss you?”
My brows shot up at that, and for what I was sure wouldn’t be the last time around this man, I was speechless.
“I don’t remember seeing you with Clay Johnson, though,” he assessed carefully, coolly. “Is he your…”
It was endearing, how the words died on his lips, and he looked like he might be thinking better than to ask before I replied, “Boyfriend?”
Shawn grinned down at the floor before meeting my gaze again. “God, that was a cheap line, wasn’t it?”
A line?
Was he… hitting on me?
“Well, he’s a lucky guy,” he said, and again I found my eyebrows hanging out somewhere near my hairline.
Shawn looked like he wanted to say something else, but he just grabbed the back of his neck before pointing back toward the stage.
“Alright, well, I should probably get some water and make the rounds before this next set. But I’m really glad you came tonight…”
He paused, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“Giana.”
“Giana,” he repeated, smiling around the syllables of my name. “See you around soon, I hope?”
He didn’t wait for an answer before he gave me a knowing wink, turned on his heels, and made his way through the crowd, stopping at the table of girls he promised to visit. He was laughing with them again, but his eyes flicked to me, and he held my gaze until Clay plopped down in the booth next to me with a fresh drink that he didn’t really need, since most of his first one was still there.
For a long moment, I just sat there, stunned, staring at the sleek marble table as Clay took a long sip of his drink and sat back, casually crossing ankle over knee and tossing his arm around the back of the booth as he waited for me to say something.
I slowly lifted my gaze to his. “What the hell just happened?”
Clay chuckled. “I told you.”
“He walked right over to me. He said he recognized me from campus. He… I think he was flirting with me.”
Clay cocked a brow, lifting his whiskey toward me with a knowing smirk like he wasn’t the least bit surprised.
I gaped at him, then at Shawn — who was getting settled on stage again — before I shook my head and found a way to zip my lips together. I smacked a hand on the table, grabbing my mocktail and sucking half of it down in one gulp. I slammed it on the table with more force than I intended, turning to face Clay head on.
“I need more lessons. Stat.”
An amused laugh was my only reply.
Clay
I could still remember my first football game.
I was a little tyke, five years old and just shy of four-feet tall. I remembered the smell of the turf, the way the helmet and pads felt a little too big on me as I jogged out onto the field. I remembered that I didn’t know a single thing about what I was supposed to be doing, but it was fun to run and catch the ball and get grass stains on my white football pants.
And I remembered both my parents were there.
I could still close my eyes and see their faces — Dad’s severe as he yelled out ways to be better, while Mom was on the verge of crying tears of joy and pride the entire game. I remembered them holding hands.
I remembered them happy.
It was one of the last times I remembered them that way.
Everything changed after that — slowly at first, and then all at once, like a single book falling from a shelf before you realized it was an earthquake that would eventually take down your entire house.
They started by just separating, explaining to me that they were just going to live in different houses for a while. “Mom and Dad just need a little space,” Dad had said. “It’s good for parents to have a little space.”