Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Turning my attention back to my book and finding the words on the page not penetrating, I decide to just close it. Placing it on top of my bag, I sit up and adjust my chair so I can lay it flat and then lie down on my stomach. I wish I could say my aunt was wrong and that getting some sun on my days off doesn’t make me feel good, but it does. There is something about the warmth on my skin that I’ve come to appreciate.
“Have you been to the aquarium here?” Opening one eye, I look at the guy next to me and find his chin dipped, and his aviators on me.
I’d thought his one-word answer for why he’s living in Miami was his cue that our conversation was over.
“I work there.”
“You work at the aquarium?”
“I do. I work with the sea lions and dolphins. Have you been?”
“Not since I was a kid.”
“You need to go back. I’m sure a lot has changed in the last thirty years.”
“Thirty?” He grins.
“It’s just a guess.” I can’t help my smile.
“So, you think I look old.”
“Mature.” I lift my feet behind me. “I think you look mature.”
“I’m only thirty-two.”
“Oh, so you are old.” I grin as he laughs.
“How old are you?”
“I turned twenty-five a few weeks ago.”
“You’re a baby.”
“Compared to you, yeah.”
“She’s got jokes,” he mutters with a smile that makes my stomach feel weird. “So, you’re twenty-four and starting the marine veterinary program here. That’s a pretty big deal.”
“Hoping to start. I haven’t been accepted yet,” I remind him.
“What is your grade-point average?”
“Four.”
“Jesus, you’re smart. With that average, you’ll get in.”
“I hope so,” I mumble, ignoring the warmth in my cheeks.
“What is your plan if you don’t get in?” he asks.
I freeze, every muscle locking up. I haven’t thought about that once. I should have. I should have applied to other schools and thought about what I’d do if I don’t get accepted. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Hey,” he calls, and my gaze goes to him. “You’ll get in.”
“I should have applied to other schools.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because this is the best program, and I...” I shake my head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” I sit up. “Maybe it’s not too late to apply to a few other places.” I dig through my bag for my phone so I can check and see when the cutoff date is for some of the other schools. When I finally find my cell in one of the side pockets, the screen lights up with a few notifications. Some for my email, one for my single social media account, and another a text from Kirk.
Kirk: Reese I’m heading to New York in two weeks to move into my new place then training camp in July. Please message me back when you have time.
I don’t respond. I never do. But that doesn’t mean the part of me that has been his best friend since we were kids isn’t proud of him. Before I left Minnesota in April, it was all over campus that he got drafted by a team in New York. And from his message, it’s obvious he’s getting ready to move and start training for the NFL. Part of me wants so badly to hear his voice and share in his excitement, but there’s still too much anger wrapped around what happened between us for me to take that step.
After I delete his message, I go to my email and scroll through the list. Not surprisingly, they’re all spam. I delete them and am about to exit and open the browser, but I freeze when an email from Miami pops up.
“No way, they just emailed me,” I whisper to myself, feeling the guy on the lounger next to mine move. His shadow falls over me.
“Who? The college?”
I lift my head, and our sunglass-covered eyes lock. “Yes.”
“Open it.”
My stomach churns. “I can’t.”
“Do you want me to do it?”
With a nod, I hand the guy—who is basically a stranger—my phone and watch him shove his aviators up into his thick, dark hair.
As he stares at whatever is written, my heart pounds. Then, his blue eyes meet mine.
“Well?”
Ducking his head, he starts to read.
“Dear Reese Shepard. Congratulations and welcome…”
“Oh, my God.” I cover my mouth with my hand and shoot up off the lounger. “I’m in?”
“You’re in.” He grins at me, and I have the oddest urge to hug him.
“Oh, my God,” I say again, falling to my bottom and taking my phone when he holds it out to me. “I can’t believe it.” I read the email that talks about how I was selected and saying I will receive my official decision in the mail, along with the information I need to finish enrollment.
“How are you going to celebrate?”
I look at him once more. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll order pizza and watch a movie.”