Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“How do you know who he is?” She raises her eyebrows.
“Fine. I don’t know him. I have a perception of him, and it’s not one I feel as though works well with who I am. How’s that?”
“You’re being judgey.”
“Like you didn’t judge Chance.”
“Oh, I did. I admit that. You’re forgetting something,” she says, standing from her desk that faces mine.
“Tell me, ole wise one. What could I possibly be forgetting?” I ask, amused. I can only imagine what she’s going to throw at me next.
“What you’re forgetting, my dear Em, is that yes, I judged Chance, but I also married him.” She raises her left hand and wiggles her ring finger that houses her wedding band and engagement ring. Not that they’re easy to miss.
“So you found your unicorn. Not all of us are that lucky. And you didn’t change him. He changed because of you. To be better. There’s a difference.”
“I agree with you. But how do you know that Landon won’t be the same way? How do you know he’s not already a commitment guy? Because of a few tabloids? Come on, Emma, you know better than to believe everything you read in those things or online. Hell, talk to Chance. He can give you his firsthand experiences.”
I admit she has a point, but it’s all too much. He’s too much. He’s this gorgeous, professional athlete, and I’m the girl next door who helps run an animal shelter. He might not be bored now because of the chase, but he would be. Eventually. I’m saving us both the drama and potential heartache that’s surely inevitable.
“I don’t,” I say when I realize she’s watching me still, waiting for an answer. “I have to go with my gut on this one, and my gut tells me that Landon Barker has heartbreak written all over him.”
Aubrey shakes her head. “Girl, I’ve been where you are. Sometimes you just have to take the risk.”
“I’ve never been much of a risk-taker.”
“Just promise you’ll keep an open mind.”
“Sure, whatever, but it’s a moot point. I made it clear that day at the field, and both times he called yesterday that I wasn’t interested. I’m sure he’s tucked his tail between his legs and moved on to the next willing and able woman. Lord knows there are plenty in line to volley for his attention.”
No sooner than the words leave my mouth, the chime over the door alerts us to a visitor. Standing from my chair, I walk down the hall to the reception area. There I find a woman holding a planter of flowers. “Hi, I have a delivery for an Emma Deaton.”
No, he didn’t. “I’m Emma.” I step closer and accept the planter, placing it on the reception desk.
“Sign here, please.” She hands me a clipboard and I scrawl my signature across the page. “Thank you. Have a nice one,” she says, and is gone as fast as she arrived.
“Flowers?” Aubrey asks, wearing a grin. “I wonder who they’re from?” She’s being coy; we both know damn well who they’re from. No one sends me flowers. Ever. As in, I’ve never received flowers before in my entire life. Sure, a corsage for prom when I was in high school, but never like this. It’s amazing what it does to brighten your mood. The quarterback is persistent, I’ll give him that. He’s good at the game, and although the flowers are a pleasant surprise, I’m not playing. Nope, my ass will remain on the bench. At least when it comes to him.
“They’re for you.” I make it a point to grin widely, exaggerating the look, which makes her laugh.
“Oh, really?” She reaches out for the card, but I’m faster, snatching it before she has a chance to.
I grip the small card in my hand as I lean in to smell the roses, literally. Not just roses but calla lilies, which are my favorite. The bouquet is gorgeous with the white roses and the pink lilies intertwined. Without even knowing, he chose the perfect arrangement. Then again, I’m sure he just called the flower shop and told them to pick. On second thought, he probably had an assistant order them. Guys like him, all rich and professional, they can’t be bothered with mundane acts such as ordering flowers. Suddenly, my happy feeling is deflated. I’m sure that’s it. He wouldn’t take time out of his day to send them himself.
“Are you going to read it? Or would you rather stand there staring at this stunning arrangement with a dopey look on your face the entire day?” Aubrey grins, proud of herself for calling me out.
I stick my tongue out at her like the adult that I am. Turning the small envelope over in my hands, I slide my index finger under the seal and pull out the tiny card. It simply says Call me, with a phone number. It’s signed, with an L, and that’s it. His cocky ass just assumed he’s the only man vying for my attention. Sure, he’s right, but still. He can’t even include his full name?