Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“So, any recommendations?” I ask as I move to the breakfast bar and pull out a stool. “Is there a particular cookbook you like?”
Her eyebrow lifts as she stares at me with curiosity.
“No, not really. Are you just starting out?”
I nod.
“I know nothing. I’m just microwaving frozen foods at this point. That, and eating whatever the football team decides to feed us.”
She nods for a moment, and goes over to stand before the row of cookbooks.
“Here,” she says. “Start with this one.”
“The Earth’s Harvest?” I ask dubiously. “Really? A cookbook focused on vegetables?”
She giggles.
“Serious athletes can even be vegan, you know. But this isn’t a vegan cookbook, it just has a focus on veggies.”
I can’t help but notice the flush of red in her cheeks as she tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. A sparkle in her eyes catches my attention and I’m intrigued. There’s definitely special something about this woman. Then, Catherine smiles at me.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure, what do you have?” I ask.
“Um, soda and water. I’m guessing you want soda.”
I smile at her.
“You guessed right.”
“Here,” she says turning to toss me a cold can. Instinctively, I reach out and snag the Coke in mid-air. For some reason, that amuses her and her smile tickles me.
“Nice catch.”
“Well, you know I’ve been athletic my whole life. It would be a sad day if a Coke can got the better of me.”
“True,” she chuckles. It wasn’t one of those fake laughs that I hear from sycophants, but rather a real belly laugh. The crack and fizz of the soda fills the silence for only a moment before Catherine snags a drink for herself and closes the door to the fridge. Her curls bounce, and her profile is dainty and elegant at once.
Damn. She’s beautiful.
“Well,” she says, glancing to the door. “I don’t know when my sister is supposed to be coming home. She never tells me anything.”
I chuckle.
“Don’t feel too bad. Angela doesn’t tell me anything either.”
Catherine looks surprised.
“But I thought you two were inseparable?”
“Sort of,” I say grimly. Suddenly, I shoot her a sharp look as she innocently sips at her Coke. A light bulb clicks on over my head, and I realize something: Catherine doesn’t know that her sister and I broke up.
“So, how are you?” the curvy girl asks, totally unaware of my train of thought. It was a simple question that took me by surprise. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone actually asked me that. People are interested in the trophies I’ve won, or my plans for the NFL. No one’s interested in how I actually am as a person.
“My life? Not football, or career? Just life?” I look at her and she shrugs and throws me another grin.
“To be honest, I’m not a sports fan. I don’t watch football. Not that I don’t understand the game,” she says quickly while blushing. “It’s just that it’s not what I do.”
I grin.
“You don’t like watching grown men run around on a field in spandex tights with a pig skin tucked in their sweaty arms?” I joke.
She laughs.
“Not really. Let’s just say athletics have never been my thing.”
I grin at her. Her disinterest is a nice change, to be honest. I’m constantly surrounded by people who only care about football. It’s like they’ve forgotten the “student” part of “student-athlete.”
“You know,” I say, waggling my brows enthusiastically. “There’s more to me than just football.”
“I’d hope so,” Catherine said with a slight chuckle.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, pretending mock-offense.
She presses her lips into a tight line as her brow raises. I watch her chest rise as she breathes and can’t help but notice the valley between her plump breasts. A man could lose himself in there.
“Sports can only take a person so far. And then what? What happens if one day you get injured on the field? Then it’s quite literally game over for you and your career. But if you have a backup plan that deals with something outside of sports, then you’re set.”
I nod a little.
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell my dad for years,” I quip. “But a lot of people have one-track minds, including my father. All he sees is the jersey and which major league team I’m going to be playing for.”
“Could it be the money?” Catherine asks, her brow scrunching a bit.
I’m startled by her directness, but then I nod. It’s refreshing to have an honest conversation with someone who’s not trying to ingratiate themselves with me.
“It’s definitely about the money. My family’s not rich. We’re not even middle-class. My dad owns a 7-11 that’s been robbed a couple times, and my brother is in jail. My mom? Don’t even ask. So yes, NFL-level money would be a game-changer for us. My dad wants me to think he wants the best for me, and he does, but I know that the money is always in the back of his mind.”