Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
I throw my ball down the middle of the lane, which is much lighter than I usually go for to not aggravate my shoulder after Monroe fixed it. I still land a strike, and smile as I walk back to the seats near the lane. Reese is clapping and cheering for me like I just scored a winning goal. It's cute as hell and makes me feel like a goddamn superhero for just throwing a bowling ball.
Things like this make me think she likes me for more than just my content producing capabilities. She just might not be ready to admit it yet, which is fair. I'm willing to wait as long as she needs to figure out that this is no longer fake.
I take a seat next to her, my hands splaying on her thigh as Lawson takes his turn. Monroe is up for her turn on the other lane, and Liam walks up behind her, wrapping his arms around her from behind to help her throw the damn bowling ball like she doesn't already know how.
“Motherfucker,” Pax mumbles under his breath on the other side of me, drawing our attention. He clears his throat, folding his arms over his chest and shrugging. “There's only supposed to be one person up there at a time,” he hurries to say. “It’s a rule.”
Reese looks at him with empathy, but I just laugh, shaking my head at his lame attempt to cover what is quite obviously jealousy.
Lawson throws a gutter ball, but still celebrates like he's God's gift to the world, only making Blakely laugh as he dances in front of her chair. Pax barely squeezes by him to take his turn at the same time Liam picks up his ball.
The two look at each other and basically race to their lanes, throwing their balls at the same time. Pax gets a strike. Liam only knocks over eight pins.
Pax holds his head up a little higher as he walks back to his seat, boldly throwing a wink at Monroe who’s clapping for him.
“Oh,” Reese says, her hand squeezing mine atop her thigh to draw my attention. “I forgot to tell you I got a very interesting e-mail while you were getting your shoulder worked on.”
“Yeah?” I ask, leaning a little closer to her, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “Was it from my future self, telling you how fucking exquisite you look in this dress and how badly I want to tear it off of you?”
She trembles slightly, smiling as a flush rushes to her cheeks.
I fucking love that I've had her so many different ways in the last month, but she's still affected by just a few words from me. It makes me want to ditch my friends and get our own room.
“It wasn't,” she says. “But yes please.” She smiles at me. “It was from Sara, our PR Rep.” Her grin widens. “She reached out to let me know that Roosevelts is interested in doing a spotlight shoot with you.”
“No shit?” I ask. I love the line and wear their pop culture polos pre-and-post-game.
“No shit,” she says. “Sara wanted to let me know that they saw you in one of the videos sporting their Donald Duck polo and turns out they're hockey fans. She'll send you a separate e-mail to set up details, but I couldn't wait to tell you.”
I cup her face, kissing her like we're behind closed doors and not in a circle of our closest friends.
She opens for me, melting into my embrace rather than shying away at the public display of affection. It only makes me want her more, but once I hear the get a room from my friends, I back away, laughing as I shake my head.
“You are the absolute best,” I say. “You have no idea how much that means to me.” Doing a deal with Roosevelts would be a no-brainer. I love the company and the products they put out and what they stand for. Plus, whatever kind of income I can make off the deal will only help me take care of the rest of my father's medical bills.
“It's not me,” she says, waving me off. “You're the one who looks irresistibly gorgeous in their shirts. I'd want you to be the face of my brand too with how good you look.”
I puff my chest out on purpose, and she runs her hands across it, laughing.
“You're the one who is giving me all the good edits,” I say, wanting to give her credit where credit is due. Without her or the angles she sees, I wouldn't have the deals that I do.
“You don't get all the good edits,” Lawson says, clearly eavesdropping. “The one she gave me yesterday was baller.”
Blakely smiles, shaking her head. “It was a really good edit,” she agrees.