Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
And I realize something.
He loves it.
He loves this story. He loves this book.
He loves books period.
“You love this,” I tell him, cutting him off while he was talking about a character who gets killed halfway through while he thought he could’ve had a good redemption arc.
“Hence the favorite,” he deadpans.
“No, I mean you love books,” I explain.
He shrugs. “They’re okay.”
I lean forward. “Are you kidding me? You carry that book around, among other books, wherever you go. I asked you one question about it and you couldn’t stop talking. I mean, you. Who never says more than two words at one time, let alone a whole paragraph of words. You. And the way you lit up?” I shake my head. “Oh my God, Stellan, you love it. I’m sorry, but you do and…” Something occurs to me then. “Do you love soccer this much?”
I don’t know why I asked that.
Except I don’t think I’ve ever seen him light up like that for soccer.
And I should know. I’ve watched him a lot.
“You don’t, do you?” I conclude when he holds his silence.
At my words, that silence becomes even thicker. I can see it pulsating between us. I can see it making his body tighter, more rigid.
“Is that why you…” I keep going. “Is that why you never went pro? Because you don’t…”
Holy shit.
That’s why, isn’t it?
He doesn’t like soccer.
Stellan Thorne, who everyone calls the Cold Thorn because he’s known for his legendary control on the soccer field, he’s known for always keeping his cool no matter what and always making the goal even under extreme pressure, doesn’t like soccer all that much. That one of the Thorne brothers, soccer royalty of Bardstown, doesn’t love soccer as much as his siblings do.
It feels like a dirty little secret.
A secret no one else knows. No one else could’ve even guessed it.
I didn’t even guess it and I’m a certified Stellan Thorne stalker.
“Oh my God, is that why you wouldn’t accept the promotion for the longest time? Because you—”
“I wouldn’t accept the promotion”—he finally breaks his silence, his voice lashing—“because my brother needed it more than me. He deserved it more than me. He needed that job more that I ever did, all right? Now—”
“So then why do you do it?” I ask, my voice high sounding. “Why do you do this job if you don’t need it? Why do you do it if you don’t love it? If—”
“Because I don’t have to love it,” he declares.
“What?”
“Why does everything have to be about love?”
“But if you love books—”
“I don’t fucking love books, all right?” he lashes out again, a muscle in his cheek jumping.
“It’s a job,” he tells me. “It’s a fucking job and doing it well is the only thing that matters. As long as you do your job well, you don’t need to wax poetic about it. You don’t need to write songs about it. Love is not a requirement. Love is never a fucking requirement for anything. Love, like any other emotion, makes things complicated. I don’t want to love anything, let alone my shitty fucking job. Is that clear? I’m not a teenage girl with delusions of grandeur or misguided notions. I’m not a teenage fucking girl who thinks love is the answer to all her prayers and her dreams.” He stares at me, his eyes cold and harsh. “I’m not you. So are you finally fucking done so we can do this and I can get some sleep?”
Chapter 13
The Next Night…
“Oh my God,” Tempest breathes, looking at me in the mirror. “This has to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
She’s referring to my maang tikka, an Indian wedding jewelry that you wear on the parting of your hair. You place it in the middle of your parting and secure it with a little hook. It usually has a pendant that drops down to the top of your forehead that’s all sparkly and lavish. The one I’m wearing is made of gold and is studded with red stones. My biji helped me pick it out for the play.
“I know,” Wyn breathes out as well, her eyes glued to the crescent-shaped sparkly pendant.
“Are you kidding?” I have to jump in here. “That is the most beautiful thing ever.”
I’m referring to the sparkly princess cut diamond sitting on Wyn’s finger. Because guess what, she got engaged!
Yup!
Conrad popped the question—yay—and they’re getting married. I’m so, so happy for her. This is super exciting and of course, the happiness on my new friend’s face is a sight to behold.
We take a few moments to admire her ring before Wyn goes, “But back to you. I so want that for my wedding.”
Meadow is next. “I know. Me too.”
“How about we go shopping for it?” I suggest from where I’m sitting on the dressing room chair.