Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Why is she doing this?
What the fuck happened?
The questions are too daunting, so I block them out. I run until my lungs burn, and only when my legs are jelly do I turn around and drag my ass the five miles back, this time taking the street so I can get a view of the front of the house in case it reveals anything different.
It doesn’t, and now I’m getting pissy.
Sweat pours from my temples as I pant my way up the drive of the beach house I co-own with my sister, her best friend Cameron, and my boys, Brady and Chase, so I tug my hoodie over my head and swipe at it, following the wraparound deck from front to back. I toss my top onto the picnic bench and snag a football from the bucket by the door.
I no sooner toss it in the air than the slider opens, and the man of all fucking men walks out.
His eyes meet mine a moment before dropping to my calves, both tight and twitching. “You’re overdoing it.”
“I’m good.” I flex through it, nearly numb to the ache, and head down the stairs into the sand. Spinning so I’m walking backward, I point the ball his way.
Noah’s hands go open instantly, and I toss him the ball.
“Run some routes for me?”
He hesitates, then nods, joining me on the beach and channeling his old receiver position, or new depending on how you look at it considering he was drafted as a wide receiver, officially retiring his quarterback arm and helping me perfect mine.
The first half hour, we’re just warming up with short distance passes, but the minute we get into running routes, I’m all over the fucking place.
I’m overthrowing and underthrowing, and when a pass I rocket to him, one I could normally make with my eyes closed, lands ten feet to his left, his head whips in my direction.
The concern in his expression isn’t ill placed as he walks back toward me. “Have you been working with your offseason coaches?”
I look off, spinning the ball in my hands. “Every day.”
“Footwork? Mechanics? Hip rotation—”
“Yeah, Noah.” I cut him off. “I’m doing the whole-ass Noah Riley thing. Working my way out of your shadow and all that bull.”
Noah frowns but says nothing. He’s great, but maybe I should have had Chase out here. At least he would let me pick a fight and fight back. Noah’s just too…Noah for that.
I can tell he wants to say something that would be in line with what my dad would say, and it would sound something like I’m not filling a shadow but stepping into a role I was made for as the next starting quarterback of Avix University now that he’s been drafted to the big boys’ game. Of course, he wouldn’t add that last little bit in—the man is far too humble for that.
It’s wild to think my twin sister, baby sister if you ask me, is dating a man who was picked in the first round of the NFL draft. I like to think she has me to thank for that—all those after-school and weekend hours spent on the bleachers paid off in a big way for her, and I’m not talking money.
I’m talking that gravity-defying, soul-defining, epic love story shit.
She has that.
I want that.
Fuck.
Shoving my hand through my hair, I look his way. “I’m just off my game today, that’s all. I’ve been slaying in practice. Doing two a day and ending in an ice bath, rotating to heat packs when called for. I’ve had no offseason and been in all summer so far. Coach says I’m solid.”
Noah nods, eying me curiously. “You do know there is such a thing as overdoing it, right?”
“Yeah, man. I know.”
“Then why are we out here when your calves are spasming? You could pull something if you don’t rehab right.”
“I said I’m doing ice baths.”
“I’m talking about now. Not at school.” He cocks his head a bit, and I know he’s done pretending he isn’t seeing more than an off day of practice. “You know you can talk to me, right?” he asks. “I mean, I’m not Chase or Brady or whatever, but we’re friends, Mason.”
“Come on, man.” I wave that off. “You’re fucking family, and you know it, so don’t start with that shit again.”
He smiles wide, and I can’t help the chuckle that leaves me.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask when he’ll propose to my sister. After the year they had and the love they had to fight for, I almost wonder if he already did and they haven’t told us yet. But when he looks back at me, an expectant look in his eye that says we’re not changing the subject, I face away.
He won’t pry. He’s not the type.
Shit, he was in love with my sister for months, listened to her talk about another dude for most of that, and never so much as said a word. He’s got the inner strength and willpower of a saint.