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)
Both of us laugh at that.
“Yeah, Mason is…”
“Mason” we say at the same time.
We grow quiet, and when I drop down onto my butt to pack my things, she follows.
“The boys played their first game today,” she whispers, and the note of caution in her tone has my muscles bunching. “Mason threw for over three hundred yards.”
Unease stirs in my gut. I don’t know exactly what that means, but she says it with a tentative pride, so it must be good. Does that mean he won his first game as a starting quarterback?
Anxiety tugs at my conscience, my eyes slicing to where my phone hangs around my neck. Did he check his phone after?
I’m sure he did, but he’s probably way too excited to notice I didn’t reach out. If they won, I mean. He’s the starter now. Things will be different for him this year. Busier.
He’s the man everyone will look to. The one they’ll chase after.
The one the girls will want.
“I have to go.” I jump up, offering Ari a quick hug.
Her lips curve, a question in her pretty brown eyes she doesn’t ask. “Maybe I’ll see you before I head back to campus on Sunday?”
“Maybe.” I nod. “Have fun at Noah’s game this weekend.”
She nods back, and I spin, quickly escaping before anything else can be said.
But before I head into the child center at the team’s headquarters, I pause outside the door and pull up Instagram. The Avix Inquirer, the newspaper page dedicated to Avix University, pops up, and the photo brings tears to my eyes.
It’s him. Of course it’s him.
His hair looks nearly black, from sweat or water I couldn’t say, but it looks good on him, the front tips flat against his forehead. His jersey is littered with green stains, the giant number four in the center having met the field at some point today. He has his helmet lifted high into the air in victory, but it’s the familiar cocky tilt to his lips and wild gleam in his dark eyes that has me inhaling deeply.
I don’t have to read the headline. It’s clear as day he came out on top.
Backing out, I tap the search engine and type out the question burning in my mind.
What are the average yards thrown in a college football game?
I wait and wait, and when the answer pops onto the screen, a mixture of sorrow and happiness flickers through me. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. “Way to go, Superstar,” I whisper.
Maybe one day he’ll forgive me for the mess I’ve made of us.
Or maybe he’ll become so famous he won’t even remember my name.
Maybe that will be for the best.
Maybe Mason and I aren’t meant to be, and there’s someone else out there who can give him what I can’t and better.
The mere thought is as devastating as the others.
Maybe I’m an idiot, and the story of us is not that serious.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mason
Before, September
She’s so beautiful.
Her hair looks longer and a little lighter than it did over summer. FaceTime calls don’t do her justice, and we’ve had plenty of those.
It’s nothing like sitting across from the ocean-eyed blond who talks with her hands and expresses every word with her whole body. She looks…happy. Smiling and laughing.
What makes it even better is every ounce of her attention is locked on me.
Fuck, I like it.
“Oh my god, and when you did that thing where you pretended like you were going to throw the ball and all the other guys slowed and you just ran right past them to the end?”
My smile is fucking geeking, face hurting from its force, but I can’t stop. “It’s called the end zone,” I tease.
“I don’t even care what it’s called. It was so badass!” She chuckles, finally taking a breath as she reaches for her cream soda.
A low laugh leaves me, and I can’t stop staring. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright with life, and I wish I could see her this way every day.
I wish I could see her every day, period.
“So can we say you’re an official football fan now?”
A playful scowl crosses her face, and she sits back in her seat. “Too soon to say. It was my first game.”
“Come on now, Pretty Little. Don’t play.” I lean forward, dropping my forearms to the table between us. “We both know you watch me all the time.”
She pretends like she’s making herself gag by pointing a finger in her mouth as she sticks her tongue out. “Someone is full of himself.”
“And someone is very well aware of this fact and likes me anyway.” I grin, and she laughs, shaking her head.
“You’re all right.” She eyes me a moment, fighting a grin by pulling her lips between her teeth.
I raise a dark brow, and she rolls her eyes, that smile breaking free once more.