Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
I made several attempts to draw him out of his shell by asking questions or making comments. His gaze would reluctantly flicker in my direction before he’d give me a clipped response. It was like I was talking to a Neanderthal who couldn’t do anything more than grunt out his answers. After a while, I gave up. There’s only so much teeth pulling I’m willing to do.
I have no idea what his problem is. My mind tumbles back to the other day. He must have taken offense when I offered my assistance. I was just trying to be friendly. All right…so maybe I was trying to come up with a way to spend time with him in order to figure out what it is I find so fascinating about the guy.
I hate to admit it, but the more he holds me at a distance, the more tempting it is to break through the roadblocks he’s erected between us.
How’s that for perverse?
“What a sweet man,” Anne says, interrupting the whirl of my thoughts.
I blink back to the present and scrunch my face.
Sweet?
Did we have dinner with the same person?
There are several adjectives that come to mind when describing Mason Price, but sweet isn’t one of them.
Moody.
Surly.
Standoffish.
Rude.
Those descriptors fit him to a T.
My stepmother raises a brow before studying my expression. “You didn’t think so?”
I shake my head and fold my arms across my chest. “Nope. Not at all.”
Her eyes cloud. “Well, I feel bad for him. I remember when his parents died. It was such a tragedy for the community but especially for those boys. Mason was just twenty and about to start his junior year of college. He ended up dropping out so he could get a full-time job to support himself and his younger brother. He was so proud and wouldn’t accept help from anyone.”
Part of me softens reluctantly. That is sad. And it gives me a tiny glimpse into why the man is so aloof. At least where I’m concerned. What’s interesting is that when my parents were talking with him, I could see him visibly relax and lower his guard. It was those times when I sat quietly in the background, watching him while he was unaware. Whenever he flashed a smile at Anne or Dad, my tummy did a painful little flip.
“I think this coaching position will be good for him.”
“Sounds like it,” I say thoughtfully.
We chat for a few more minutes before I stifle a yawn. It’s been a long week. “I should probably get going. Thank you for dinner.”
Dad strolls out of his study, and I kiss them both before grabbing my purse and heading to the front door.
What I’ve learned tonight is that Mason has a lot of baggage. Instead of forcing myself on him, it would probably be best if I took a giant step back and gave him the space he’s so desperate for. There are plenty of guys on campus who won’t glare at me every time we make eye contact. I’ll just have to find one who interests me.
And turns me on as much as he does.
Even though that shouldn’t be a tall order to fill, it—unfortunately—is. I haven’t had the best of luck when it comes to boys. Probably because that’s exactly what they act like—boys. They want to party on the weekends and drink themselves into a stupor. Or play video games and hang out with their bros.
Unless they’re looking to get laid.
Then, suddenly, you’re high on their priority list.
No thanks.
Dad and Anne loiter at the front door as I slide behind the wheel of my Beetle and start up the engine. It sputters before roaring to life.
I roll down the window as my father jogs toward me and leans against the driver’s side window. “That didn’t sound good. We should probably get it checked out.”
Since neither of us knows much about cars, I nod in agreement. It’s been acting up for about a week, and I’m not sure if there’s a problem.
“You want to stay here for the night? I hate the idea of you driving back alone.”
I pat the steering wheel. “It’s running now. I don’t think it’ll give me any problems.”
“Text when you get home,” Anne calls out from the front porch.
“I will,” I say in a raised voice so she can hear.
With a wave, I back out of the driveway before stepping on the gas and speeding toward the entrance of the small subdivision. When I glance in the rearview mirror, Dad is standing in the driveway, shaking his head. I grin and turn up the music until the decibel level is a smidge below ear shattering as I turn onto the county road that leads back to town.
I’m midway through belting out a Billie Eilish song when the bug sputters and dies.
“What the hell?” My brows slam together as I steer the vehicle to the side of the road before slowly rolling to a stop.