Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Are you okay?” Levi asks.
I snort. “You know a good way to get someone to fall off your building is to scare them half to death?”
Levi smiles and drops his hand. “Or, you know, a good way to fall off yourself is to climb the damn railing.”
“Touché.”
“So, to be clear, you’re not thinking about jumping?”
I point to my face. “This is too pretty to be splattered all over the sidewalk.”
“That’s … disturbing.”
“Disturbing but true.”
Levi comes closer and takes the spot next to me, but he puts his back to the water, refusing to dangle his legs off the side of the building like I am. “I’m Levi.”
“No shit.”
“You’re Peyton.”
“Yep. We’ve been going to the same school since pre-K. We know who the other is.”
Levi rubs his chin. “Been in the same circles for the majority of our lives—”
“Our long, long eighteen years of life. Sure.”
“But this is the only conversation we’ve ever had.”
I shrug. “Different grades. Different interests. I don’t see your scrawny ass trying out for football, and if you ever find me in debate club, just know I’m being held against my will and I urge you to call 911.”
Levi laughs. “You say that like I wanted to do that shit. Also, my ass is not scrawny.”
“So why did you do debate club if you didn’t want to? Also, it’s very scrawny.”
“Because my dad made me. And it is not.” He stands and grabs his ass with both hands.
I admit his ass might be the only thing not scrawny about him and that my definition of scrawny might be skewed. I’m on a field with guys who are jacked up to their eyeballs every day. Everyone is scrawny in comparison.
“I relent.”
“Thank you.” He sits back down beside me and gives me this weird smile that makes my gut flutter in a way that’s familiar but also foreign at the same time.
It’s happened with girls countless times, but Levi’s the first guy that’s made my stomach do a backflip.
My dads taught me not to ignore these kinds of feelings. That it’s completely normal, they’ll accept my brother and me however we identify, blah, blah, blah, so it’s not like I’m scared to act on it. Well, other than putting myself out there and getting punched in the face.
Levi’s gaze is still on mine, his gray eyes shining, and I’m locked in his stare.
He’s the first to break eye contact. “So why is football royalty sitting out here by himself during the biggest graduation party the school has ever seen?”
“Why are you out here talking to football royalty when this is your party, King Vanderbilt?”
“Mmm, King Vanderbilt has a nice ring to it, but to answer your question, I saw someone out here and didn’t want another death on my hands.”
I pull back. “Another? Okay, should I be worried about you shoving me off the side?”
“That was a joke. I make them sometimes.”
“Aren’t jokes supposed to be funny?”
“I dunno. Why don’t we ask your face?” he quips.
“So mature.”
“Hey, I’m riding the immaturity train for as long as I can before …” He flicks his gaze away.
“Before what?”
“Before my future slaps me upside the face.”
Shit, don’t I know what that feels like. I’m excited for the future. Brady might not want to follow in our dads’ footsteps, but I sure as fuck do. I’m NFL-bound no matter what. But … it’s always been a future thing—something that has always seemed like a million years away. But now …
“The reason I’m out here is because it’s a graduation party,” I admit.
“Uh, I get football players are known to be slow, but you know it’s not your graduation party, don’t you? You still have another year of Mr. Collin’s torturous science classes to sit through.”
“Don’t remind me, but no. Being here, it’s cementing that I have one year of high school left, and then I’m starting my college football career.”
“You don’t want that?”
“I want it so bad,” I whisper.
“Then why do I get the feeling you’re freaking out about it?”
“Because I am. I’ve been training for it my whole life, and I love the game, but the pressure …” I shake my head. “It’s so much pressure.”
“I get that. My dad is the same.”
“Except it’s not my dads that the pressure comes from. Sure, the Marcus Talon wants his kids to play football, but our pop has always said whatever we want to do is fine, and I know Dad would come around if I didn’t want it. It’s the outside pressure that’s already building, and I’m nowhere near being drafted yet.”
“I bet the comparisons are hard.”
“So hard.” And as if the word hard granted my dick permission, it so valiantly answers the call.
Down, boy.
I shift where I’m sitting, inching away from Levi and closer to the lion.
“Having the second-best quarterback in history as a dad? I can only imagine,” Levi says.