Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“We don’t have to—” I start.
He parks the car and turns the ignition off. “You wanted to see what my life was like living here? You’re looking at it.”
I glance through the windshield at the gray concrete building with a giant bulldog metal sculpture out front. It’s intimidating, even to me.
“Matt—”
He ignores me and climbs out of the car. I almost don’t want to interrupt him. He stares at the building as if having a moment with it. When he sits on the hood of his car, I tentatively open my door.
I slowly approach him, trying to figure out what type of mood he’s in. If it were me, I’d be angry, but when I go to sit next to him, he shifts farther back and pulls me in front of him. My ass lands between his legs on the hood of the car, and his arms wrap around my middle. Even though we don’t have to put on a show yet, I don’t stop him.
His breath tickles my neck when he says, “It feels like my entire life has revolved around stadiums. Dad used to take us to college games because we couldn’t afford NFL tickets. Most of the time it was just Char and me, because the others were too young, but when I think of my childhood, the happiest memories were the games Dad took me to. It was the only time it seemed like he cared.”
That’s depressing.
“Did you know you wanted to play football professionally back then?” I ask.
He shakes his head against my neck. “I was more worried about not appearing weak in front of Dad. I love football—it has saved me from a lot of shit—but the reason I got into it was to make sure Dad didn’t know I liked boys. I mean, I was a kid so I wasn’t one hundred percent sure myself, but the way Dad emphasized it with me made me think he knew all along. Or at least suspected.”
I lay my hand on top of his on my chest. “What did it save you from?”
“For one, it got me out of that town. I had this … friend in high school. I wouldn’t say he was a boyfriend, because like when I was with Maddox, we both played the ‘I’m straight but I want to suck your cock’ game. If I wasn’t good enough to play college ball, I’d probably still be in that town, married to some woman and fucking guys on the side. I wasn’t great at school. I did the bare minimum to make sure I got C’s so I wouldn’t be cut from the team. I literally put everything into football. There was no backup. When I lost my contract with the Bulldogs and my entire life was on those rag sites, I … I honestly thought my life was over. And now, sitting outside the place I put four years of my life into, I see both my prison and my saving grace. It got me out of Tennessee, but I was still trapped …”
“Hiding,” I say quietly.
“Exactly.”
I lean back and turn my head so our lips are mere inches apart. Trying to find the right words is impossible, so I settle for kissing him instead and telling him with my mouth that he’s worthy of a life everyone deserves, and he should be able to do whatever he wants.
I’m not completely convinced that’s football, even if he thinks it is. He says football is the only thing in his life, but he’s never even tried for more. It saved him, and now it’s his security blanket, and he doesn’t want to leave it behind.
I continue to kiss him, partly to make him try to forget his issues but mainly because I don’t know what else to do. I don’t do the comforting thing; I’m not sure I’d even know how, but I want to. So, I do the one thing I know I’m good at—the physical stuff.
Matt’s hand wanders up my shirt, skimming my abs, and my pants become uncomfortably tight.
I have to pull my mouth away. “You’re determined to get me arrested for indecent exposure, aren’t you?”
“We’re fully clothed.”
“Keep kissing me like that, and we won’t be for long. How long was the realtor at the apartment for?”
“She should be gone, but Damon—”
My pocket starts to vibrate, and of course, it’s him. “Do you reckon Damon has super hearing like dogs? Like if his name is being said in a two-hundred-mile radius, he can hear it?”
Matt sighs. “Guess that means it’s time to get to work?”
“I’d rather go to bed.”
“Of course, you would.”
The paparazzi first find us as we’re having lunch at a strategically chosen table outside a restaurant in a courtyard area. The view from across the street is perfect for them to set up their cameras, and we pretend to be annoyed but make sure to hold hands on top of the table and smile at each other as we call each of the vultures a name and give them each a backstory. They only get worse the longer it goes on.