Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
People sometimes said Landry and I were like twins who weren’t related. He really did feel like family.
“We both know what happens when you overdo the whiskey,” Landry said.
“You and Rush are both very good people,” I told him. “But I promise. I can handle the liquor.”
I didn’t know if it was true or not. I’d done a couple of shots already, and I felt the whiskey hitting my blood like fire.
I kept looking over toward the front doors, waiting for Storm to walk through.
“Where is he?” I asked Landry. “Over an hour late. He operates on hotshot football player time, I guess.”
“Not everyone shows up ten minutes early to everything like you,” Landry said.
He was right. I was always punctual, always the good boy.
Maybe it was the whiskey talking, but I was kind of feeding on the energy of the brewery, right now. A quiet buzz coursed through my veins, anticipating what I might do when Storm walked through the front doors.
Fake photo leak, my ass.
I knew way too much about marketing to believe that any part of Storm’s explicit photo leak wasn’t intentional.
I didn’t know if it was a friend who dared him to do it or if it was all him, but it seemed like everyone on the internet other than me seemed to believe it was just an accidental leak.
An older man came and sat down on one of the bar stools next to me, tipping his trucker hat in my direction.
“Evenin’,” he said in a gruff way.
“Hello, there,” I said.
“Hey, William,” Rush said, already passing over a beer glass to the old guy, who was clearly a regular.
“What’s up here at the bar tonight?” William asked.
“Not too much. Shooting the shit, chatting about Storm Rosling.”
The old man narrowed his eyes, adjusting his hat again. “Is that the dumbass who keeps making news headlines for fights?”
I felt a wall go up inside me so fast I almost had whiplash.
“Storm’s not a dumbass,” I said automatically.
Whoa.
Where was that coming from? I was defending the guy, even though he was my new rival?
“I’m not so sure,” William said. “I know I don’t like what I see in the news about that Rosling guy. My Denver Ferals are supposed to be good men, not brutes.”
I cleared my throat. “Storm is a good man,” I said.
I wasn’t even sure if I believed it, but for some reason, I didn’t like the idea of someone talking like that about him.
“Is he?”
“He definitely isn’t a brute,” I said. “He’s… really smart, actually, when I’ve spoken with him.”
William’s eyes went wide. “Oh, you know him? Personally, like that?”
“I’ve started working with him recently.”
William shrugged. “Well, maybe I’ve got him wrong, then. Nothing like getting to know a guy personally when it comes to judging his character. The guy certainly does have a charming face, after all.”
“He really does,” I said, still grappling with the strange urge to defend Storm. “He’s a handsome man. I don’t think he has bad intentions, even if his actions can be… wild.”
I was surprised by how much I meant what I said. It wasn’t just a public relations move, where I was hoping to make the public see Storm in a better light.
It was really how I felt.
The front door swung open and my heart rate ticked up as I glanced over.
But it was just a couple, walking in and holding hands. They walked in, smiled, and took a sweet moment to wrap their arms around each other in a quick kiss before making their way to the opposite end of the bar.
And the loneliest person of the year award goes to… Emmett Waycott.
I picked up the whiskey shot that Rush had poured for me, tossing it back. Soon, William headed over toward the pool tables and struck up a game with an older woman over there, leaving me to my confusing thoughts about Storm while Landry got lost in his phone beside me.
No. I wasn’t going to start a pity party now just because a football player had come tearing into my life like a wild animal. Did I want to start a fight with him, or did I want to defend him?
Or did I just want to stare into his frustratingly perfect eyes? It was hard to tell, now that the whiskey was acting like a truth serum in my blood.
I was just going to talk to him when he walked through those doors.
Calmly and respectfully.
I could always find a way to get along with anyone.
Over an hour later, I realized that Storm wasn’t going to show up, and somehow that thought bothered me even more than the idea of him walking through the doors.
“Dad always used to say showing up is half the battle of being a good person,” I said.
“I love all of your dad’s old quotes,” Landry said. “God, I miss him.”