Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“…if you don’t mind helping us put the last of these boxes in Anna’s car, I’d appreciate it. I planned on giving you a proper tour of the apartment, but the rain caught me off guard. I’m sure Elliot wouldn’t mind showing you around. It’s probably better if I’m not in the middle of roommate negotiations anyway. Oops! I suppose it would help if you met each other first.” Sophie gave a half laugh, then spun in a circle with her arms opened wide. “Braden, this is Elliot. Elliot, Braden.”
I moved forward on cue with my hand outstretched. “Hi. It’s nice to—whoa.”
As in wow. First of all…damn, he was hot. And second…I knew this guy. I couldn’t figure out how for a moment. I was too busy trying to get my jaw off the floor to formulate a complete sentence.
Braden was six four with short brown hair, blue eyes, and an athletic build I associated with the kind of jock who excelled at everything he tried: broad shoulders, a trim waist, and muscular thighs. He could have been a swimmer, a runner, or a baseball or hockey player. I had no idea if he was good at any of those sports, but I knew he was a damn fine volleyball player.
“Braden Marquette.” He pumped my hand and flashed a bright smile that felt like pure sunshine. No exaggeration.
I dropped his hand and pointed at his chest as I tried to piece some clues together. “I know you. You went to Chilton, right?”
“Yeah. It’s good to see you, Elliot.”
“You too,” I enthused, stepping back to give him a subtle once-over.
We’d played on opposing teams throughout college. And though we’d never talked much off the court, I remembered important things, like his killer cut shot. The last time our teams met was at the Big West Tournament. I was pretty sure he didn’t make eye contact with me after that game, but I totally understood. I was never particularly friendly after a loss, and Long Beach had kicked Chilton’s ass.
Braden always seemed intense on the court and on the quiet side in real life. But I really didn’t know much about him. I supposed that was about to change if we were going to be roommates, I mused, admiring his square jaw and long lashes as he politely introduced himself to Anna before taking a brief glance around the cluttered apartment.
“I should have known this was your place when Sophie mentioned your name. You’re the only Elliot I’ve ever met. Funny coincidence. Did you just graduate?”
“Yeah. Did you?” I asked.
“Yes and no. I’ve got another year of eligibility, so I figured I might as well use it. I’m starting my master’s degree at UCLA in the fall.”
“So, you’re gonna be a Bruin. Nice.”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it. Are you still playing?”
I nodded. “I just went pro. I’m at the beach full-time now. I was offered a couple of sponsorships that steamrolled into a real opportunity. The idea of actually making money to play volleyball is insane.”
“That’s awesome. Congrats.” Braden’s megawatt grin erased the last trace of misgivings I’d had about renting the spare room to a stranger.
This might actually work out just fine.
I returned his smile and gestured toward the hallway. “Thanks. So, did you come to see the room, or—”
“He did,” Sophie intercepted. “But we should get moving. If we each take a box or a bag, we’ll be done in no time. You don’t mind showing Braden around afterward, do you, El?”
“No, of course not,” I assured her.
Hell, I’d happily haul all these boxes and suitcases by myself in the rain, give Braden my Netflix password, and maybe throw in a bottle of Jack if it would speed the process along. I had no idea how I’d pay next month’s rent if he didn’t like the room, but I firmly set aside any niggling worries as I lifted a box. Positive thinking only.
After twenty minutes and two trips involving a flight of stairs, a hike across my apartment complex and gale-force winds, the deed was done. Showing Braden the apartment would take ten minutes, tops. I’d offer him a drink, because I was polite like that…and tell him to let me know tomorrow. Then I’d eat my grilled cheese while I played Call of Duty, or maybe just channel-surf with my hand on my dick all night long. The possibilities were endless.
I shook the moisture from my shaggy hair, chuckling when Braden jumped sideways to avoid getting wet…or wetter.
“Sorry. I’m gonna change. Follow me. You can check out the place, poke in cupboards and closets or whatever floats your boat,” I said, pulling my soaked tee over my head.
“Cool. Thanks.”
My apartment was relatively small, but it had a nice, open layout. I appreciated the little things like the fact that the flat-screen TV in the living area was visible from the kitchen island. I could watch baseball while I made dinner, then flop onto the denim-covered sectional afterward. Yep. That sounded like a plan.