Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Besides, it’s not as if I have all the time in the world. Even now, in the off-season, I’m still expected to give my career my full attention.
That said, I can’t seem to get excited about Melody. Sure, she’s gorgeous and practically suction-cupped to my side, but there’s no desire burning below the surface, no anxious excitement at the prospect of kissing her good night.
I try though. I try because my mother raised me to be a better man than I have been for the last hour.
“What were you shooting for today?”
“A designer jeans company. They wanted a really sexy feel so they had me in the jeans and nothing else.” She wags her eyebrows teasingly. “It would have been fine except they had an Italian male model on set with me too.” She assesses me then, looking for something. “You won’t have an issue with that, will you? Me working with other guys?”
Why would I?
Oh right, because we’re supposed to be dating.
I shrug. “All part of the job, right?”
She apparently doesn’t like that answer, because she elaborates. “He was obsessed with me. Kept trying to get my number in between takes. And then it got so awkward because we were practically naked and pretending to be into each other. They had us take about a hundred photos where we were nearly kissing.”
I take a sip of my drink, slightly worried she’s going to continue if I don’t stop her. “I’m sure you can handle your own.”
She frowns, and I take a moment to glance back down and look for Candace, hoping she isn’t at the table with the guys again. A bit ago, I saw them force her into taking another shot. She’s tiny—there’s no way she can hold her alcohol that well.
“Are you guys about ready to call it?” Darius asks, stifling a yawn.
He and I both hit the weights early this morning, and I’m feeling as tired as he is. Even still, I’m hesitant to leave Candace here. Why does she work at a place like this when she has that job at The Day School? Why work two jobs? Then I remember her joke about her massive paycheck and it clicks into focus. She’s hustling like so many others, just like my parents did back in Florida before I hit it big. I excuse myself from the group and promise to meet them out back, through the VIP exit, in a few minutes. Then I yank a couple bills from my wallet along with an old receipt.
I go down to the bar on the lower level, keeping my head down so as to draw the least amount of attention. It doesn’t matter. I’m still noticed, but a quick shake of my head deters a few guys from coming closer. I wave down the bartender and ask him if he’s seen Candace.
He frowns, thinking it over. “She’s like a bird, man, flying around this place. I swear she moves faster than all the other servers combined.”
He sounds fascinated with her and I narrow my eyes, wondering if he’s just impressed with her waitressing skills or if it’s something more. Then I shove aside the thought and ask him for a pen.
He hands me the one he has tucked behind his ear, and I jot down a quick note on the back of the receipt before passing it to him along with the cash.
“Make sure this gets to her, okay?”
His eyes widen at the sum of money in front of him. For a minute, I’m suspicious that he’s going to pocket it all and forget my request, but then his gaze locks with mine and he nods reverently.
“Sure thing.”
I’m expecting a call from Candace the next day, and when it doesn’t come, I start to second-guess myself. Chasing women isn’t something I’ve had to do since…ever. I was the star quarterback in high school, the star quarterback in college, and a first-round draft pick into the pros. Just because I haven’t found a relationship that works long-term doesn’t mean there’s been a shortage of women ready and raring to give it a try.
There have been a lot of women, and then there’s Candace. It’s been two days and she still hasn’t called.
“What if I wrote the number down wrong?” I ask Darius as I’m hunched over, gripping my knees and sucking in deep breaths. I feel like I’m about to fucking throw up.
We’re doing sprint drills with our training coach and he’s giving us hell because he’s a sadist. Also because Darius was five minutes late.
“Are you serious? Logan fucking Matthews wrote his number on a damn grocery store receipt—that shit’s worth a million dollars. I still can’t believe you did that. What if the bartender had passed it around? If I were you, I’d change my number.”
“I haven’t had any weird calls. I think he really did mean it when he said he’d give the note to her.”