Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Knox and Landry both kneel to be at eye level with him. The boy couldn’t be more than eight or nine years old.
“That’s right. What’s your name?” Knox asks him.
“I’m Grayson,” he says, bouncing on his feet.
“Well, Grayson, would you like to take a picture?”
“I’m so sorry,” a man says, rushing toward us. “Grayson, you can’t run away from me like that.”
“Dad! It’s Beckett and Reynolds!” Grayson shouts.
“Hey, little man,” Landry says. “Your dad is right. You should stay with an adult at all times.”
“You’re an adult,” he counters.
“We are, but we’re also strangers.”
“You’re not strangers. I watch you on TV all the time.” This has Corie and me laughing, gaining his attention as well. “Who are you?” he asks us.
Knox stands and pulls Corie into his arms. “This is my wife, Corie.”
Landry does the same. “This is my girlfriend, Rowan.”
“Oh! I know you. You’re the handshake girl. That was so cool!” Grayson says.
We all share a laugh at his enthusiasm. Knox and Landry pose for pictures and sign his shirt with a Sharpie that Corie produces from her purse, and we’re on our way.
“I’m thinking I should start packing a Sharpie,” I tell her.
“Might not be a bad idea,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “We’ll call you about dinner this week.” With a wave, they’re off.
“Now what?” Landry asks.
“No plans. Well, I was going to do some laundry today. Boring stuff.”
“My place or yours tonight?”
“What?”
“Are we staying at my place or your place tonight?”
“I—don’t know.”
“Can we stay at mine? We can go to your place, and you can get whatever needs to be done, then pack some clothes for tomorrow. Wait, all week,” he corrects.
“You want me to stay with you all week?”
“Do you want to sleep alone after last night?”
I take the time to think about his question. The answer is easy. “No.”
“There you go.” With his hand on the small of my back, he leads me to his truck. We go back to my place for a few hours and watch a movie while I do laundry, and then, just as he asked, I pack a bag for the whole week, and we head to his place.
We both have to be up at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow, and since we didn’t get to bed until late last night, we need to go to bed early. He holds me tightly in his arms, and I quickly drift off to sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
Landry
Turns out there is more to life than football. The more is my Rowan. For the first time in my life, football is taking a back burner. I still train hard, work hard, and give my team and my teammates one-hundred-and-ten-percent of me on and off the field, but when I’m home, it’s her.
Take this week, for example. She’s been riding to work with me every single day. We make dinner together, we’ve swam, taken walks around the neighborhood, and every night she falls asleep in my arms. I’ve never wanted that, and now, I know that I can’t let it go. It’s not just having someone in my bed, it’s all Rowan—I’m sure of that.
Thunder cracks overhead, and Rowan screeches, jumps, then immediately starts laughing at herself. “Did that not startle you?” she asks, her palm on her chest as if she’s trying to calm her racing heart.
I pop another chip into my mouth. “A little, I guess.”
“You’re not supposed to be eating junk,” she reminds me.
“These are my favorites.” I hold up the red bag of chips.
“You’re going to spoil dinner,” she tells me.
“Babe, come on now, we both know I’m gonna eat all my dinner, and then my dessert,” I say, moving around the island to where she’s standing. I discard my bag of chips and wrap my arms around her.
Apparently, there is more to life than food as well.
“You’re going to make me slice my finger,” she tells me.
I kiss her one more time, just under her ear, and step away. “While I enjoy all of you, I don’t want a finger in my tacos.”
“Eww.” She scrunches up her nose, and fuck me, it’s cute as hell.
“What can I do?” I ask.
“Nothing. It’s not a hard dinner, and I like cooking for you.”
“You could have saved yourself the trouble, and just let yourself be my dinner and my dessert.” I smack her ass lightly. I’m standing right next to her, so I see the beautiful pink hue that coats her cheeks.
“We need real food.”
“If you insist.” I sigh as if eating dinner is a hardship. Who am I? What has this woman done to me?
“There,” she says, as she finishes dicing the tomatoes. “Time to eat.”
We make our plates and settle at the island, just as we have every other night this week. Leaning over, I press my lips to her cheek. I can’t stop touching her. “I’m glad you’re here,” I tell her.