Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Fuck other people. He should go out.” Gavin tossed his book to the side and sat up, broad shoulders hunching forward. “Fan day gets a little crazy with the rush of football fanatics and kids, but people usually treat the old folks with a little respect.”
“Well, that’s the thing. He’s not that old. Just depressed.”
Gavin frowned, and I wondered why he cared. “Tell me how he lost his job again.”
I glanced at the clock, realized we were ticking closer to the time I needed to leave, but couldn’t bring myself to cut the conversation short. He never asked about my life. So I gave him the rundown of my father’s old company, how they’d dumped the long-time assistant manager position to make room for “shift team leaders”—an identical job that got paid six dollars an hour less. At the end of the day, there was no way to fight such a change without a union, and most corporate chains didn’t have unions.
“Anyway, it just sucks. He loved working there because he’s so into sports. My father is like an encyclopedia of different kinds of equipment and athletic shoes. He spent twenty years at that company, but . . . it didn’t matter. And now other jobs at that level are requiring college degrees, even though he has two decades of experience. It really sucks.”
“That’s bullshit,” Gavin agreed, still shaking his head. “This country sure as hell knows how to prevent people from getting ahead. As if a piece of paper from a university is worth more than real experience.”
“Right? It’s so frustrating. I don’t know what he’s going to do.”
Gavin studied me while chewing on the inside of his cheek. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Why don’t you let me see his résumé?”
“His résumé?” My eyebrows flew up. “Why?”
“Maybe I can put it in front of someone at Under Armour, since we’re doing this donation with them. It sounds like working for a company like that would be his thing.”
My jaw dropped. “You’d do that?”
“Yeah. Why the fuck you so shocked?”
“Because . . .” His stormy gaze was now locked on me. “I don’t know. I just didn’t expect you to go out of your way.”
“It’s me sending out his résumé to the corporate heads me or Mel will already be talking to. Not out of my way. Besides, what the hell else do I have to do with my time? May as well try to do something constructive.”
He sounded almost defensive about his desire to help, which sent a slight smile curving over my face. It was the second time I was seeing this side of Gavin—this desire to make a difference in someone’s life—and my heart sped just as fast this time around. Even faster.
“You’re really kind sometimes.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t change that you do kind things. Actions speak louder than words.” I held up the keys again, jingling them. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Now get the hell out so I can read and update that Instagram shit you started.”
I perked up. “What are you gonna post?”
“No clue,” he said, grouch tone in full effect. “My middle finger.”
“You should post a picture of the book on your chest. People are a sucker for a hot man reading. Nipples and pecs are bonus. There’s even an Instagram account dedicated to men reading on trains. Also, it’s so different from your usual persona that people will be shocked and share it.”
“So you admit to thinking I’m a hot man. Thought I wasn’t your type?” When I just snorted, Gavin smirked. “I’ll give it a shot. Maybe I’ll even post a reminder for people like you that my persona is some shit the media gave me.”
“Fair point. Although you play the part they cast you in really well sometimes.”
I waited for him to snarl something about me not knowing him well enough to make that statement, which was also a fair point, but he didn’t. He just rolled his eyes and jerked his chin at the door.
“Go enjoy my practice field.”
***
On the way to Jersey I felt awful. I’d been talking about this fan day business all week, and it had never occurred to me that I was rubbing Gavin’s incarceration in his face. While I pranced off to Rutherford in my skinny jeans and faded Yankees T-shirt—because why not wear the wrong sport to a major athletics event—he was trapped in that isolated mansion on the beach.
“I’m an asshole.”
“It’s his own fault he’s stuck there.” Jasmine rolled her big brown eyes at me. “He’s the one who beat the shit out of some random frat boy.”
“Good point.”
I didn’t mention that I’d started forming theories as to why. Theories about Gavin’s closeted bisexuality, and what may have been on that phone . . . I’d kept my mouth shut about that revelation. While Jasmine was my closest friend and I trusted her with all of my secrets, I couldn’t bring myself to share Gavin’s. Especially not that one. Especially since, when it came down to it, him beating the shit out of someone for recording a hookup or taking a secret picture of him still wasn’t okay. And I didn’t want to make it seem like I was making excuses for him.