Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Being the stepdaughter of the New York Mavericks’ owner, I’ve been surrounded by them since I was a little girl. And I’ve seen and heard way too many things to not understand that football players are the opposite of an ideal mate for a girl like me.
If I’m honest, I’m not sure there’s anyone out there who is an ideal partner for me. On paper, Connor should technically be one, but even that relationship went back to just friends before we started Dickson University as college freshmen.
“I don’t know, Lex. You always got along so well with the Mavericks when we were kids.” Connor shrugs. “And you haven’t really dated since we did.”
“Oh, come on.” I roll my eyes, my laugh smug. “You can’t believe that, can you? That I haven’t truly dated someone since we were teenagers and using each other to study the mechanics of kissing?”
“Well, I haven’t dated anyone since then.” Connor blushes and turns his head. “And you’re always occupied with the lab and school. I just assumed.”
I sigh. “Relationships and physical attraction are a study in human behavior, Conn. I couldn’t exactly consider any of my research conclusive without going further than a kiss.”
“Understood.” He’s silent then, turning to face the stadium at large and putting his back to me.
I ponder over his state of mind. A year ago, I never would have considered that I might have hurt his feelings because, to me, the concept of emotion tied to other people’s behavior is somewhat asinine. You can’t control it, so to base your own well-being on it is risky, statistically speaking. But my little brother explained it to me last summer, when I accidentally sent my mom to her room crying after what was, to me, a simple interaction.
It might not be rational, but for better or worse, total forfeiture of emotional control is evidently a characteristic of neurotypical human behavior. And I’m trying to be better about taking that into consideration.
“I’m sorry, Conn, if the news came as a shock,” I say, my voice quiet but as sincere as I can manage. “I didn’t mean to spring that on you.”
“It’s fine.” He shakes his head, turning briefly but declining to meet my eyes. Truth be told, neither one of us is the best at making direct visual contact. I sigh, and he pauses briefly before speaking again, his gaze still in the opposite direction. “I’m going to go double-check that the gate we came through is still unlocked.”
“Okay.” It’s a pointless endeavor, seeing as I have the combination, but I don’t deny him the task. Frankly, it’ll be better for us both if he gets a little space. I don’t like the gnawing feeling of awkwardness between us. We’ve known each other too long, and he’s one of the only people I don’t have to pretend with.
It’d be easy to be with him since he understands all my quirks, but there is absolutely zero physical attraction to him on my end, and I’ve done the research on how damaging dry sex is on the vaginal microbiome.
And a life full of UTIs, other infections, and no orgasms?
No, thank you.
Plus, it feels all kinds of wrong to be with someone you know isn’t right for you. I might not be the best with emotional things, but I’m not impervious to the fact that something like that can be hurtful to the other party. And the last thing I want to do is hurt people, even if my mouth deviates from my purpose every now and then.
Connor’s back retreats toward the far end of the field, disappearing into darkness just past the fifty-yard line. I look down at the stopwatch to check the time, noting that only half of it is left. Ace and Julia streak by, running hand in hand from one side of the field to the other, Blake Boden in their wake. I look down at my phone, feigning avid concentration, but the pulse of his presence as he comes to a stop in front of me is undeniable.
It’s concussive, and I really wish I could nail down the physics of why that is. A hormone? His muscle density triggering an atmospheric shift?
I wish I freaking knew.
Whatever it is feels stupidly magnetic.
“Can I help you?” I ask, glancing up from my phone briefly and then looking back down. “By the looks of things, you haven’t located the seats yet, and we’re more than halfway through your time.”
“I just noticed that you lost your sidekick. Maybe—”
“What in the hell is going on here?” a stern voice asks from behind us, spinning us both around right in the middle of Blake’s sentence. A bright flashlight shines directly in our faces, and I hold up a hand to block the piercing power of it. When it finally clicks off, it takes ten seconds for my eyes to adjust back to the darkness. Blake’s correction is quicker.