Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Scout’s honor,” I say, holding up three fingers.
“Right. Like I believe you were ever a scout,” he scoffs.
“Okay, so maybe I was never a boy scout, but I can promise you I’m not some kind of crazy stalker.”
“Yeah, yeah. Like I said, don’t make me regret it, and we’re good.”
It’s not like he’s my actual coach; he’s the kicking coach. He can’t torture me on the field. “Done.” I jog off to the locker room to shower and head to the hotel to get my shit and get home.
“Where’s the fire?” Case Riley, our center, asks as I’m tossing my shit in my bag.
“No fire. Just ready to get home.”
“We hitting up Harvey’s tonight?”
Harvey’s is a small bar close to the stadium. I’m not sure when or how it got started, but he has a side entrance with a key code. The players enter there into a private room. We have our own bartender, music, big-screen TVs, the whole nine yards. If we want to just slip away out of the limelight but still feel normal, Harvey’s is the place to go. The place stays packed, both for its location to the stadium and for the players who decide to venture out into the public area of the bar. Cleat chasers make it their stomping grounds.
“Maybe.” I’m not committing until I talk to her. I might have better options. And if not, tonight, I’m going to stay hidden, no matter how hard Case tries to convince me otherwise. A couple of beers and then my big comfy bed. That is the exciting life of a professional quarterback.
“Eight,” he calls after me. I’ve already got my bag thrown over my shoulder and heading toward the door. I have a phone call to make.
Walking into my condo, I drop my bags by the door. Three long weeks away, but we’re ready. The team is meshing, and I see good things in our future. I also see my ass sleeping in my ultra-soft bed for the next twenty-four hours. Walking down the hall to my room, I flop back on the bed. Damn, it’s good to be home.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I hold it in the air over my face and pull up my search engine. I type in South Bay Animal Shelter and wait for the results. Clicking on their website, I see Chance’s wife, Aubrey, and Emma smiling back at me. I skim through the main page until I get to the bottom and find a contact us. Clicking that, the number pops up and my phone asks me if I want to call.
Hell yes, I do.
“South Bay Animal Shelter, this is Emma.” Her sweet voice greets me.
“Hey, Emma, it’s Landon.”
“I’m sorry, who?” I can hear the confusion in her voice, which is like a kick in the balls.
“Landon Barker.” I wait, letting my name sink in.
“Number eighteen?” she questions.
“Yeah. How have you been?”
“I’m sorry, were you calling in regard to the shelter?”
“No. I called for you. To talk to you.”
“I’m afraid I’m on company time. Thanks for calling,” she says, and the line goes dead.
I stare at the screen of my phone with the message telling me the call was ended. What the actual fuck was that? She hung up on me. Hitting the green Call Back button, the line rings twice before she picks up.
“South Bay Animal Shelter, this is Emma.”
“Did you really just hang up on me?” I ask.
“Landon.” She sighs, and the sound, although not meant to be sexual, goes straight to my dick.
“Give me two minutes.”
“Fine. What can I do for you, Number Eighteen?”
Normally, a woman calling me by my number is a turnoff. That’s what the cleat chasers do. They just want to bag a player, and hopefully be the one who gets to ride along on their coattails. However, Emma, I don’t get that vibe from her. In fact, she’s irritated as hell right now. “Have dinner with me.” It’s more of a demand than a question.
“No.”
No hesitation in her voice. “One dinner. We can get to know each other.” That’s what women like her want, right? The good girls who you would take home to your mother. They want to be wined and dined. That’s not my MO, but there’s a first time for everything. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had dinner with women, but it’s usually at a charity event or is team sponsored. I’ve not been keen on the actual act of dating. Or the calling and asking thing. I think the last time that happened, it was senior prom. Great, now I’m my seventeen-year-old self.
“Look, Landon, I’m sure you’re a great guy, but I’m just not interested.”
“Emma—” I start, and she cuts me off.
“I really need to go.” With that, the line goes dead.
“Well, shit.” I huff, letting the phone drop to the bed next to me. What’s it going to take to get to this girl? I’m tempted to call her back, but I already know what the outcome is going to be. She’s going to hang up on me for the third time today. No thanks. I need to regroup and decide what my next step is going to be.