Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Candlelight and shadows battled for territory on Giana’s serene face, her eyes wide and soft, lips turned up into a crescent smile. She had a comically large mug of some sort of foamy coffee drink cupped between her small hands, and she sipped it from time to time as she listened to the music.
And she was really listening.
Her legs were crossed, still swathed in those modestly sexy tights she had on earlier, and her little foot bounced along with the tune. It wasn’t one I recognized, but she quietly mouthed along with the lyrics, her eyes fixed on the musician.
And when he looked up from his guitar and caught her stare, she flushed so fiercely I could see the crimson even in the dim light of the bar. She quickly tore her gaze away, looking down at her coffee and biting back a smile. By the time she glanced back up at the guy on stage, he had moved on, winking at a couple girls seated close to the stage.
Curiosity had me smiling, and I strolled over to her table, not stopping until I was directly between her and the guy with the guitar.
She blinked when I interrupted her view, like she was surprised to see me, like she’d forgotten she’d even invited — no, demanded — me to come. She startled, nearly spilling her coffee as she sat it down on the table, adjusted her glasses, and stood.
“You’re here.”
I cocked a brow. “Wasn’t I supposed to be?”
“Well, yes, but I—” She covered her surprise with a smile, waving her hand before she gestured to the chair opposite her. “Do you want a beer or something?”
The look I gave her was answer enough, and she tipped a finger up to the waitress walking through the crowd.
The waitress wasted no time in asking me for my ID, and fortunately, I had a pretty stellar fake — thanks to Kyle Robbins. That was about all he was good for outside of being too good of a tight end for me to hate him more than the amount you might hate an annoying little brother.
Once I had my IPA in hand, Giana propped her elbows on the table, steepling her fingertips together and facing me.
“Thank you for coming.”
I nodded.
“Look, I don’t want to be a nag, and I certainly don’t want to be here, working after sunset, any more than you do.” She paused to swipe a curl out of her face, and I realized then that she’d loosened the bun it had been tied up in all day, letting the wild gold and brown and blond strands frame her face like a halo. Her cheeks were peppered in freckles, her lips plump as she pursed them. “Can we just agree to go over this quickly, figure out the solution to our problem, and get some much-needed sleep?”
“What problem do we have, exactly?”
“Oh, other than you nearly biting the head off of an ESPN reporter?” She shrugged, pulling her laptop out of her bag and propping it on the table between us. “Not much.”
“She was a nuisance. They all are.”
“You didn’t seem to care last season when they were running all your tape and talking about how you’re the next Ronnie Lott.”
“Yeah, well, a lot has changed since last season.”
“Like your relationship status?”
The words were like a slap to the face, and I actually jerked my head back at them, surprised to hear the quick reply from the girl I’d always seen as a wallflower.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” she amended quickly, and just like that, the softness slipped over her again. Her voice was quieter, hesitant. “I know… well, I can imagine how difficult a breakup is, especially with your high school sweetheart.”
“How do you know so much about it?”
She leveled me with a look. “It’s my job to know. And it’s also my job to make sure you’re okay.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel all warm and fuzzy, Kitten?”
She deflated, sitting back in her chair. “Quick and painless, remember? We can be out of here after you finish that beer if you cooperate.”
I grumbled out an exhale, waving at her laptop and taking a long pull of my IPA while I waited for her to get out whatever she needed to.
“Ms. Banks has invited the reporter you refused to speak with back for Chart Day. She wants to give her an exclusive.” Giana’s eyes flicked to mine then. “I can leave you alone until then, if you promise to take these next couple of weeks to get your mind right and give a proper interview when she returns.”
“Leave me alone… as in?”
“As in, I won’t schedule any other media obligations. No interviews, no podcasts, not even a photo op until Chart Day.” She typed something on her computer. “And I know you don’t need coaching on how to act on camera. You’re one of the easiest for me to rely on when it comes to this.” She paused, fingers hovering over the keys as she glanced back at me, the white light of her screen reflecting on her face. “But I can tell you’re not okay. And I don’t want to add anything to your plate. So… does this sound like a fair deal?”