Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 81745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Me: Hate like it’s still an emotion.
After pressing send, I bring the iPad up and hit my head with it. “Stop while you’re ahead.” Placing the iPad on the table and grabbing the remote, I turn on the television. I flip through the channels but then finally give up and grab the iPad. I don’t touch my texts even though I want to. No, I open Instagram instead and click the stories on the top and watch swiping right most of the time until I get to Candace, who’s with Ari in matching shirts.
I cave then and type his name in, and his Instagram pops up first with the blue checkmark beside it. Obviously, it’s public, and the first picture is of him eating, and the caption makes me smile.
When she says eat chicken over steak, you eat the chicken.
I shake my head and go down the rabbit hole, looking at all his posts. I smile through most of them, and then I see one of him with a weird face, and the caption is:
When you want to send your woman a picture and all your contacts get it.
Looking at the date, I see it matches the date of his Snapchat debacle, and I wonder who his woman was. The pit of my stomach burns. I turn off the iPad and put it on my side table, then turn off the television. “You need to get your head out of your ass,” I tell myself as I close my eyes, but all I do that night is dream of Miller and his cocky fucking smirk.
When I wake up the next morning, I’m crabby and bitchy, and then I remember why I hate him. I hate him because he’s irritating and cocky. Grabbing my coffee, I walk back to my bed to get my iPad to check my email. Opening it up, I see there is a text from the man in question.
Miller: Morning, gorgeous. Do you know what is happening in seven days?
Me: Zombie apocalypse?
Miller: Nope, better.
Me: Don’t you have anything other to do?
Miller: I see you are a ray of sunshine when you wake up in the morning. I’ll remember that for Monday.
Me: You are just full of yourself this morning.
Miller: Not just this morning, all the time. Have a great day, gorgeous.
Me: Stop calling me that.
I turn off my iPad and walk back to my bedroom, getting dressed and making my way over to Grandma’s house. He doesn’t send me a text for the rest of the day, but every morning, I wake up to an annoying good morning text with a countdown to our date.
I don’t answer him for the whole week. I go about my day, and the only time I talk about him is when I’m on the air. The team road trip hasn’t been too bad. They have won two and lost one, which is good, considering who they were facing.
The home games are even better, and I only admit it on the air, but Miller is having a great start to the season. His average is a plus six, and he’s scored at least one goal in the past five games.
I try not to think about Miller when I open my eyes on Sunday, but I have no choice since he’s already sent a text this morning.
Miller: It’s today, gorgeous. I can’t wait to see you. I’ll pick you up at three.
Me: Are we senior citizens? Who eats at three p.m.?
He doesn’t bother answering me, and at noon, I give up and call him. He sounds out of breath when he answers, and I wonder what he was doing. Obviously, I don’t care, so I’m not even going to bother asking him. “Are you seriously picking me up at three?”
“Yeah,” he says, and then I hear beeping. “Be ready or not. I can sit on your bed and watch you get ready.”
“In your dreams.” It’s the only comeback I can think of because now my hands are getting clammy, and I’m suddenly nervous as fuck for this date or whatever it is. I’m going to call it a get-together.
“Oh, gorgeous, you do not want to know what you do to me in my dreams.” He laughs.
“You dreaming of your death?” I roll my eyes. I’m so tempted to ask him exactly what I do in his dreams, but I’m not going to go there.
“Be ready at three,” he says, laughing, and hangs up on me. I didn’t even ask him what I should wear or where we are going.
I text him now.
Me: What should I wear?
I press send, and I know even before he answers that I should have rephrased it.
Miller: Naked with a smile.
A shiver courses down my spine when he says that, and I’m annoyed he makes me feel all giddy. Tossing the phone down, I think about it as I walk over to the closet. What should I wear that doesn’t scream date? He’s been chasing me nonstop since day one, but after I saw him with the girl, he just rubs me the wrong way. I’ll never admit it to anyone, but every time he’s around, my whole body wakes up. I make excuses because I’m not ready to admit he intrigues me. I am drawn to him, and I fight it every second of the way.