Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I should text Penelope in the morning and call the whole thing off…
Yeah.
That’s what I should do.
But wait. If I call off the bet do I still have to ante up? Jack is going to want that suite. He’s never going to let me off the hook.
But maybe I can come up with something else?
Oh yeah? Like what? What could possibly be as good as paying for his family to be in a suite during the friggin Super Bowl? Literally nothing.
I’m such a jackass.
Granted, I’ve done dumber shit, but it’s been a long time. For example, when I was in college and in a fraternity (shocking, I know—I was a douchey fraternity bro), I dressed up as the mascot for the blood center during their annual campus blood drive, and instead of taking it seriously, I walked around campus pretending to piss on all the fire hydrants.
Then there was the time I bet Stuart O’Connell that I would swim across the lake where his parents had a lake house, except I underestimated how wide it was and only got a fraction of the way across. He had to kayak out to get me with a life jacket, and I had to give him my vintage comic book collection.
Oh!
And how could I forget about the time I bet the dean of my university that I would make the dean’s list the last three semesters of my time there—after being on academic probation my first two semesters. If I made the dean’s list, he had to promise to hang a portrait of me in the administration building, and I did—I pulled it off.
The portrait I submitted was me in sweat bands, wearing a ping pong costume I’d made for Greek Week, and around my neck I was sporting the three medals I’d won.
Iconic.
Anyway—I digress.
The point is, I’ve made a lot of stupid bets in my day and hadn’t considered my history when I’d made this one with Penelope. As soon as I heard the words “wanna bet?” I snapped.
Immediately said yes.
Didn’t matter what the odds were.
I wasn’t expecting to like Molly the way I’ve come to like her. I half expected her to be as standoffish and cold as she was the first night we met. Granted, I’d ambushed her on an evening she was trying to work, but I hadn’t known that at the time. Honestly, I probably hadn’t cared? I hate to admit this, but I’m pretty damn selfish most of the time. Think it comes from spending so much time alone, and a lot of the people I work with are pretty selfish too. They build up walls around them because they have trust issues, and I have a whole history of trust issues myself, so it’s easy to get caught up in that. Building my own walls and keeping people at bay.
Which is exactly what Molly was doing.
Surprisingly, it didn’t take long to break through her hard exterior. I think she likes me as much as I like her. She’s so cute. Not one of the guys, but also kind of like one of the guys?
In a sexier way.
Besides my female athletes, I haven’t met a woman as determined and forthright as Molly. So maybe I’ve also got a bit of prejudice when it comes to dating what I consider civilians.
Laura was cutthroat… not that I’m comparing. But from the beginning, she went for the jugular. I think it was the attorney in her. She always wanted to prosecute people and cross-examine them, and always fight to get what she wanted, but the thing with Laura?
She never verbalized what that thing was she was ultimately looking for. Half the time, I had no idea what was going on inside her head. Her eyes were always sparkling, there was always a smile on her face and that seemed like enough for me.
“You’re awfully quiet over there,” Molly says quietly, and I’m aware of the fact that Posey is gone—hadn’t heard a word she said. No idea what she’d done tonight or who she was with. “I’m not going to ask what you’re thinking about because I read somewhere men hate that.”
“You read it somewhere?” Why does that not surprise me, and why does it make me laugh?
“Sure. I mean, how else would I know?” She winks. “I’m the last person on earth who knows what a man wants. I gave up trying years ago.”
I readjust myself on the couch, leg cold once I pull it from hers, missing the contact. “Please. The men you dated were obviously pussies who couldn’t handle you. They weren’t worth your time. When you meet the right person, they’ll appreciate your candor the same way I do.”
Like I do.
Now, why the hell did I say that out loud?
Why do I feel so vulnerable with her?