Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Because this wasn’t about me, it was about Roman.
And he deserved my support more than anyone on the planet.
I’d borrowed one of his practice jerseys, having to tie the thing in a decorative knot at one hip. I used to wear dresses made out of jersey’s—Rick’s idea, of course. Not today. And something about wearing his number—my best friend’s number—across my back made me feel like I slipped on a piece of armor.
Safe.
Roman had always kept me safe.
I slowed my pace outside the locker room, taking care not to bump the other family members or press that had gathered in the same spot in the hopes of catching a glimpse before they hit the field.
The first game of the season was as important as the last, and I could barely contain my smile as the doors swung open, and the Raptors filed out.
“Roman!” I shouted when I saw him trail out after Nixon.
He whirled around, his eyes widened as he found me in the crowd. He pulled me to the side with his free hand, the other holding his helmet.
“You came!” His smile was infectious.
My heart pounded against my chest as I gazed up at him. “It’s gameday,” I said. “I’m here to cheer for my favorite player.”
Roman smoothed his hand down my arm, his eyes scanning the jersey I wore.
“Hope it was okay I borrowed this,” I said. “I’ll order my own once I—”
“You’re perfect,” he said.
“Padilla!” Hendrix called from down the hallway.
“Got to go,” he said but hadn’t moved his feet.
I reached up on my tiptoes, throwing my arms around his neck, laughing slightly at the way the pads made him even bigger than he already was. “Thank you,” I said into his ear. “For the studio. I painted last night.” I shifted my head, my cheek grazing his. And before I knew what I was doing, I brushed my lips over his. Just a featherlight touch, an innocent thank you for all he’d done, but it was enough to make my knees tremble.
Roman’s hand on the small of my back flexed, and he pulled me against him, pressing back with the slightest pressure.
“Padilla!” Nixon yelled, and Roman pulled back, his eyes wide and questioning.
“For luck,” I said, and dropped back to my level with a shrug. He didn’t need to know how I could still feel electricity crackling through my veins from the innocent kiss. He didn’t need to know how that simple touch had my heart flaring to life. He didn’t need to know how desperate I was for more.
Because he was my best friend.
My famous, hot, NFL running back best friend who could have any woman he ever wanted.
So, why the hell would he want me?
“Get a TD for me,” I said, pushing against his chest.
He flashed me a smirk, then ran backward down the hall. “You know it,” he said before spinning around to catch up with the guys.
I’d probably catch hell from Nix and Hendrix the next time we hung out, but who was I kidding?
It’d been worth it.
7
Roman
“I can’t believe you’re making me watch this shit,” I groaned, sinking into the couch as Teagan curled up on the other end. She was wearing pajama pants—the kind with the drawstring—tight enough that they showed off the delectable curve of her ass, and loose enough that I could slip my hand right between—
“You’ve never seen it, a bet is a bet, and you lost,” she tossed back with a smirk as the opening credits played for The Notebook on my big screen.
Get your mind out of her pants.
“How was I supposed to know that you’d learned to tie a cherry stem with your damned tongue?” The tongue that had stayed behind her teeth two weeks ago when she’d given me that good luck kiss before our first home game.
Was it a friends-only thing? More? I’d never been a coward, but the idea of opening that subject was enough to nearly shrivel my dick. Nearly, because the way her breasts looked in that tank top had me adjusting my athletic shorts as discreetly as possible.
Good thing this couch had a few throw pillows, too.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Roman Padilla.” Her smirk deepened before she rolled her eyes and sighed. “But fine, it was a trick bet since I already knew I could do it. But really, you can’t complain about The Notebook. It’s a classic!” She threw a piece of popcorn in my direction, and I caught it in my mouth.
Her grin just about stopped my heart.
“No way,” I argued after I chewed and swallowed. “Classics are Casablanca or Citizen Kane. They are most definitely not The Notebook.”
She hit pause and turned to face me. “Are you reneging on our bet?” Her eyes narrowed.
“Never!” I balked. Bets between us were sacred. “I’m just questioning your choice in movies.” I caught another piece of popcorn she tossed my way.