Page 84 of Most Likely to Score
“It’s thigh-length.”
“It’s hot.”
“It’s inappropriate.”
“That’s totally the rage. You could be fashion forward. You could maybe even help set standards.”
Laughing, I put the skirt back on the rack, drawing an imaginary line above my knee. “Must hit here.”
“Fine, I’ll find something else, but you have to look the part every time. You’re going to be a very big deal.”
I want to believe her, but my phone has been quiet all day. I scan the store quickly, lean in, then whisper, “He’s barely been in touch.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “No biggie. He’s probably distracted playingNBA 2Kor working out with the guys. I bet he gets back to you tomorrow after the game. Besides, you know how they are before they play. It’s all game focus, all the time.”
“True,” I say, but it sounds half-hearted. It feels that way, too.
My phone buzzes and my heart skips a beat as I fish it eagerly from the back pocket of my jeans with the hope that it’s Jones sending a sexy text, a romantic text, a good news text. Something that says he’s talked to his guys, and he’s ready to tell the world that he’s in love with me. Like I’ve done for him.
I deflate when I see it’s my dad.
Dad: Can’t wait to see you at the game tomorrow! Stop by and chat with the old man, will ya?
Jillian: Count on me. :)
As I close the message, I wish I felt like I could count on Jones.
I remind myself to stay cool. There’s no reason to think anything’s changed. He’s busy, he’s playing tomorrow, and tough talks take time. I cling to that as the day goes on with no word.
34
JONES
“I’m a dick.” I wait for an answer that doesn’t come.
“Come on, buddy. You can tell me. Am I an asshole?”
From his perch on the couch, Cletus drops one ear and cocks his head. His tail flicks back and forth.
“Total ass?”
An excited whimper sounds from his snout as he jumps on my chest. And we have a winner. Total ass, it is.
But even assholes must take care of their pets. I roughhouse with Cletus, rubbing his belly and pretending to box with him. After he play-growls for a bit, I take him to the yard and run him through the weave poles, then in and out of tunnels on the agility course.
After twenty minutes, he’s panting hard, but he’s happy. I rub his head and scoop him up in my arms. “You’re a good boy.”
He rewards my compliment by licking my cheek. “That clearly means you don’t think I’m a dick at all.”
Another lick.
“I knew it. I’m not.”
But winning a dog’s love is easy. A woman’s is much more complex, and I wonder if Jillian thinks I’m an ass, since I’ve been dragging my feet. I should’ve called Ford, should’ve tracked him down this morning, because I sure as hell didn’t do that yesterday. We had a long practice, but that’s just an excuse.
Ichosenot to call him.
Because I’m fucking afraid.
