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It’s weird being here without you. I never told you this before, but I’ve always liked you. Like really liked you. As in not just friends. You probably don’t think of me like that, but I always wonder what might have been if I told you how I felt back in high school. Would anything have happened between us? I dreamed of kissing you so many times, but never got up the courage to tell you or do anything about it. I know my dad being your coach was an issue and things could have gotten weird, but I still wish I did something back then.
I don’t want to live with regrets now, though, you know? So I’m putting this out into the universe. Just in case.
Anyway, I wanted to let you know you were one of my closest friends and I miss you.
Love,
Sloane
Ohmygod. I can’t have sent that message to Cam.
Maybe he didn’t read it yet and I can get it back.
Hot panic floods through me as I click around, frantically trying to unsend the message.
Why? Why would I have confessed my true feelings to Cam Crawford now, via email no less?
After all these years, why?
The man is a pro football star, living his wild and best life in Chi-town, playing the sport he adores in front of a national audience. He’s famous, in the tabloids every other day, with beautiful blonde models hanging off his bulging biceps. I’m an unemployed, walking, talking sob story with well-earned trust issues, living with my dad. Why the hell would he be interested in me?
I tap around, desperate for an Unsend feature, my stomach knotting tighter with tension as the seconds tick by. Giving Cam more time to read The World’s Most Embarrassing Email.
“Dammit!” I finally give up, flinging my cell down on the grass. The metal vibrates and I snatch it up so fast I create wind.
No response to my email, but the front door camera’s alerting me to motion on the porch.
My mouth goes desert-dry as I stare at the grainy black-and-white image of the visitor. Squinting at the phone, I shake my head. This cannot be happening right now.
No fucking way.
I scramble out of the lawn chair, kicking the flimsy plastic over in my haste to answer the door. Slinging my T-shirt over my head, I race across the grass, panting from the heat and exertion. Running into the kitchen, theartificially cooled air sends a chill through me, goosebumps rising on my arms.
Slowing to a brisk walk, I move through the house. With a deep breath, I smooth my hair away from my face, readjust my messy bun before flinging the door open.
“Cam?”
CHAPTER 2
SLOANE
Ican’t believe Cam Crawford’s standing on the front porch right now, all six-foot-five of him. And he’s gorgeous as ever, an artfully broken-in gray T-shirt stretched taut across his broad chest, barely containing his biceps. Several days’ worth of scruff frames a chiseled jawline, and his dark hair’s floppy and ruffled, as if he’s just run his hands through the slight waves. His eyes are still the deepest, most vibrant blue I’ve ever seen. Rimmed with dark circles, he’s giving off a broody air. Less high school hotshot, more sexy pro baller.
“Cam?” I repeat his name again, trying to figure out if this is a dream or my new Karmic reality.
I typed the words and sent them out into the universe late last night, but I never actually believed Cam Crawford would materialize on my front porch after all these years.
“Hey, Trouble.”
His voice is deeper than I remember, the gravelly tone sending hot pulses straight to my core as my old nickname rolls off his full lips.
The sweetest sound in the world, falling from that mouth.
I can’t freaking believe it.
He got my email and instead of just hitting Reply like the average Joe, he flew back home to surprise me. He’s here to sweep me off my feet like a modern-day small-town Cinderella and I’m wearing a rattyThunder Creek Mustangsfootball T-shirt and a cheap string bikini from the Walmart.
Still, May 12this a fucking magical day.
