Hands Down by Mariana Zapata
English | 2020| Romance| ePUB | 3.2 MB
Mariana Zapata began writing love stories soon after she learned how to spell. She probably shouldn’t admit that she started sneaking romance novels from her aunt’s bookshelves way before she was old enough to even understand what it meant when a man flipped up a woman’s skirt. (Don’t tell her mom.) Luckily, she learned to love the process of two people falling in love instead of all the other juicy stuff.
Before he was “Big Texas,” he was “Zac the Snack Pack.”
Bianca Brannen knows time—mostly—heals all wounds. Including those your once loved ones might have unintentionally given you. (Those just take longer.)
She thinks she’s ready when a call has her walking back into her old friend’s life. Or at least as prepared as possible to see the starting quarterback in the National Football Organization. Before the lights, the fans, and the millions, he’d been a skinny kid with a heart of gold.
Waltzing out of Zac Travis’s life should be easy. Just as easy as he walked out of hers.
I popped the last grape from the fruit cup I’d bought at the gas station into my mouth and stared at the massive house through my window.
This was the house that Zac was living in, according to the address that Boogie had texted me right after we’d gotten off the phone. I double-checked the numbers to make sure I had them right, and yep, I did. I mean, the code for the gate to get into the neighborhood had been correct as well… unfortunately.
Where else would I expect a millionaire to live? I was 99 percent sure he didn’t actually own the house since he wasn’t going to be staying in Houston long term, but that didn’t change the fact his rent had to be out of his ass for a place like this. I’d seen pictures of Zac’s home back in Oklahoma. Boogie had sent me a picture of himself draped across marble floors between a grand staircase made up of all iron and rich wood, head propped on his fist, with Zac lying on the floor beside him in the same position. It had made me smile.
Back when I had really known Zac, when he’d been my friend, he’d been rolling around in a car with no air conditioning and a bumper with so many dents he called them freckles. And now? Well, the last time Boogie had sent me a picture of them together, they’d been in some BMW that probably cost more than the house I’d grown up in.
But he’d worked hard for everything he had and more. The big house, nice car—or maybe cars—and positive attention. And according to my current view, he had plenty of people surrounding him too.
Of course he did.
He’d been busy all those times I’d texted him and hadn’t gotten a response, I knew. That knowledge needed to comfort me the way it had a decade ago when we’d… lost touch. Lost touch. That’s what I was going to call it.
From the look of it, the house he was in now was just as big and more than likely just as luxurious as the one he’d been living in back in Oklahoma—two stories, wide, and with a circular driveway. I was only a little bit surprised to see that it was packed with cars. So was the street in front of it.
Three people happened to be walking up the path in front to what was one of the biggest homes I’d ever seen, and they were nicely dressed. I pulled my car over two giant houses down and hoped like hell no one would call to get it towed.
And why the hell did he have to be having a party today?