Perfect Summer Read Online Free PDF Page A

handsome and a talented athlete? He had to be smart too? That life’s-not-fair thing skyrocketed to a new level. Some people took more than their fair share of the good genes, leaving the rest of the world to scrabble over what was left.
    On a sigh, she moved down to his professional career. After a couple of paragraphs with lots of statistics on stuff that no one in their right mind would care about, she skimmed down to the section on his personal life. In his thirty-three years, he’d dated supermodels, actresses, pop princesses, and the occasional heiress. There wasn’t an amazon-tall, chubby, homely schoolteacher to be found. She shrugged. It made sense. The universe didn’t allow for inequitable pairings. If one occurred, bad things happened—planets imploded, famines ran rampant, pantyhose were inflicted upon unsuspecting women, and God only knew what other crimes against nature would result.
    Clicking the back arrow, she returned to the original search screen. After skimming all the football websites, she finally came across www.clintwatch.com. She clicked on a tab called “Clint-telligence,” which turned out to be an hour-by-hour and sometimes minute-by-minute report of his day posted by people who claimed to have seen him in public. Why did anyone care that he’d eaten cheddar mashed potatoes with his bacon-wrapped filet at Flemings last night? The tab called “Clint-fidences” appeared to be a message board where past and present girlfriends reported “confidences” about their relationship with the quarterback. That required a login. Giving out her email address invited “Clint-spam,” and she was already “Clint-nauseated,” so she closed her laptop.
    Her kids needed a strong, male role model, and she wasn’t sure Grayson was man enough.

 
     
     

CHAPTER 3
     
     
    Clint tunneled his fingers through his hair. What had he done wrong? Replaying the conversation with Ms. Ames in his head, he couldn’t quite figure out where he’d lost the upper hand. Apart from being an ass, which was his fallback when charm didn’t work, he couldn’t see why Summer Ames didn’t like him.
    He shook his head as he handed the cashier at Starbucks a twenty. “Keep the change.”
    Walking to the end of the counter, he waited for his Vente Decaf with an inch of soy milk.
    “Hey, man, can I have your autograph?” A redheaded boy in a hoody and droopy jeans handed Clint a napkin. “That Hail Mary in the last second of the Super Bowl was a miracle. You’re the man.”
    Clint smiled and took the napkin. Maybe Summer Ames didn’t like him, but everyone else did. “Thanks. What’s your name?”
    “Mike.” Red grinned, a gold tooth glinting in the sunlight filtering through the dark, wooden mini blinds. “Mike Hernandez.”
    Clint scribbled his name, added a personal “Mike, Thanks for your support” before handing the napkin back. “Here you go. Have a good one.”
    “Coffee ready for Clint.” It was a low female voice twanged with a Texas drawl.
    Clint picked up his coffee and caught the eye of the bottle-blonde lady barista.
    She smiled and winked at him. “My number’s on the cup.”
    Clearly, she liked him too. Why didn’t the schoolteacher?
    “Thanks.” He nodded and headed out to his Tesla Roadster. It wasn’t his favorite car, but it was eco-friendly, and since he was cleaning up his rep, he might as well clean up the environment.
    Transferring the coffee to his left hand, he slipped the other in his pants pocket and pulled out his keys. After clicking the fob to unlock the door, he slid behind the wheel and set his coffee in the drink holder. His right hip buzzed. He pulled out his iPhone.
    Bunny Duplantis’s picture blinked on the screen.
    This wasn’t going to be pleasant. After closing the car door, he slid his finger across the screen. “Bunny…”
    “How’s my favorite client?” Bunny’s accent had just enough New Orleans to make him hungry for beignets and chicory