Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
I shake my head as his eyes hold mine.
He kisses me lightly on the lips. “Good. Come back to bed with me.”
My body gets hot at the words.
“You can’t have sex like this…can you?”
He huffs out a laugh, and a smile—the first one I’ve seen today—flashes across his face. “I can have sex even if I’m half-dead, but right now, I just want to hold you.”
There’s a neediness in his gaze, and it makes me protective of him.
He tugs me toward a door and I follow him as we enter his bedroom. The bed is a full with a plaid duvet, and there’s a dresser against the wall. His laptop and books are scattered across the foot of the bed, and he grunts as he moves them to a chair next to the door. I’m itching to offer to help, but I can sense he doesn’t want me to.
I have a design class at noon, but I know I’m not going to make it, especially when he slowly pulls his shirt off by tugging at it from the neck. I get an unobstructed view of his magnificent chest as it slips over his hair then gets tossed to the floor. Next are his flannel pants. He kicks them off and stands there proudly, bruises and all, and I probably look like I need a fan in my face to cool me down.
“Want me to open a window, Buttercup?”
I smirk.
He hits me with those piercing eyes. “Take your clothes off. I want your skin against mine.” There’s that need in his tone again.
I take my coat off and toss it on the chair. My shirt and jeans are next, until I’m standing in my black lace demi-bra and matching panties.
A long sigh slips through his lips as his eyes caress me. “Damn.”
Moving tentatively, he gets in the bed, lies back on the pillows, and pats the spot next to him, a searching expression on his face. “It’s like I wished you were here, Delaney, and you appeared. Thank you for checking on me.”
I swallow. Part of me wants to get to the bottom of what happened, but for now, it doesn’t feel right. I crawl in beside him and lie down, our bodies touching lightly; I don’t want to hurt him. His arms curl around me, and everything else fades away.
Whatever’s going on with him, I’ll figure it out later.
Maverick
Delaney taps her chin, thinking. “My biggest TV-slash-movie pet peeve is that Han Solo and Princess Leia never got enough on-screen kissing time.” She looks over at me. “What’s yours?”
I grin at her. It’s been over a week since the fight, and most of the bruises on my face have faded to a light blue. I’ve been wearing sunglasses and a ball cap everywhere, and my story of a minor car accident seems to be accepted. I hate lying to everyone, but it’s necessary.
We’re sitting inside Buffalo Bills after salsa lessons, and Delaney’s on a quest to figure out the real Maverick. I get the feeling once she becomes interested in something, she’s devoted to it with a one-track mind. I can relate because I’m the same with football.
She’s wearing a flowing red skirt and a pale blue sweater with a deep V-neck that clings to every curve. I’m trying not to stare at her full breasts, but I’m a Neanderthal and can’t help it.
She waves a hand in front of my face. “Hello, is anyone listening?”
“Right. Back to your twenty questions,” I say teasingly.
She stabs one of the fries on her plate. “If you didn’t want to play, you should have just said so. I just thought it would be a good way to get to know each other.”
I grin. “I can think of a few other ways.”
She blushes furiously.
We’ve shared a lot since she came to my dorm room that morning, but I still haven’t told her the particulars of the fight or the fact that I’m training for the next one at Carson’s Gym every night after football practice.
I cock my head, thinking. “Okay, my pet peeve is when you’re watching a horror movie and that one person breaks off from the group to go search. Right then you know that’s the next one who’s going to end up dead. Why are people so stupid?”
She laughs. “Right! Why don’t they just get in their car and go to Starbucks? At least then they wouldn’t die.” She takes a sip of soda, her red lips curving around the straw. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Your sweater color…whatever that is.” My gaze lingers on her tits.
She glances down. “Yeah, you can’t seem to take your eyes off of it. It’s pale blue, by the way.”
“In my defense, it’s pretty tight,” I point out. My voice lowers. “And you look fucking hot in it.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, if your life is a movie, what’s the soundtrack?”