Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
She’s teasing and tempting me, all but asking me to fuck her, but jerking myself off to dirty thoughts of her is all that’s going to happen. That’s all that can happen.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter.
3
MORGAN
“It smells in here,” he says.
“It’s a gym,” I reply with an eye roll.
“It still smells.”
I take a seat on the bleachers and watch the basketball team streaking up and down the court as they scrimmage. Tony, my flamboyantly gay friend and the paper’s photographer, sits down next to me. Unlike me, he’s not into sports, and clearly doesn’t want to be here. But he’s doing me a solid by getting some pictures of the team for my article. At least, that’s what I told him I need. In reality, he’s giving me cover for being here. While it’s true that I am putting a piece together about the team and need a few pictures to go with it, I’m here because I wanted to see Mr. Hooper.
Tony takes a few pictures, then gets to his feet and moves up and down the court, snapping shots of the players in action. My eyes are fixed on Mr. Hooper. He’s on the opposite sideline, watching his players carefully as he barks orders to them. Every now and then, I catch him glancing my way and see his eyes lingering on me. Hoping to grab his attention, I made sure to wear another sundress since I think they showcase my figure well. So far, it seems to be working.
“What are you doing?”
I tear my eyes away from Mr. Hooper and look up at Tony. “What do you mean?”
“Are you here to write a story or stare at Coach Mack?”
I feel the heat creep up my neck and into my cheeks. “I’m not staring at him.”
He scoffs. “You totally are.”
Running a hand through my hair, I turn away and try to cool my face down. Sitting here with neon red cheeks is doing nothing to bolster my case that I’m not here to ogle the coach. Tony erupts in laughter, doubling over like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
“You totally are,” he says. “You’re stalking Coach Mack.”
“Shhhh,” I hiss. “Keep your voice down.”
I grab his hand and pull him down, forcing him to sit beside me again. That only makes him laugh even more, doing nothing to take some of the red out of my face.
“Relax,” he says. “Not only are they not paying attention to us, it’s too loud for them to hear a word we’re saying over here.”
I turn back to the court and listen. Between the sound of the players yelling back and forth to one another, the sharp squeaking of their shoes on the court, and the music that’s thumping, I suppose he’s right. Still, I’m not one to take chances. The last thing I need is for somebody to overhear Tony and start the rumor that I’m stalking Coach Mack. I mean, I am. Kind of. But I don’t want anybody else to know that.
“You really have a thing for Coach?” Tony asks, thankfully, in a lower tone. “I mean, he’s fine and all, but isn’t he a little bit too old for you?”
“Age is just a number.”
“Yeah, a number that’s more than twice yours.”
“Not quite twice. He’s only nineteen years older than me,” I say quietly.
Tony claps his hands as he laughs, making me cringe. Even I know how horribly weak my counterargument is and swallow down the rest of my words. There’s no sense in continuing to dig the hole I’m in any deeper than it already is.
“Girl, I’ve never seen a hair split so fine,” he says.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“I never knew you had a thing for Coach,” he says.
“I have for years.”
“Then why not tell him? He’s single, you’re an adult. Why not go and make that man yours?”
“Because Kelsey would freak the hell out.”
Tony purses his lips. “Yeah, I didn’t think about that. I can see how that might be a little problematic for her,” he says. “But it shouldn’t be. I mean, you’re already like family. Why not make it official by becoming her stepmom?”
He cackles and stomps his feet, drawing the gaze of a few of the players on the court. I punch him in the arm. As I do, I notice Mr. Hooper turn our way. Our eyes meet from across the court, and I feel my heart leap into my throat. His eyes smolder, and for just a moment, I can almost feel him undressing me with his gaze. It’s probably in my head, but I like to think he is anyway because it somehow justifies how wet I’m getting. I give myself a quick shake and turn to Tony.
“Shut up,” I hiss. “You are enjoying this a little too much.”
“I really am.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”