Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
An echoed thud sounds, and I turn to see Brady crouching down to grab some things out of the bag he just tossed to the floor. I walk over, drop beside his bag, and lay my head back on it as he digs in the other side.
He raises a brow, and I grin up at him.
“Got a hoodie in there?”
“For you?” He digs around, tugging one out and tossing it at my face. “Always.”
I sit up, pulling it over my head. It’s so big, it’s like one of those blanket robes. I tuck myself all up, inhaling his cologne and rubbing my cheeks with the thick cotton of the inside. “Oh, this is a new one.”
“Coach just passed ’em out yesterday.”
“Okay, so tell him you never got one, and let me keep this one.”
Brady chuckles, stretching to his full height, and chucks his hoodie over his head, tossing it in my lap. He had no shirt on underneath, and in the next breath, he pushes his track pants down his legs until I’m staring up at him in nothing but a pair of briefs.
My eyes fall straight to his package, but he’s already bending and tugging on a pair of athletic shorts.
Brady laughs and my eyes meet his. “Don’t pout, Cammie Baby. You know this is all yours anytime you want it.”
He’s teasing—I mean, he has to be because he’s Brady Lancaster, but my blood decides to heat at his words anyway.
I chew on my inner cheek, looking down at his massive legs. They’re like tree trunks, thick and protruding, dusted with hair that’s a few shades darker than the shade on his head. Curious, I look to his stomach.
I never noticed his happy trail before, at least I don’t think I have, but he does have one, and it’s not that sandy-blond color either. It’s darker, which seems so fitting for the love machine that is my boyfriend.
I mean friend.
My eyes snap up to a pair of bold brown ones. “Your jewelry is black, isn’t it?”
Brady throws his head back and laughs, his muscles bunching as he does, and now I’m looking at his abs. It’s really not fair how cut and carved he is. They’re so perfectly sculpted, they defy the laws of physics…or I bet they would if I understood the subject. They’re sharp as granite, yet there’s this smooth, velvet-like quality that’s inviting all sorts of curious thoughts to my little, inappropriate mind. They’re otherworldly. Godly. World champs.
I mean I’m not saying he’s part superhero, but those abs could save the world, one glorious flex at a time.
Those masterpieces start to constrict even farther.
He’s bending down again, and this time, his smirk is downright dirty. “Tell you what: I’ll tell you what color mine is if you tell me what color yours are.”
“Oh my god, your gift!”
His brows jump. “Gift… Wait. What’s that got to do with body jewelry?” he asks.
I cross my arms, smirking up at him. “I’ll tell you what it has to do with body jewelry if you tell me—”
He leans in so quick, I don’t even see him coming, cutting me off with a quick press of his lips to mine, only he doesn’t pull back—he keeps our mouths pressed together and whispers against mine, “Nice try, Hellcat.”
Heat.
It slithers down my spine and back up, tingling the nape of my neck the way a blush might, but I’m not blushing.
There’s absolutely zero reason why I would be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Alister
She’s watching him, and the worst part is I’m not even sure she realizes it, but she is.
He runs through the cones, his footwork somehow graceful despite his massive frame. Just like with the ladder drills, he starts slow, showing me how to follow, what moves to make first, how the bend in my knee can determine my speed and overall delivery, things I’ve heard before, but watching someone his size do this? Coach clearly knew what he was doing when he tasked him with helping me, forcing me to take note of where I have to improve.
With each pass through, Brady speeds up, and not once does he trip over what must be a size-thirteen shoe.
This shit is effortless for him and I’m over here knocking over cones and messing up the setup. Again, I fuck up, this time sending the cone flying in the air on purpose. Of course, that gets her to look my way, and I try not to make it too obvious she’s in my line of sight.
It’s hard to do when his number is draped across her, and if she were to turn, I know I’d find his name on her back because I have the same sweatshirt stuffed in the bag to her right.
Allana used to wear my letterman’s jacket all the time, and I wonder if Cameron understands what doing such a thing like wearing a name or number means to a man. She probably does, since she’s been around football players most her life.