Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 101758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“Are you seriously asking me to break up with your sister?”
“No,” Tucker replies. “We’re asking you to be a man who deserves her. She already wants you, but you need to earn her. Do better. Make her feel special.”
“She’s nothing but amazing, and you’ve made her feel like you’re doing her a fucking favor, and for that alone, you don’t deserve one minute of her time,” Easton says.
Chad blows out a breath and pinches his nose. “If you’re done, you can see yourself out. I have an afternoon meeting.”
“Great talk,” I say as I stand. “Just stop being an asshole, Chad. Give Ava what she wants.”
“Go away,” Chad says, as if he’s bored.
Without another word, we file out. The receptionist is still gone.
And when we hit the sidewalk, we all shove our hands in our pockets and shake our heads.
“What the fuck does she see in him?” Zack asks.
“That’s the million-dollar question,” I reply grimly.
CHAPTER THIRTY
XANDER
“Come on, boys!” Ivy claps her hands and then shoves some popcorn in her mouth, sitting on the edge of her seat.
Fuck me, she’s adorable.
We’re in the media room, dressed in my team jerseys, watching tonight’s game. It’s just the two of us, but my brothers have been texting me all night.
We’re squarely in the middle of the third period, and as of now, the game is tied.
I check my phone when it pings.
Tucker: Is Cooper playing injured?
I frown and reply.
Me: Not that I know of. He hasn’t said anything.
“Oh my God,” Ivy gasps and covers her mouth with her hands, staring wide-eyed at the screen. I glance over and see that Dumas is lying on the ice and the game has come to a stop.
Shit.
“He got hit hard,” Ivy murmurs as she folds her hands and braces them under her chin nervously.
“It happens.”
She bites her lower lip. “Oh, he’s getting up.”
But I watch as Dumas shakes his head and skates to the bench.
“Looks like he hit his head,” Ivy murmurs.
“It happens,” I say again.
“You wear helmets,” she replies and looks over at me.
“Yeah, well, a knock on the head still hurts. We’re skating fast out there, and the ice, the boards, they’re all hard as fuck.”
“So is your stubborn streak,” she says with a frown, and I reach over to cup the back of her neck and pull her against me for a kiss. “How many of your teeth are fake?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Four.”
“Four?”
“I know, I’ve been lucky.”
Ivy shakes her head and turns back to the game, and I can’t help but smirk as I look down at the phone again.
Easton: Hope Dumas is okay.
Me: If he wasn’t, he’d be in the locker room.
The game resumes, and Ivy passes me the popcorn, but I set it aside and pull her into my lap.
“I love it when you wear my . . .” The word has escaped me, and I frown as I tug on the shirt she’s wearing.
“Jersey?” she asks with a raised brow.
Fucking memory.
“Yeah. My jersey.”
She narrows her eyes, but after the conversation we just had about people getting their heads knocked around, I don’t want to continue it, so I kiss her. She makes that little whimper in the back of her throat and moves to straddle me, wrapping her arms around my neck as my hands move under the jersey and up her bare sides.
“Fuck, Red, you’re not wearing a bra.”
She grins against my mouth. “Guilty.”
“Hmm. I like that.”
She’s in her little skin-tight booty shorts, too, showing off her smooth legs, and fuck if it’s not the sexiest outfit ever.
“I thought you might,” she replies and plunges her fingers into the hair at my nape. “I notice you wore gray sweatpants tonight.”
“I did.”
“You know, they’re a cliché for a reason.”
I grin at her, ignoring my phone when it chimes with an incoming text.
My brothers can fucking wait.
“And what reason is that, wildcat?”
She grinds her hot-as-fuck pussy down against my already-hard cock and bites her lower lip. I tug it free with my thumb.
“Tell me.”
“They show off your goods.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “My goods?”
“Yeah. Your eggplant.”
“Nah, use your dirty words, Red.”
“Your . . .” She lifts a sassy eyebrow and circles those hips. “Thing.”
She yelps when I toss her onto her back, laying lengthwise on the couch and push the jersey up so I can pepper kisses on her stomach.
“Try again.”
“Your phallus.”
I smirk and bite her belly button as I work her shorts down her hips.
“Nope.”
“Member?”
My head pops up and I scowl at her. “What?”
“I’ve read it in romance novels before.” She smirks, but I drag my finger through her already-sopping-wet slit, and the smile drops right off her perfect face. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Keep talking.”
“I can’t.”
I pull away, not touching her at all, and she scowls. “Hey.”
“Tell me what you want, Ivy.”
She bites that lip again. Christ, she’s beautiful lying here with my jersey pushed up under her armpits, naked from the waist down, spread out for me.