Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 48306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
My thoughts turn back to Waverly, and my jaw clenches.
I fucked up. I… well, I don’t want to say I panicked, but I misstepped. I misspoke. I mis-acted. And then I did what I always do when I hit confrontation. I tried to boss and bully my way through it, like a fucking jackass. I glare down into my green tea, trying not to think of her off at some fucking party with fucking Ian. Or any other guy, for that goddamn matter.
I try not to think of her dancing with some guy.
I try not to think of her being touched by some guy.
Grinding with him, kissing him.
I whirl, and before I know it, that mostly empty mug of tea is flying from my hand against the wall, shattering into fragments as I snarl like an animal.
I leave the mess and go directly to my garage, yanking my shirt off and grabbing my gloves from the hook by the door before I step in and flick on the fluorescent lights.
“You’re fucking mine, asshole,” I mutter, shoving the gloves on and grimacing at the punching bag as I storm over to it and start to give it hell. And I go to town on that fucker, hitting and hitting and hitting until my arms are like putty and the sweat pours down my chest. I take a breath, gasping for air as I head to the garage fridge and yank out a bottle of water. Across the room, by the door, my phone dings, and I frown as I head over to pick it up.
My jaw tightens.
…It’s Waverly. And either she’s having a fucking stroke, or she’s very very drunk.
Hheey mr meannnny.
A smile cracks my lips. Mr. Meany?
How’s the party.
The little dots of her typing appear instantly, and I grin, taking a big gulp of water.
I’m misbehaving
I growl, the hairs on the back of my neck go up, and my hands clench to tight fists.
Don’t respond. Just don’t.
But I do. Obviously.
How so.
For a moment, the jealousy in me roars into a green fire. Misbehaving how? With some fucking guy?
The phone in my hand dings, and I glance down at the new text from her.
A wine glass emoji.
I grin, rolling my eyes.
Be careful.
Oh ur suddenly worrrried bout me??
I frown as I hammer out a reply.
I mean don’t get hurt. Or arrested. We need you this season.
The second I send it, I groan to myself at how fucking lame I just sounded,
That all?
I can’t respond. I can’t. I need to stop this insanity—this fucked up path of self-destruction where I’m fucking losing myself over my barely-legal, entirely off-limits student. But then, I don’t just not respond. I don’t respond because I’m slowly scrolling up, my jaw tightening and my cock pulsing as my eyes slide over the pictures she’s sent before of herself.
Wat r u doing?
Scrolling up to look at your tits.
The pictures roll past my eyes—her soft, perfect tits, her tight ass, and that sweet, ridiculously mouth-watering little pink cunt, so open and wet for me. Fuck am I hard.
This prty sucksss :(
I grin, chuckling.
How come?
Three toomuuch boobs
My brow arches as I smile curiously. Uh, what?
*boobs
Fucccker. BOOBS
I start laughing.
ducking auto spell. BOOZE. Thrs too much here
I frown. Her texts are getting harder to read.
Then leave.
I scowl.
Hold on, did you drive?
Noooooo. Cab man brough me.
Call another one and get out of there.
There’s a minute of nothing, where of course I’m just staring at the phone like a fucking loser, before the dots of her typing pop back up.
Too ur place?
It’s followed by a winky-kissy-faced emoji, like she’s being cute and kidding. Or maybe just teasing.
…Possibly suggesting, and my cock is rock hard at the thought.
Suddenly, my phone rings. It’s Waverly.
“Heeeyy,” she slurs breathlessly.
“Hey yourself,” I growl, frowning. She sounds seriously fucked up.
“What are you doing?”
“Drinking.”
She snorts, hooting out a laugh.
“Drinking. I am drinking.”
She sighs heavily. “Coach,” she says it almost whimsically. “I am drunk.”
My jaw clenches. “Call a cab or an Uber and get home, Waverly.”
She sighs again.
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
She giggles. “Cause I’m on the phone with you, silly.”
I smile but I shake my head.
“Then get off.”
She giggles again.
“How forward, Coach.”
I growl.
“You know what I mean.”
“I knoooow what I want you to mean…”
“Waverly—”
“Coach?” she says softly.
“Yeah.”
“Why won’t you just fuck me?”
I groan, my blood roaring in my ears and my cock swelling. I close my eyes and pinch the bride of my nose as I walk back into the house and into my kitchen, glancing up at the cabinet full of demons above the fridge.
“Waverly…” I growl. “Because it’s not right.”
“If you say so,” she mumbles.
There’s a commotion in the background, and suddenly, I hear the full blast of the party, like someone’s opened a door or something.
“Hey babe!”
A guy’s voice blasts through the phone, and I snarl as I yank it away from my ear for a second.