Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I’ve strategically placed myself at the edge of the living room, so I have the perfect view of the entryway. Unfortunately, the particular female I’m searching for continues to remain elusive.
Sure, I could tell myself that I’m not waiting around for Lola, but that would be a lie. I’m desperate for the sight of her. Even though it’s been a couple of days, I still can’t stop thinking about the kiss we shared in the truck and the way she melted against me, turning unexpectedly warm and pliant in my arms.
Who would have ever believed it was possible for Lola to become so soft and willing?
Not me.
I’ve been with my fair share of girls over the years, but none of them have ever crawled inside my brain and set up residence. It’s a strange feeling to wake up to thoughts of someone and have them pop into your head at random times throughout the day. And then have the same damn thing happen as you slide between the sheets at night.
There have been a handful of times when I pulled out my phone, tempted to shoot her a text. As soon as I realized what I was doing, I carefully slid the cell back into my pocket.
That’s not me.
I don’t text or call girls.
And I sure as hell don’t strike up friendships with them either.
We fu—
I’m jolted from those thoughts when slender fingers trail over my chest and rounded breasts press into my side. I blink back to the present, only to find Mallory smiling up at me. She’s wearing a string bikini. My guess is that if she takes one deep breath, her breasts will burst free.
“Hi, Asher. I’ve missed you.” Her lower lip pops out in a pout. “We barely spend time together anymore.”
The surge of disappointment that floods through me when I find a different girl from the one I’ve been thinking about is almost enough to knock me on my ass. Since when is one soft, willing female any different from another?
Instead of scrutinizing the confusing rush of feelings, I lift the bottle to my lips and take another drink. “Yeah, it’s been busy.”
“I liked it better when I was helping you with homework.” She flutters her mascara laden lashes.
Helping?
I snort. “Actually, you were completing my homework for me.”
And I was sitting back, doing nothing. Lola’s comments from the other night about how easy it’s been for me to skate through school without lifting a finger reluctantly circle through my head. A wave of shame crashes over me as I realize just how much I’ve taken advantage of the system along with the people around me.
Especially girls.
I was just happy it freed up more time to play video games, drink, smoke, and screw around.
Literally.
Her fingers trail up and down my chest, pulling my attention back to her. “What does it matter? It’s not like you were actually planning to use your degree.” Her voice turns into more of a purr. “You’ll be playing in the NFL next year.”
So…I don’t need an education?
Is that what this chick is trying to tell me?
The sentiment has never bothered me before, but for some reason, it does now.
“What if that doesn’t happen?” I’ve never dared to release those words into the atmosphere. You know what? They’re just as scary as I assumed they’d be.
Her brow furrows as she cocks her head. “I don’t understand.”
I jerk my shoulders, wishing she’d back off and give me a little space. “What if I don’t get drafted?”
Laughter tumbles from her lips as she playfully swats at my chest. “That’s not going to happen, silly. You’ll turn pro and make millions. Everyone says so.”
Here’s the thing—I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter what everyone says.
“Even though it’s late in the season, I could still get injured and then all my prospects would be flushed down the shitter. What would I do then?”
Her face scrunches as bewilderment flickers in her eyes. These aren’t the kinds of convos we’re used to having. Actually, we don’t converse much. And certainly not about anything of importance.
“I don’t know, but you’d figure something out.”
I jerk a brow and take another drink from the bottle clenched in my hand. It doesn’t taste nearly as good as it did a few minutes ago. “Would I?”
Without an education to fall back on?
This is the first time I’ve really allowed myself to think about what would happen if I don’t get drafted to a team. Even if I graduate with a Communications degree, without a career in the NFL, a cushy broadcasting position with ESPN isn’t going to happen.
What else would I do with that degree?
I’m not gifted when it comes to numbers like my brother. And I don’t want to follow my dad into the FBI. All right, that’s not necessarily true. It does sound like a cool job, but I’ve smoked way too much weed to make it through the application process. Trust me, my father has been quick to point that out.