Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
I glance at the text from Dad before pocketing my cell phone as I head from my last class for the afternoon and onto the cement walkway that winds through campus. It’s three o’clock, and I need to go home, grab something to eat, and get my butt to the field.
Lucky for Dad, I pass by the stadium on my way home. Less than ten minutes later, I’m strolling down the corridor. One left and then a right turn brings me to the guy’s locker room where Dad’s office is located. The moment I pull open the door, boisterous male voices greet my ears. That might deter some girls from stepping inside, but not me. A quick scan of the interior solidifies my suspicion that the team has just finished up practice. There are guys in various states of undress. Some already have underwear on while others have small white towels draped around their waists. I catch sight of a few naked ass cheeks before jerking my gaze straight ahead.
“Hey, Demi!” a few guys call out, unconcerned with their nudity. That just goes to show you the difference between males and females. Most girls I know wouldn’t willingly parade around in front of the opposite sex.
I throw up my hand in a quick wave, not bothering to glance in their direction. I’ve been in the locker room dozens of times. It’s not really a big deal. I’ve known these guys since freshman year, so most of the players see me as one of the boys.
Coach’s daughter.
As I move past another set of lockers, that telltale tingle of awareness scampers down my spine. There’s only one person capable of instilling that kind of sensation in me. I don’t have to glance over to confirm my suspicions.
Although that doesn’t stop my eyes from snapping in his direction. What I find is the blond quarterback lounging in front of his locker with a small towel wrapped across lean hips. His attention fastens on me, and I feel the connection straight down to my toes. Almost as if it’s a physical caress. Before I can stop myself, my gaze dips to his bare chest.
Damn.
Why does he have to be so gorgeous?
The sculpted, sinewy strength that stands out in sharp relief is enough to make my mouth turn cottony. How is it possible that his muscles have muscles?
All of the raucous laughter falls away as my focus drifts from perfect pectorals to tight washboard abdominals. It’s like I’m having my own not-so-private moment with him. Even though I’m wearing shorts and a thin cotton T-shirt, my body is seconds away from bursting into flames. I’m tempted to pick up the collar of my shirt and pull it away from my chest in an attempt to cool myself.
My attention sinks to the towel, and I narrow my eyes, wishing for the first time in my life I had X-ray vision.
What the hell am I doing?
Mortified by my shameless perusal, I rip my gaze away and race into my father’s office before slamming the door and collapsing against it. My inhalations turn labored as I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to banish the nearly naked image of Rowan from my mind.
It doesn’t work. The last minute has been singed into my memory for all eternity. And my panties...yeah, they are embarrassingly damp.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Dad says, knocking me out of those disturbing thoughts.
My eyelids fly open, locking on him. Thank God he can’t see the X-rated images rolling through my head. The man would have a heart attack if he realized I was sexually attracted to his star quarterback.
We’ve always been more like siblings who barely tolerate one another. All right, so maybe that’s not a hundred percent true. I’m the one with a problem, not the other way around. Rowan doesn’t seem to have an issue with me.
It would be so much better if he did.
It takes everything I have inside to shove those thoughts away and paste a smile on my face. “Hey, Dad.”
“Thanks for stopping by on such short notice.” He shuffles around a few documents on a desk exploding with paperwork. He tells me there is a method to his madness. I think he’s full of crap. He grabs the remote from a drawer and clicks off the game film he’s been watching. The man must pour over a hundred hours of film each week. He’s obsessed. It’s what makes him one of the best coaches in Division I football. It’s also what makes him a terrible husband, which is precisely why he’s still single after being divorced for five years. Mom is now happily married to a man who caters to her every whim.
“It wasn’t a problem. I’ve got a couple of hours before the game.”
“Yup,” he sits back on his swivel chair and folds his hands behind his head, “I’ll be there. Should be a good one.”