Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“I won’t respond.”
“I don’t care. I just like knowing you know I’m thinking about you. I picture you seeing my text and smiling. It’ll make your day better. Like a little ray of sunshine.”
Psycho. I gritted my teeth. “Trust me, I don’t think about you. I don’t even know your name.”
“Sierra.”
“Fine, Sierra,” I growled. “Just because you slept in my bed and did a cock selfie with me doesn’t mean jack. I don’t do groupies.”
Her lips curled in a half-smile. “I don’t give up that easily.” With a little wave she stumbled out the door.
Yes! Finally. I slammed it shut behind her, the noise reverberating through the house.
Eminem blared in the background as I flew around the room, getting my ass in gear for my Anatomy and Physiology class with Professor Whitt. I wanted to get an early start today, especially since he was one of the hardest teachers on campus. After taking the fastest shower ever, I threw on loose jeans, a V-neck navy blue Leland shirt, and leather flip-flops. I swept my long hair up in a quick man-bun. I hadn’t cut it since my mom died three years ago.
With a swift gait, I strode in the den and saw my roommate, Tate, standing in plain view of the street from the bay window, his hair a rat’s nest as he scratched his junk in his Union Jack boxers. An overly hairy blond giant originally from London, he was the first string wide receiver and my best friend since freshman year.
I clicked the light on. “Morning,” I called out, biting back a grin as he covered his eyes.
“Bugger off,” he muttered and dropped down to the couch. “Never let me drink tequila again—at least until next weekend.” He leaned his head back, mouth flapping open.
I slapped him on the shoulder. “Last night was our last hurrah, dude. Football has officially begun.” As a senior and the head quarterback, I was the captain on our team, and it was my job to make sure we all stayed tight. Living and breathing football would be all I’d do for the next few months.
I wandered into the open kitchen area to scrounge for food. It was a small room, but sufficient for two athletes who did the majority of their eating in the athletic cafeteria on campus. We’d just moved out of the dorms and into the rental house this summer, and I dug it. The house itself, like many on the west side of campus, was built in the seventies and needed a shit ton of updates. We’d actually gotten one of the nicer ones thanks to my dad, who knew people.
The Formica countertop was littered with empty pizza boxes and beer cans from our celebration of the scrimmage. I rounded it all up and chunked it in the trash. Tate didn’t care too much about keeping the place clean, but I did. A blueberry muffin that had somehow not been eaten this week caught my eye and I snatched it, devouring it in two bites. I grabbed a protein drink from the fridge and chugged it. I felt wound up. Antsy. Like something was about to happen.
A staccato knock came at the door.
“Bro, can you get that? I’m cleaning up,” I called from the kitchen.
“I’m a fragile flower,” he moaned. “Can we just ignore it?”
Fine by me. I grabbed my backpack, my laptop, and notebooks. Where were those new pens I’d gotten? I scurried around, opening the drawers under the counter until I found the new pack of fine-tips and stuffed them in.
The knock came again, and a chick’s voice came through the wood of the door. “Hello, I know you’re there. I can see both of you through the window.” An exasperated sound came from outside, and I may have heard the creative insult jock-ass.
I cocked my head. Not Sierra’s voice. Thank God. I made a meh noise and opened the fridge to grab a Gatorade. Which one did I want, the blue or the original . . .
A loud plop came from the porch. Was our unwanted visitor stamping her foot? I smirked. She could stamp all she wanted. I was sick to death of girls showing up here expecting to get a signed autograph—or suck me off. I didn’t stick my cock in girls I didn’t know. I wasn’t my father.
A grumble came from behind the door. “I’m calling the cops in five seconds if this door isn’t opened. One, two, three, four—”
Cops?
That got my attention. I slammed the fridge shut. I did not need the cops over here.
If this was another groupie . . .
I went to the door and flung it open.
Sunny
MY ALARM BLARED AND I reached over to click it off.
The glare of the sun hitting my blinds woke me. I scrubbed at my face and squinted as I pried my eyes open.