Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Me: No complaints here.
Cullen: Don’t forget you owe me.
Me: I didn’t. Gonna time mine for maximum devastation while you’re in the air.
Cullen: Cruel.
Me: Are you all heading to the airport soon?
Cullen: Yeah, in about five.
I sucked on my lower lip, thinking, before deciding that despite my attempt to play it cool, I didn’t want Cullen to leave without seeing him at least for a few minutes.
Me: I’ll meet you in the parking lot.
Cullen: Srs? Okay. Better hurry, though.
I raced through the bowels of the stadium toward the friends-and-family parking lot, ignoring the faint throb of my knee, and burst through the exit door.
The Rush’s bus was being loaded, a bunch of players already sitting inside, a few lingering outside. I picked Cullen out immediately from where he stood with Garrett and Ramsey and approached, suddenly self-conscious and aware of the guys inside the bus. Garrett socked me in the shoulder. “Good try, big bro. Sorry we’re unstoppable this year.”
“You got lucky.”
Ramsey snorted. “Get your ass on the bus,” he said, then put Garrett in a headlock and urged him toward the front of the bus, leaving me and Cullen to ourselves, aside from the guy stuffing bags under the bus.
Cullen canted his head toward the windows. “We’ve got an audience.”
I glanced over. Several of the guys were trying to be subtle about watching us. Others weren’t even trying. I laughed.
“Yeah, not exactly a private reunion.” I glanced over again and then pulled my hands from my pockets. “Fuck it.” I hauled Cullen in for a kiss, brushing a quick but searing one over his lips before murmuring, “Good game,” into his ear.
Cullen rocked back on his heels, eyes wide before a grin bloomed. “I’m not sure if I’m more surprised that you just kissed me or congratulated me on a good game. Even though…” He buffed his nails against the shoulder of his tee. “I was definitely on fire tonight. Glad you recognize that.”
“I think you have a good chance at a ring this—” I was cut off when Cullen shoved his finger against my lips.
“Don’t jinx it, asshole,” he said and nipped at my lower lip.
“Wrap it up, you two,” Coach said from the door of the bus. “Plane’s waiting.”
Cullen groaned. “I wish we were staying overnight. I could use a good dicking down.”
“You could,” I agreed with a salacious smirk, though I felt like I was missing out on more than sex. I wished we’d had time to just hang out. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, though, yeah?”
“Yep.” He leaned forward, stealing another quick kiss before shoving me on the shoulder. “I’ll be waiting on that dick pic.”
“If you’re lucky,” I teased but was already plotting as I watched him climb onto the bus. Still aware of the eyes on me from inside, I flipped the entire team off before spinning around and heading back toward the stadium, ignoring the part of me that wanted to be back in Denver already with Cullen in my bed.
19
CULLEN
I’d never done so much video chat sexy times in my life. Honestly, I didn’t fucking get it before this fake relationship with Houston—“fake” being the key word and something I continued to remind myself of. But I’d known guys—well, and women—who got off on that shit just for fun, and while it definitely was a good time, I missed the real thing.
I missed touching Houston and having him touch me. I missed the stupid way he ate all of one food on his plate before he moved on to the other—spoiler alert, I didn’t think it was stupid as much as strangely cute. I missed the little sounds he made when he slept, like his mind didn’t shut down and he was too busy to rest completely. When we were still living together, I’d wake up and wonder what he was doing in his dreams, and then I usually wanted to smother myself with a pillow because it was gross and way too emotional. But those were the things annoying-ass Houston McRae had always done to me. It was even worse now than it had been in college…because at times now, it felt real, and I knew it wasn’t. Wishing it could be didn’t make it so.
Ugh. I was a morose motherfucker today. I didn’t know what in the hell was wrong with me.
Okay, I did know. It was Christmas Eve, and Houston would be in Denver later today. He’d get to stay until the twenty-sixth.
“You gonna lift or keep daydreaming about Houston?” Tucker asked while I lay on the bench press, absolutely not daydreaming about Houston. Daydreaming and wondering how things would go down when he returned wasn’t the same thing.
I was also a fucking liar.
“Houston who?” I quirked a brow, and he clutched his stomach, laughing.
“You’re a bad liar.”