Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
I throw back my head. “Pey … Fuck. I want that. I want all of it.”
“Another time. I want to come and go back to sleep.”
“Priorities.”
“Sleep, sex, food, football. They’re all my needs, and it depends on the time of day in which they’re prioritized.”
“Happy to help out, but you want to maybe step it up a notch? Less talking, more frotting.” I impatiently lift my hips.
“You’re the one who sidetracked me with all the porn talk.”
“And yet, you’re still not mov—”
Peyton shuts me up by kissing me hard. It’s a smart strategy on his part because all words die, and the only sounds to pass my lips are the moans encouraging him to move faster on top of me.
He holds me close this time instead of watching what he’s doing.
Peyton fucks into his fist, our cocks rubbing against one another, and it feels amazing. Goosebumps break out over my skin, my breath catches while my body chases that high. Peyton’s soft groans drive me closer and closer to the edge, pushing that line between climbing and falling.
And when he breaks his mouth from mine and his hard breaths hit my skin, my body finally gives in to him and tenses. I come all over Peyton’s hand and my own stomach. Moments later, Peyton joins me, adding his own cum to my stomach.
He kisses his way from my neck to my mouth, his lips becoming pliant as I kiss him back. His muscles loosen, his body going slack on top of me. I could go to sleep like this, with his weight on top of me and a satisfied smile on my face.
Peyton eventually rolls off me and onto his back, a sated sigh leaving his lips as he does. “Shower?”
“Can’t be bothered. We can do that when we wake up. Until then, I’m using your shirt to clean up this mess.” I wave my hand over my abs.
He reaches over the side of the bed and then throws a T-shirt at me. “At least it’s not my underwear this time.”
“True.” I wipe myself down and then throw his shirt on the floor.
Peyton pulls me back against him and spoons me. “All in all, it was a pretty great Thanksgiving. I’m thinking about making it a tradition.”
“Next year, I’m not getting drunk, though.”
Peyton’s arms tense around me, and I realize my fuckup way too late.
Rule number one when sleeping with someone who doesn’t do relationships: Don’t mention being any part of their future. Ever.
CHAPTER TWELVE
peyton
I throw my helmet in my cubby, frustrated to say the least. We might have gotten only a few days off for Thanksgiving, but it might as well have been an entire season with how that practice went.
The rest of the team wasn’t the problem. It was all me. Sure, I was making passes and pulling off plays, but it was a fight to make it feel smooth and seamless. This is the year I need to make count, and while I’m glad that mess of a practice couldn’t be seen by anyone outside the team, if I play that badly next week, there’s a chance the whole team won’t be selected to play in the semifinal next month.
With college hockey or most other sports, it’s the teams with the highest scores that go to finals and playoff games. Football is more difficult to work out because only four teams are selected from the power five conferences. Teams used to be selected by computer, but it’s now done by committee so they can take in extra factors other than only scores. They take in schedule, head-to-head final results, comparison of results against common opponents, past championships, and all this crazy in-depth criteria.
There are only three games left of my college football career—that’s if we make it all the way—and then it’s a three-month wait until the draft. Three months where I need to make sure I stay on top of my game even if my season’s over.
Because football should be my only focus.
Football and not Levi Vanderbilt.
The worst part about what Levi said the other night—about him not drinking at Thanksgiving next year—is that I could actually picture it. Even if I’m going to be in the NFL and I don’t even know which team or where yet, one thing is certain: it won’t be here. Unless San Diego wants to take their team back from LA, my future is anywhere but San Luco.
Still knowing that, it was easy to imagine a repeat of Thanksgiving. Too easy. And that’s what scares me.
Because up until Levi came back into my life, I had nothing on my mind but football. Now I’m torn.
I’ve worked way too hard for way too many years to get distracted this close to the end. I can’t do it. Telling myself that, though, doesn’t make the frustration disappear. If anything, it makes it worse. Because even though I know I can’t get carried away with Levi, I want to.