Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“You were at a game.”
“Because Malcolm liked hockey, and I was trying to be a good boyfriend. I don’t want to talk about ass-face, though. My issue now is just publicity. And I thought you knew who I was and were playing games with me.”
Rylan nods, and I’m grateful he seems to accept my answer and doesn’t push to go into more detail. This situation has been embarrassing enough. I can’t believe I came over here—or that I found his address illegally through hotel records. My dad will kill me if he finds out.
“I’ll reiterate one last time that I was with you because I wanted to be and not for any other reason. It was seriously hot as hell, which I already said.”
My stomach gets a light, fluttery feeling. I’ve never had someone tell me I’m good at sex before. The limited amount of sex I’ve had has been…okay sex. I hoped it was better for the other guys, but they never told me it was, so how can I know? “Really?” I ask, then wish I could snatch the word back.
“Fuck yes. But I’m not going to stand here and build up your ego.”
I try not to smile. “Technically, you’re sitting.” I struggle to ignore the way the flutter of excitement in my gut grows. I felt like I was a sex god myself the night we spent together, and I can’t pretend something about his response to me today doesn’t make me feel the same again. Rylan seems to want me. It makes absolutely no sense, but I’m not about to argue or expand on all the reasons I’m probably not all that great at sex, or being a boyfriend, or maybe even being a friend. I don’t have many of those either. Which is one of the reasons Malcolm chose you. He knew you’d be an easy mark. I try to push those thoughts out of my head.
“So…how is it going?” Rylan asks.
I study him, feel my forehead wrinkle slightly. Are we talking like friends now? This situation is confusing, and I can’t figure out what to make of it. “My life in general? Not great.”
“No. The having-all-the-sex thing. Last time we talked, you were going to start randomly hooking up with a bunch of hot guys, but then of course you’d be disappointed because none of them would be as good as me.”
“I don’t believe I said the last part.”
“I read between the lines.” He smirks.
God, he’s annoying. And really fucking sexy. He’s wearing a dumb Los Angeles Rebels T-shirt, but it’s tight against his pecs and muscular arms. I’ve never been much of a chest man, but then, I’ve never been up close and personal with a hockey player until Rylan either. He shifts, his hand rubbing along his left pec. He’s not even trying to be sexy, just scratching it, but it has blood rushing to my groin. What is it about this guy?
I try to get my mind off his body and back on the conversation. “Honestly, it’s not as easy as I thought it would be.” I’m not sure why I say that, why I’m being honest with him, but maybe it goes back to what I was thinking before getting distracted by his physique—how I don’t really have any friends. I don’t talk to anyone about friend-type stuff. It’s why I ignored the message from Donovan. I don’t know what he wants from me or what we’ll get out of meeting up to talk about how we all got used by the same asshole. All I want is to forget Malcolm, and hanging out with the other Jilted Exes won’t help with that.
“Really?” There’s genuine shock in his voice.
I scoff. “Not all of us look like you!” Goddamn it. He got me to compliment him again.
“And that’s what exactly?” Rylan waggles his brows at me, and I pull the chair pillow from behind my back and throw it at him. He catches it easily, laughing. “I’m giving you shit. Just tell the guys you have magic cum. That’ll help.”
I suck in a sharp breath and somehow choke on it, coughing embarrassingly and almost dying. When I manage to get myself under control, I ask, “Magic cum?”
“At least for me. Like I said earlier, I played like a god after we hooked up, and ever since then I’ve been shit.”
I wait for the punchline. Wait for him to show any sign that he’s joking, but nothing comes. “Are hockey players really this superstitious?” is what I settle on rather than asking him about my magic cum. Honestly, I can’t pretend I don’t like the sound of that.
“We follow the facts, and the facts are you’re carrying some superjuice around in those balls of yours…at least when it comes to me. Maybe don’t try it with another hockey player. But then once it wears off, it’s a talent sucker.”