Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
How nice for them.
I remember listening to her talk about it in the dorms when we were new students; she’d babble for hours about wanting to date an athlete, explaining which ones she thought were cute, trolling them online. Crushing hard, wondering what it was like to date one but never having the lady balls to go to one of their parties.
Well, we have the courage now.
Tessa still has the same stars in her eyes when she talks about it, still has that same breathiness in her voice.
In a way, I don’t blame her, because the guys on Jock Row?
They aren’t boys—they’re a different breed of student body altogether.
These boys don’t compare to the guys from back home that I’m used to flirting with: the gangly, juvenile boys I grew up with who went to college but still haven’t matured—they are nothing like the boys of Jock Row.
Not physically.
Not mentally.
These guys? They’re men, with actual responsibilities and obligations. They work hard and play hard.
Bigger.
Brawny.
In peak physical condition—probably the best shape they’ll ever be in their lives.
Cocky.
Quick.
I’ve seen them in action on the baseball field; I know the team is good, and damn, they look good, too.
Smell good.
How do I know? I got close to one once, rooting around for a beverage at the football house one weekend a while back. A big, burly player cut me off in line at the keg, leaning over to grab the beer tap with his meaty fingers, and I accidentally caught a whiff—a long, deep whiff, one that ended with an internal ‘ahhh’ that only comes when we appreciate something truly delicious.
Obviously, being a warm-blooded female, I checked out his upper torso, muscular forearms, and thick neck in the process—like every other female in the room with a set of functioning eyes had been doing.
Every female, like Tessa and her roommate, Cameron, who’s still in their bathroom primping.
I know what these two want: they’re hoping to sink their hot pink talons into some unsuspecting athlete. They’re older, wiser, and more confident. They’re also wearing less clothes.
Tonight, Tessa has been prattling on about the baseball team’s catcher. She bumped into him earlier this week on campus and has been social media stalking him since. Discovered that if she timed it just right, he’d be walking out of the science building at the same time she’d be walking out of the international studies building.
Guess I can’t fault her; I’ve laid eyes on the guy a few times myself and don’t blame her for fawning over him. He’s dark, broody, and extremely good-looking, plus Latino to boot.
Muy caliente.
“Please trust me,” Tessa is saying. “I’m no nursing major, but I know this: if you wear that outfit to the party, you’re going to have a stroke, and there won’t be anyone there to revive you.”
“You don’t think there will be any pre-med students there?”
“Pfft, nooo—they’re probably studying right now.”
“Thank god—saving lives takes some learn-ed learning.”
She doesn’t get my joke.
“I’m serious, Scarlett. You’re literally going to die if you wear that. Plus…”
Her sentence trails off, blue eyes—the color of ocean breeze contact lenses—raking up and down my body for the second time. Cringing when they reach my scarf.
She hates my outfit but is too sweet to tell me.
“Do you not like my outfit?”
“It might be freezing outside, but it’s not going to be cold inside—the house is hot, and the guys are hotter.”
I wrap the scarf tighter, giving her arm a gentle pat. “We’re walking there and it’s freezing and I’ve been sick—I love you, Tess, but I’m not jeopardizing my health for one party.”
I forgot how caring her blue eyes could be, and I’m surprised to see her blink with all the mascara clumped on her lashes, mouth downturned. “What about your sniffles?”
“The worst of my cold is over.” I fake a cough. “Can we go? Otherwise I’m going to end up reading at home.”
“Don’t do that! You’ve turned into such a hermit since you got your own apartment.”
“Nerd alert!” I tease, pointing a finger at myself. “I just bought a new book, and I’ve been waiting for it to release for nine months—nine! That’s a damn eternity in romance novel years. You’re lucky I dragged myself off the couch,” I protest, head tilting toward their bathroom. “What is taking Cameron so long?”
“One of her hair extensions was loose. She had to add extra adhesive.”
“Ah.” I nod knowingly—as if that makes any sense.
Lucky for me, Cameron chooses that moment to come sashaying down the hallway as if she’s on a fashion runway, thumbing a long strand of platinum blonde hair, curls sprayed into submission. The rest of them lie in silky waves, and I briefly wonder how she’s going to walk the entire way on those four-inch heels.
Dark eyes, glossy lips, and black dress, Cam is ready to hit the Row.