Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 147021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
“What are you doing here?” Hollis growls as he adjusts his towel, securing it around his waist. I’m still shamelessly staring at his glorious chest and abs and bulging biceps, as well as the other exciting bulge hidden by the towel.
I attempt to avert my gaze, but my eyes keep darting in his direction. “I, uh—uh I…I thought I had time…” I can’t be honest. “I didn’t know you were coming back early. I need to throw your sheets in the wash. The cats were all over them. I meant to do it this morning. I can do it now.” If I can get to the laundry room, I can wash away the evidence.
Hollis holds up a hand, and my gaze darts back down to the bulge at his waist. “I can take care of it.”
I lick my lips, desperately searching for a reason to run to his bedroom that doesn’t include throwing myself at him, which I would really love to do, but haven’t, for obvious reasons. I come up empty. “Right. Yeah.” I nod, and my eyes dart around the apartment before they come back to his naked chest.
I’m so hot right now. And sweaty. There are so many highly inappropriate thoughts running through my mind. Scenarios I’ve fantasized about more times than I’d like to admit—like Hollis closing the distance between us, taking me in his arms and kissing the hell out of me before he carries me to his bedroom, where he strips me naked and tells me exactly what he’s going to do to me.
“I should go.” I thumb over my shoulder and take a step toward the door. “I’m going to go.” I’m still staring at him as I grope behind me for the doorknob. My fingers wrap around it. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. I should have knocked.” I escape into the hall.
Hollis’s confused expression and his hot-as-fuck body disappear as the door closes. I hustle over to the elevator and jam my thumb on the button until it opens. “Crap, crap, triple crap.” I practically yeet myself inside and hit the button for the twelfth floor, gripping the back of my neck while I tap my foot furiously. “Maybe he won’t notice. Maybe he won’t do his laundry, and I can sneak in tomorrow morning and throw a load in and grab my…” I can’t even finish that statement.
Maybe Postie or Malone knocked my vibrator off the nightstand, and it rolled under the bed. Those two are forever knocking shit off the counter. This is the one instance where their mischief would be welcome. The elevator stops at my floor, and I step off, my stomach churning with anxiety as I return to my apartment.
I let myself in and lean against the door, feeling like I might pass out, or vomit, or both.
My roommate, Rix, is in the kitchen. Her long dark hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a pair of leggings and an oversized hoodie. She’s the sister of Toronto Terror’s center, Flip Madden, and she’s dating his best friend, Tristan Stiles, who also plays for the team. “Did you get everything sorted out?”
“Hollis is already home. I couldn’t handle anything. And he was fresh from the shower. I saw him mostly naked,” I say.
Her eyebrows shoot up and her mouth opens and closes twice before she asks, “How was that experience?”
“It was…he was…he has a significant bulge. Like, really significant. And I stared at it. Probably for longer than I should have.” I run a hand down my face. “This is so bad. So, so bad.”
“Shit happens. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she assures me. “You’ve seen him in a bathing suit after he and your dad get out of physio. It’s not much different, right?”
“Right. Yeah. Not much different.”
“At least you didn’t get an eye-full of dick.”
“Yeah. No dick.”
She tips her head. “Did something else happen?”
I bite my lips together to keep the truth in my mouth, but I blurt it out, anyway. “I forgot to put his towels and sheets through the wash.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Why is that a big deal?”
I chew my bottom lip. She’s my roommate and my friend. I can be honest about this. I can tell her what happened, and maybe she can help me figure out how to fix this.
“Did one of the cats poop on his bed?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Worse.”
A slow smirk curves the right side of her mouth. “Did you have a nap in his bed while he wasn’t there?”
I hide behind my hands. “It’s so much worse than that, Rix. So, so much worse.”
Her smile drops. “Worse than when your dad accidentally walked in on me and Tristan? Roman gave him dead eyes in the locker room for a week after that.”
I drop my hands. “Actually, it might be pretty close.”