Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
I picked up a box labeled, “Delicates,” and groaned at the images flashing through my mind. It was light, so I grabbed another and headed back inside.
“A fling with a hot football player would do you some good, Naomi,” Ember was saying as I walked back into the room.
I immediately dropped the boxes and glared at the girls. “First of all, my sister doesn’t do that kind of thing—”
“Flings?” Ember interrupted.
“Sex,” I practically choked on the word. “Second, even if she did”–-my stomach roiled at the idea of my sister doing that—“do that, flings are never a good idea. Girls are too emotional.”
Ember put her hand back on her hips and huffed. “Sometimes, women need a little meaningless relief, too. And a sexy football player is perfect for that kind of thing.”
“How would you know?” My tone was tight from trying to rein in the rage that burned in my gut at the thought of Ember with…any man who wasn't me. I shoved that thought aside to examine later. Or never.
“Because I’m a woman.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And that makes you an expert on fucking football players?”
Her eyes suddenly perused my body from top to bottom. Then she smirked. “Not all football players.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be amused or insulted. Since neither option would help the state of my mind—and dick-–I turned on my heel and went to grab more of her stuff.
It took less than an hour to finish bringing Ember’s belongings from the moving van into her dorm suite.
“Let me take you both to dinner to thank you,” Ember offered, giving me a genuine smile.
Spending any more time with her than necessary was dangerous. “Early practice,” I muttered.
It looked like hurt flashed in her green eyes for a moment, but then it was gone, so I thought maybe I’d imagined it.
“Your loss,” she chirped.
“See ya later, Nix!” My sister called before disappearing into Ember’s bedroom.
I nodded to her friend and turned to go, then paused and swung my head back around. “There are plenty of men out there who want more than just a fling.”
“How would you know?” she snipped haughtily, parroting my earlier phrase.
“Because I’m a man.”
“Oh? Does that mean you’re looking for a relationship?” Ember asked, her tone and expression curious.
I swallowed my instinctual response and grunted, “I don’t have time for a woman or their drama. Especially one who’s young and inexperienced.”
With that parting shot—a low blow that I immediately felt guilty about—I spun on my heel and beat a hasty retreat.
1
Ember
Heading into Naomi and Prentice’s kitchen for breakfast, I was happy that her brother had opted to head home instead of spending the night like I had. Then again, his bachelor pad was bound to be a lot more comfortable than my dorm room.
I’d been instantly attracted to Nixon when we met, but he had made his disinterest in me clear. Numerous times. Luckily, we hadn’t seen each other often over the past seven months, and I’d been able to mask how much I was into him on the rare times we bumped into each other. Usually by pushing his buttons until we devolved into bickering.
“Good morning,” my best friend chirped, glancing over her shoulder at me.
I padded over to her side to peer at the large heavy skillet on the stove. When I realized what she was stirring with a wooden spoon, I did a little celebratory dance. “You’re making your mom’s famous sausage gravy for breakfast?”
“Yeah, I’ve been craving biscuits and gravy something fierce.” Her hand dropped to her slightly rounded belly. “Prentice got them for me from like a dozen places during our honeymoon, but none of them were exactly what I wanted.”
“I’m not surprised. Nobody can top the unbeatable combo of your homemade biscuits and your mom’s gravy recipe.” I wandered over to the coffee machine and popped a hazelnut-flavored pod into the slot before grabbing a mug and sliding it under the spout. “But I’m surprised your hubby isn’t down here making you something super healthy instead. Or even trying his hand at biscuits and gravy since you’re too delicate to do any heavy lifting.”
She jerked her chin toward the skillet and grumbled, “You know Prentice too well. Before he left to meet up with some of the guys from the team for a workout, my overprotective husband took out everything I needed so I wouldn’t strain myself.”
“How much does that pan weigh?” While my coffee brewed, I walked back over to her and tapped the handle of the skillet. “It’s not even the cast iron one.”
“I know.” She pointed at the cabinet to the left of the stove with a huff. “He put it all the way on the top shelf so I couldn’t reach it after he left because he said it was too heavy for me to use without him here. As if you couldn’t move the skillet to the sink for me after we’d demolished the gravy. And it’s not like it weighs anywhere close to the twenty-pound limit my doctor gave me.”