Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
He seems to weigh the question for a moment. “I never thought of myself that way. But my dad boards planes right foot first. He did it since we were kids. Said it set the vibe for a family vacation if we all did it too. Same way he’d say the first song on the radio set the vibe for a trip too. Guess I adopted his rituals.” Nate chuckles in remembrance. “I found out later the sneaky dude would scroll through tunes till he found the first one he liked.”
“Did you take a lot of family trips?”
“We did. Still do. They’re pretty cool, my parents. And my sister,” he says affectionately.
“The picture of Nate fills in a little more,” I say as if I’m pitching a show. “The laidback athlete getting on well with his family.”
His lips quirk up. “Is that part of your full media package on me?”
“My keen powers of observation.” I gesture to his trim beard. “Since you’re not superstitious, I’m guessing this isn’t a winning-streak beard. Though it looks like about four weeks’ worth of growth.”
He whistles. “Damn, you’re good. We’ve won the last four games.”
I smile, pleased I impressed him with my football knowledge. “I know, Nate. I know.”
He absently runs a big hand across his jawline. “Though it is a winning-streak beard. Some of the other guys on the Hawks started this. The X-Man, our cornerback, didn’t shave after we beat Seattle a month ago. He declared it his winning beard. Jason followed suit.” Nate shrugs easily. “I don’t put much stock in rituals, but they do. And they’re my teammates. So…”
That tells me even more about Nate. He’s a roll-with-it kind of guy.
I want to ask more about his friends and family, his likes and dislikes, but that feels super date-y, like we want to get to know if we’re right forever and ever.
Please.
That’s so not what tonight is.
I swallow down the questions I have for him, and I stay firmly in the compliment zone. “Well, I’m certainly glad your teammates like rituals. Since I like your beard.”
Nate’s eyes sparkle. He fights to hide a smile. “Your beard interest has been noted.”
Good. I hope he’s taking copious notes on how he plans to use his beard against me tonight. Against my face. Against my thighs.
God, I’m going to be aroused the whole flight if I don’t focus on something else.
I run a hand along the smooth leather of the armrest. “This is nice. Thank you again for the upgrade. It’s been a while.”
He lifts a brow in question. “Are you a former first-class traveler?”
Hmm. I suppose I’ll have to tell him sometime. “My dad likes to travel in comfort, but I’ve not been close with him lately.”
“Ah. Is that good or bad?”
The question is judgment-free. A curiosity more than anything. “It’s for the best. He has some…issues,” I say as tactfully as I can.
So many he doesn’t want to deal with them. My sister and I have tried to get him to own up to them to no avail.
Nate leans closer, his broad shoulders shielding us from view of the passengers streaming to their seats. “Did I push you back there by insisting on the upgrade?” he asks, lowering his voice for privacy. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“No.” I’m quick to reassure him. I don’t want any funky vibe between us ruining our trip. “I’m glad you did, since this is fun.” I end on a note of let’s just have a good time, shall we and I veer far away from family. “But I really like other kinds of pushing.”
His tone grows husky as he says, “Up against the door. Against the wall. Into the bed…”
“I’ll take all three please and thank you.”
Nate laughs, then drops a hand to my thigh, squeezing. He’s touchy, and I’ve discovered that I do enjoy PDA from a guy I like.
Just tell him the whole truth. You’re talking about sex anyway.
But a lifetime of being told I’m not good enough stops me. “So, are you good at the tables?”
Nate rolls with the shift. “I’d like to say I’m good, but…” He flashes a what can you do grin.
“But you’re rubbish at card games?” I supply, and he nods.
This delights me. The superstar athlete so steely on the field, so bad at the tables. “Good at football. Bad at cards. The universe gives and the universe takes away.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I can’t complain. But I do want to be good. My buddies are aces, and they clean up when I play. Or they did, I should say. I haven’t had the chance to play cards with them in a long time,” he says, chagrined.
I tilt my head. “You haven’t seen them in a while?”
“Well…” He winces, like he possibly regrets bringing this up. But then he pushes on. “I’m going to sound like a dick for saying this…”