Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
At this very second, numerous emotions are flickering across her expressive face, all trying to take precedence.
It’s utterly fascinating.
And here I’d thought she would be happy about the possibility of our parents getting back together again but, if the pinched expression she’s wearing is any indicator, that’s not the case.
When she remains quiet, lost in the turmoil of her own thoughts, I allow my gaze to travel around her private space. It’s a damn mess. There’s makeup and clothing everywhere. Pictures and dance posters cover the walls. I pick up the smushy pillow with a face and stare at it.
Is it a cat?
A bunny?
Who the hell knows.
I drop it back to the bed before spotting a stack of paperbacks on the nightstand. I pick up the one on top and glance at the cover. The book is obviously beloved. Both the cover and pages are well worn.
Ever since I met Carina at fourteen, she’s been an avid reader. The shelves in her bedroom at home are stuffed full of paperbacks. There have to be hundreds. She refuses to part with any of them. In high school, when I was out with friends, I’d stop at the local bookstore and pick one up I thought she’d enjoy. Then I’d leave it on her bed for her to discover. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that.
Years.
Afterward, she’d always pop into my room to thank me. The expression on her face is what always killed me. It’s like I’d given her the world.
I miss that.
Miss her looking at me that way.
I blink away those thoughts and stare at the guy on the cover. He’s an okay looking dude…I guess. If you’re into muscly guys with chests carved from marble and abs that border on the ridiculous.
Is this the kind of guy she’s into?
Just as I’m about to take a closer look, the book is plucked from my fingers. My gaze shifts to Carina, who has scooched toward me.
I nod at the paperback. “I’m just as ripped as that guy.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” She glances at the cover and studies it for a second or two. “I’m willing to bet this guy isn’t even that ripped. The image is probably photoshopped.”
“Bet?”
She arches a brow. “Huh?”
Her gaze flickers to mine as I roll from the bed and pop to my feet. My fingers grip the hem of my shirt. Her eyes widen as I yank it over my head and toss the cottony material onto the mattress. The muscles bulge as I flex my biceps. Ever since I was fifteen years old, I’ve been in the gym, lifting weights in order to get the body I want.
I’m proud of it.
Her gaze slides over my arms and chest before falling to my abdominals.
“All right,” she mutters after a full minute of silent scrutiny. “So maybe you are.”
A grin spreads across my face as I flex a few more times, wanting to keep her attention focused on me.
She points to the crumpled shirt. “You can put that back on now, He-Man.”
Yeah…that’s not going to happen. Especially with the way her pupils have dilated. The girl likes what she sees, even if she refuses to admit it.
When I bridge the gap between us with a single step, she lifts her chin to hold my gaze. I settle between her legs, forcing them wider. Her palms settle on my bare chest as her spine hits the mattress and I cage her in with my arms.
A potent concoction of confusion and lust swirl through her eyes as she searches mine for answers to questions that have yet to leave her lips. They’re absolutely gorgeous in their intensity. Coupled with her long, blonde hair, toned athletic body, and smartass mouth, the girl is a fucking wet dream sprung to life.
I let it be known from day one when a few of my teammates mentioned what a hottie Carina was that she wasn’t to be touched.
Or looked at.
Or spoken to.
All I had to do was headhunt a few guys during practice for it to sink in that I was in no way fucking around. It’s been more challenging to keep the rest of the assholes at Western at bay, but I’ve done it.
Carina would probably kick my ass if she ever found out how many strings I had to pull to make certain she was not only on the same floor but right next door. It involved giving the apartment manager’s kid a handful of private skating lessons as well as some Western Wildcats hockey merch.
Her breath catches, sounding as if it’s become clogged at the back of her throat. “What are you doing?”
Instead of responding, I toss the question back at her. “What does it look like?”
She’s a smart girl. She has to realize what’s been brewing beneath the surface since the very beginning.