Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
It’s a relief when his phone rings, breaking the silence that has fallen over us and effectively ending our conversation. I shoot out of my seat like my ass is on fire and point to the frosted glass door. With a nod, he answers the call before swiveling in his chair and kicking his feet up onto a low bookshelf crammed full of beat-up binders.
A huff of relief escapes from me as I hightail it out of there.
Poppy
I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear and yank open the door to the men’s locker room before stepping inside the space. Since the guys are on the field running drills, there’s no chance of me walking in on a situation.
Been there, done that, and caught quite the eyeful.
It’s only happened a couple of times, but the guys all grinned before hooting and hollering, calling my name with a wave. They don’t seem to care in the least that they’ve been caught bare assed. A few of them actually seemed to enjoy strutting around and putting on a show.
Me, on the other hand?
My face turned about fifteen shades of red until it felt like I was in danger of self-combusting.
Talk about embarrassing.
The pungent stench of sweat and humidity hangs thick in the air as I walk past a long row of lockers and metal benches. When my phone buzzes, I fish it out of my messenger bag and glance at the screen.
A text from my roommate pops up. There’s a bonfire at the beach tonight and she’s already packing our bags, raring to go. Marissa enjoys partying with the best of them. She turns twenty-one next month and is in the middle of planning a huge bash. It’s not that I don’t like to drink or have fun, but sometimes, it’s nice to stay home, order something in, and binge watch Netflix.
With my head bent, I turn the corner where the coaches’ offices are located as my thumbs tap out—
I slam full force into what feels like a brick wall before reverberating off it. My phone is knocked from my hand before it skitters across the floor. Thrown off balance, a gasp escapes from me as I stumble back a couple of paces. Just as my arms pinwheel, strong fingers wrap around my biceps before yanking me forward. My breasts get crushed against the steely strength of a broad chest as I stare wide-eyed into the face of the man who now holds me captive.
For just a heartbeat or two, the world around me falls away and my mouth turns cottony as little electric pulses zip along my flesh. A million thoughts flutter through my brain, but they stall once they reach the tip of my tongue.
“Sorry,” he says with a grunt.
We both come alive at the same time as he takes a quick step in retreat. Instead of releasing me, his fingers stay locked around my arms. The flesh beneath the firm grip feels like it’s being singed, leaving permanent marks I’ll carry around with me for the rest of my life.
I give my head a slight shake to clear it of the mental fog that has descended. It’s not often I find myself at a loss for words. “It’s fine. No worries.”
When he rips his gaze from mine to glance at the floor, a sharp sense of loss slices through me.
“You dropped your phone,” he says.
His voice is so deep and smooth that my belly does a little flip.
He relinquishes his hold before squatting down and grabbing the slim device from the tile. Once it’s in his wide palm, he takes a moment to inspect it for damage. “Looks like you shattered your screen protector.”
My attention stays riveted to the top of his dark head. It’s so tempting to reach out and run my fingers through the thick strands. Instead, I tighten my hands into balls.
It takes effort to regain my bearings as I comb through my memories. Have I ever experienced this kind of visceral reaction to a man?
Nope. Never.
And that’s another thing…even though I have no idea who this guy is, he’s certainly not a boy. A thorough inspection of his face along with the fine lines bracketing his eyes suggests he’s older, which means it’s doubtful he’s one of Dad’s players. I dated one freshman year and vowed never to make the same mistake again.
So…if he’s not on the team, who is he?
“Hey, sweetheart. What are you doing here?”
I jolt as my gaze swings from the dark-haired man to my father, who now fills the doorway of his office. It takes a moment to remember the reason I stopped by the athletic center in the first place.
“If you’re not busy, I thought you might want to grab lunch.”
The corners of Dad’s lips quirk into an easy smile. “You know I’m never too busy for my girl.”