Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“We fucking are,” I say, matching his cocky grin with one of my own.
He spins around and turns to the starting defense. “I am here, brothers, to help you destroy the Mustangs this weekend and the Defenders the next, and so the fuck on.”
The guys lose their minds.
Damn. If he can whip the guys into a frenzy on the field, we might just have a shot at winning with defense.
That evening, I head to the gym for some quick cardio, dialing into the kick-ass playlist that TJ made for me. I’m cruising along to the music and the rhythm of the run, but just as I’m hitting my third mile, I sense a shift in the Force.
A muscular arm tosses a towel on the handlebars of the treadmill next to me, the only open machine at the gym.
Beck steps onto it, looking far too good in shorts and a purple T-shirt I want to strip off him. I want to know what he looks like in just those shorts. Then in nothing. I want to get my mouth all over him. Taste his skin.
Ah, fuck, Jason. Maybe cool it before he picks up on the horndog vibe you’ve got going on.
I pop out an earbud. “Just admit you’re stalking me.”
He scoffs. “Please. When I show up at your house late one night to surprise you, then you’ll know I’m a stalker.”
That’s fodder for some dirty dreams—Beck showing up in the middle of the night, ripping off that shirt, tearing off my clothes too, and grinding his muscular body against mine.
Great. Now I’m aroused at the gym. “Thanks for the warning,” I deadpan, then I turn to my phone, fiddling with my playlist for a distraction. The envelope icon flashes at the top of my screen. Reese Kingsley is the sender, so I click it open.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Beck also swiping across his screen. The email’s addressed to Beck, the Renegades’ PR guy, and me.
Hello Jason and Beck!
Monday Morning Quarterback launched to killer ratings. The station tells me that after its first few days, it’s already the top-ranked podcast this month! Megan loves your chemistry, and the station wants to run an ad campaign around the show. Can you two do a photo shoot on Monday after that episode? Wear your jerseys, please!
Also, Go Hawks!
There’s a reply from Ian already saying, Go Renegades forever! Also, I love this idea.
I want to make Nadia happy. I want to make the whole team happy. So I reply first with Sounds good.
Seconds later, Beck’s answer lands on the thread. I’m game.
I set the phone back on the treadmill’s dash. “Beat you to it,” I say with a smirk.
“Feel free to win the fastest to answer an email award anytime.”
“Asshole,” I mutter playfully.
He smiles and flips me the bird.
“Dickhead,” I add.
He lifts his finger higher. Then whispers, “Prick.”
Oh, but I want to win this battle of words. I take my sweet time flashing him a sly smile. Then, dragging out the word on my tongue, I murmur, “Cocksucker.”
A hint of a shudder moves through his body. His dark eyes suggest he wants all sides of that word with me.
A few seconds later, he whispers, “Same to you.”
There’s a smirk on his lips—those lips that taste so fucking good. I run a mile longer than I planned to so I can erase the thoughts of his mouth and the things I want him to do with it.
When I’m finished with my cardio, I take off with a quick wave. I’m only a little disappointed that he doesn’t leave at the same time. But it’s for the best we put that stairwell session behind us and lean into our rivalry.
Like our employers want.
Like our fans want.
Too bad it’s not what my dick wants.
On Sunday afternoon, we’re down by three with five minutes left in the third quarter. The Mustangs’ offense is encroaching into our territory, but when their quarterback scrambles in the pocket too long, hunting for a receiver, Elroy smells blood. He’s ferocious as he swings around some of the biggest guys on the field, and boom—he sacks the quarterback.
I cringe in sympathy as the guy goes down, but I can’t dwell on it because the Mustangs are forced to punt, and I’ve got to get out there again.
Coach calls for a big passing play, and I nail my first throw to Orlando, who hightails it into the end zone.
That’s how you do it!
I cheer the loudest as Orlando puts us ahead. Xavier booms a yes from the sidelines.
Maybe that was what we were missing. Someone who could carry the mantle for the defense.
And carry it he does when Xavier intercepts the ball on the Mustangs’ next possession, giving me a chance to put it in the end zone once more.