Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“Conor Edwards, you’re a decent guy.”
I’ve been called worse. Doesn’t mean I don’t notice how totally delectable her cleavage looks when she rolls onto her side to face me. “That was the best fake sex I’ve ever had,” I say solemnly.
She snickers.
My gaze sweeps over her flushed cheeks, her flawless, glowing skin. Then it dips to her amazing cleavage again. I know what she’s going to say before I even voice the question, but it slips out of my mouth regardless.
“So, you want to fool around?”
3
Taylor
He isn’t serious. I know he isn’t. Propositioning me after our little performance is just Conor’s way of making me feel better about a shit situation. Further evidence that beneath the chin-length blond hair, steely gray eyes, and chiseled body, he has a soft heart. Which is even more reason to get the hell out of here before I catch feelings. Because Conor Edwards is absolutely the guy you fall for before you learn that girls like me don’t get guys like him.
“Sorry, we agreed to a strict no mauling policy,” I say firmly.
He flashes a crooked half-smile that makes my heart skip a beat. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Anyway. It’s been fun,” I tell him, scooting off the bed, “but I should—”
“Hang on.” Conor grabs my hand. A rush of nervous energy shoots up my arm and tingles the back of my neck. “You said you’d owe me a favor, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, wary.
“Well, I’m calling in your marker. We’ve only been up here five minutes. I can’t have people downstairs thinking I don’t know how to show a lady a good time.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Stay awhile. Help me keep my reputation intact.”
“You don’t need me to protect your ego. Don’t worry, they’ll assume you got bored of me.”
“I do get bored easily,” he agrees, “but you’re in luck, T. Boredom is the last thing I’m feeling right now. You’re the most interesting person I’ve spoken to in ages.”
“You must not get out much,” I crack.
“C’mon,” he coaxes, “don’t make me go back downstairs yet. It’s too thirsty down there. All the chicks act like I’m the last steak at the meat market.”
“Women clamoring for your attention? You poor thing.” And although I’m trying not to think of him as a piece of meat, I can’t deny he is one incredible specimen. Hands down, the most beautiful guy I’ve ever encountered. Not to mention the sexiest. He’s still clutching my hand, and the angle of his body causes every muscle of his sculpted arm to bulge enticingly.
“C’mon, stay and talk with me.”
“What about your friends?” I remind him.
“I see them every day at practice.” His thumb rubs a gentle circle over the inside of my wrist, and I’m done for. “Taylor. Please stay.”
This is a terrible idea. Right now is the moment I’ll look back on a year from now after I’ve changed my name, dyed my hair, and started going by Olga in a diner in Schenectady. But his imploring eyes, his skin against mine, they won’t let me leave.
“Okay.” I never stood a chance against Conor Edwards. “Just to talk.”
Together we settle back onto the bed, the pillow fortress between us dismantled by the bouncing and thrashing. And Conor’s charm. He picks up the stuffed turtle that had migrated to the end of the bed and sets it on the nightstand. I’m not sure I’ve ever been in here, now that I think about it. Rachel’s room is…a lot. Like a VSCO girl and a mommy blogger threw up on a Disney princess.
“Help me figure you out.” Conor crosses those sexy arms over his chest. “This isn’t your room, is it?”
“No, you first,” I insist. If I’m going to humor him, there has to be a little reciprocation. “I feel like I’ve monopolized the conversation. Help me figure you out.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Everything.” What you look like naked… But no, I’m not allowed to ask that. I might be lying in bed with the hottest guy on campus, but our clothes are staying on. Especially mine.
“Ah, well...” Toeing his shoes off, he kicks them off the bed. I’m about to tell him we’re not staying that long, but then he continues. “I play hockey, but I guess you figured that out.”
I nod in answer.
“I transferred here from LA last semester.”
“Oh, okay. That explains a lot.”
“Does it now?” He puts on an expression of mock offense.
“Not in a bad way. I mean, you’re a magazine cover definition of surfer dude, but it suits you.”
“I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment,” he says, and ribs me with his elbow.
I ignore the little shiver that happily tickles my chest. His playful demeanor is way too appealing. “How did a west coast boy wind up playing hockey of all sports?”