Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
But like a good girlfriend, I always went to support him and never ever let it show that I was bored to death at his games.
“Soccer is boring.”
His lips twitch. “To you, yeah.” Then, “Because when something is interesting to you, your eyes shine. They become all dark and wide. You laugh without having to remember that you should. Your cheeks are flushed. Your…” he licks his split lip, “whole body lights up.”
He’s right. I think.
I mean, I’ve never actually noticed these things about me but he did.
Because he watched me.
He watched me.
He had a thing for me.
My ex-boyfriend’s ex-best friend.
“I… H-he liked me being there,” I tell him.
“Yeah, I know that too. He wouldn’t shut up about it,” he says, his thumb pressing on my tummy on the downward glide, making my already broken breaths even choppier. “About how his girlfriend was right there, in the front row, watching him play.” He squints his eyes, as if lost in memories. “Sometimes I thought he was trying to make me jealous.”
“He w-wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“Make him jealous?”
“Fuck yeah.” He licks his lips again and I bite mine, watching him do it. “If you were mine, Echo, if you were there to watch me, I’d make him and every motherfucker out there jealous out of their minds. And so sometimes I wondered.”
“Wondered what?”
“If you ever did. Watch me.”
“I did,” I blurt out, my nails digging into his skin.
“Yeah?”
“I did watch you play. Always.”
I was there to support Lucas, not ogle his best friend, but I did.
I noticed every goal he made, every pass, every dribble, and then hated myself for doing it.
“I don’t know anything about soccer,” I go on, “but I always thought you were... magnificent.”
“Magnificent.”
“Yes. The way you,” I look for a word, “moved. The way you glided across the field. Like the wind. Like something wild and free. Unstoppable.”
He isn’t named the Daredevil for nothing.
He was always reckless and fast. A risktaker.
It both angered and impressed his coaches and commentators. They talked about it often enough. He’d do things — run impossibly fast, flip backward in the air, send the ball flying through the stadium — like no one else.
Not even Lucas.
Even though Lucas was the captain, it was always Reign that they talked about. It was always him that they praised for making the impossible possible.
“And then every time he kissed you in front of me,” he says roughly, his fingers grazing close, so very close, to my breasts, “I wanted to break his fucking face.”
“You d-didn’t,” I gasp out, holding on to him harder.
“And then of course, you’d be crying over him because that’s who you are but I wouldn’t care. I’d still do what I’ve always wanted to do.”
“Do what?”
“Throw you over my shoulder and take you away.”
Like he did tonight after his fight.
And the fact that he wanted to do it always, makes me breathlessly ask, “Where?”
“Somewhere away from him. Somewhere I could wipe your pretty tears off and make you kiss me the way you kissed him.”
We’re so close now due to his maneuverings.
That every frantic, hiccuppy breath I take, my chest drags against his.
My tits drag against his tattoo.
“That’s not…” I shake my head. “That’s not nice.”
“Yeah, I figured.” He chuckles softly. “And if you don’t like that, you’re not going to like what I tell you next.”
“What?”
“That every time you glared at me,” he lowers his voice, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I’d get hard.”
I shudder. “You’d…”
“Every time you got angry because I said something offensive, or you acted like you couldn’t stand the sight of me, I’d be hunting down an empty classroom or a secluded spot where I could rub one out.” Another lick of his lips and oh my God, I’m going to reach up and bite it if he doesn’t stop that. “Every. Fucking. Time. I probably hold the world record or some shit for jerking off in a high school classroom.”
I want to laugh.
I want to.
But I can’t. I can’t do anything except sputter out a few words. “I’m… I didn’t… That’s…”
Making him chuckle.
And his chuckle is even worse than him licking his lips — which is not a surprise but still — that a quickening starts up in my belly as he goes on, “But that’s nothing compared to what I’d do when your boyfriend would tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
He leans closer then and my tits aren’t just grazing his chest, they’re all mashed against it. They’re all flattened against his hard, hard, chest.
So much so that his mysterious tattoo might be mine.
His heat might be mine.
His heartbeats too.
And as if that wasn’t enough, this sudden and overwhelming contact between us, he goes ahead and flicks the side of my breasts. His rough thumb finally, finally making contact with my plump flesh, and my thighs jerk and ride higher along his tight obliques.