The Rookie (The San Antonio Hyenas #4) Read Online Olivia T. Turner

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Novella, Sports, Virgin Tags Authors: Series: The San Antonio Hyenas Series by Olivia T. Turner
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Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 26365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
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“I found your card in the back of a taxi,” he says. “It was between the couch cushions.”

“Oh. Classy.”

He laughs. “You haven’t seen it yet.”

My eyes dart to his muscular chest as he opens his jacket and reaches into the inside pocket. He pulls out my card and shows it to me.

What the hell?! Who did that?!

Someone drew a moustache and big eyebrows on my face!

I shake my head as I look back up at him. “This was before my makeover.”

He laughs and smiles at me. “This is definitely an improvement.”

There go my cheeks blushing again.

“Well, thanks for calling even though I looked like a Muppet.”

“I’m glad I did.”

I’m glad he did too.

“So,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Would you like to get started on the house tour?”

He nods. I realize that he’s barely even looked at the house. This man hasn’t taken his eyes off me.

“This is the grand foyer,” I say, waving my arm dramatically. “A beautiful statue with—oh!”

The dumb parrot did her business all down the front of it.

“We’ll get that cleaned up for you,” I say with a nervous laugh.

“Is that a giraffe?” Austin asks as he looks at it funny.

“Unclear,” I say as I move along to the kitchen. I know he’s going to fall in love with it. How could you not? It’s spectacular.

“Wow,” he says as he walks in and looks around. “I think my parents’ whole house could fit in here.”

“I know, right?” I say with a chuckle, wondering how he can afford a place like this if he didn’t inherit it. Is he one of those crypto millionaires or something? He’s about my age—around twenty-four—and I had to save three months to buy a second-hand couch. How the hell is he affording all this?

“Where are you from?” I ask. I’m so curious about him. I want to know everything. I want to know his life story.

“Michigan,” he says. “It’s very different from here.”

“I bet.” I can picture him hiking through the mountains or kayaking down a river. He’d park his kayak on the river bank, step into the water, and peel off his shirt. His hard stomach would be all flexed and he’d⁠—

“What about you? Where are you from?”

“Me?” I say, getting yanked out of my daydream. “Oh. I’m from here. Well, not here here. Not Cedar Hills. This place is like crazy expensive, but I’m from San Antonio. Born and raised.”

What is wrong with me?

It’s like being in such close proximity to this man is making me feel drunk.

I turn, take a deep breath, roll my eyes at myself, and try again.

I’m smiling when I turn back around. “How do you like the kitchen?”

“How do you like the kitchen?”

“Me?” I say, wondering why my opinion would matter at all. “I think it’s beautiful.”

He looks around at it and nods.

This kitchen is crazy. The granite island is almost the size of a Queen-sized bed. There are so many cupboards and drawers that you could have like six cupboards just dedicated to your Christmas stuff. You wouldn’t have to lug the heavy plates up and down to the basement and try to find room under the stairs.

The kitchen opens up into the huge family room and we head into there next.

“Perfect for parties,” I say with a wave of my arm, “for get-togethers, game nights, or for a night in with a movie. Imagine curling up in front of this fireplace with someone special and talking all night long.”

He takes a deep breath and rubs his chin as he looks at the fireplace and then looks at me. I wonder what lucky-ass girl would be in his arms all night.

I show him the rest of the bottom floor, the endless amount of bathrooms, the living room, the giant dining room, the tucked-away office, and the party room that leads out into the backyard.

I’m used to wearing flats (or running shoes when my boss isn’t working) at the pub, so these heels are starting to kill my feet. I toughen it out though, and keep going.

I grin as I put my hand on the stunning staircase railing. “Would you like to see what I have hidden up top?”

Oh god, did that sound dirty?

“I’d like to see everything,” he answers with a bit of huskiness in his tone.

I swallow hard and then head up the stairs.

He follows behind me and I can’t help but wonder if he’s staring at my ass. I give my hips a bit of a sway with each step just in case he is.

“These are custom-made railings,” I say as I present them with a wave of my hand. “Hand carved by a master carver.”

I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s gotta be, right? It’s not like you can buy a railing like this at Home Depot.

He just nods and follows me up to the second floor.


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