Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I glanced in the mirror and groaned again. This was going to be mortifying, even if Nolan hadn’t mentioned screwing me in a bathroom to his two friends.
Actually, this whole day was going to be awful. I was going to have to face two of my professors plus some other guy looking like the living, breathing definition of “walk of shame.” Then I was going to have to figure out how to get over to my car. Then I was going to have to somehow get into Matt’s place and deal with that whole shit-storm to grab my stuff.
Oh, right, and then I’d just have to figure out where the hell I was going to live.
Wonderful.
I opened the bedroom door and stepped out, feeling one last flash of heat tease through me as I thought about the night before. But then I pushed it aside and took a deep, shaky breath.
Time to face the music.
7
Max
“Oh.”
I looked up at the sound — soft, sweet, melodic, and my whole body froze.
Shit. Double, double shit.
The girl was fucking beautiful. Soft, gorgeous face, big blue eyes, dark hair that tumbled past her shoulders. Full, mouth-watering tits, hips that were begging to be held on to, and legs that just kept going. She somehow managed to look sweet and innocent, and sultry and fuckin’ hot at the same time, and all like she wasn’t even trying.
And she was staring at me, her jaw dropped and her eyes wide, her head slowly shaking side to side.
“Are you who I think you are?” she said quietly.
“I guess it depends on who you think I am?”
“You’re Max O’Reilly. You played for San Francisco.”
“And you’re Cora Hartley,” I said evenly. “You’re in my buddy’s lecture class.”
She blushed, and I groaned inside. Fuck she was tempting. Tempting, and gorgeous, and that smile just fucking slayed me. It’d been a long time since I’d been around a woman that did that to me. When I was at the height of my game, there’d been women throwing themselves at me constantly. Fame attracts a certain type of woman, and so does money. Throw the two of them together, and it’s a pretty toxic combination. I’d learned that lesson early on, and for most of my career, I’d stayed away from that shit. Yeah, the tabloids had me painted as this panty-dropping, pussy-slaying bad ass, but really, my concentration had been the game.
Until the game had fucked me over. The league wanted nothing to do with me after I’d blown my knee. Rehab and a half dozen surgeries had me back on my feet, but after that, I was done with pro ball. I’d gotten out better than most guys though. I still had my money thanks to being friends with a Wall Street wiz, I still had my health, and really, I was still young at thirty-two. The fake women faded with the glory, and honestly, I was fine with that.
But now, there I was face to face with a damn angel. She had that look where you weren’t sure if you wanted to hold her tight and protect her from the whole world, or wrap those legs around your waist and fuck her until she screamed for more. And honestly, the first time I saw her there in that kitchen, maybe I wanted to do both.
She smiled shyly at me, still blushing, but with those big blue eyes darting across my face like she was reading me. I wondered if she was trying to figure me out the same way I was trying to figure out her. She had her arms wrapped around herself, and I slowly took in what she was wearing.
Damn.
Blood rushed to my cock as my eyes took in the tiny, short, plaid schoolgirl skirt and the blouse that was barely capable of using half the buttons and doing a shit job of holding her full tits back. She was clearly uncomfortable wearing it — clearly embarrassed to be wearing whatever the hell stripper outfit it was from the night before down to breakfast the next day.
“Here.”
I reached down and tugged off the hoodie I was wearing, yanking it off my head and tossing it at her.
“Oh, no, that’s—”
“Just put it on. Don’t get me wrong, that getup is doing is all sorts of good things for you, but the sweatshirt might be a little comfier for a cup of coffee.”
She blushed, smiling at me as she tugged it on, until she was basically swimming in it. And damn did she still look fucking gorgeous.
“Thanks.” She flashed that killer smile at me again, and I felt my heart thud inside my chest. “It was a costume party,” she said awkwardly, nodding down at her skirt sheepishly.
“And here I was thinking you were selling Girl Scout cookies.”
She grinned. “Wouldn’t that be a Girl Scout costume?”