Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
She stares as though she’s parched, and I’m the glass of water she needs to survive.
It’s been a long time since a woman has gotten me interested, and it’s a fucking crime that it has to be her.
Because I am interested.
If I could, I would take her right here and now.
The way her pouty lips part. There is nothing more I’d like to do than separate those lips and feed her my cock inch by inch.
Shit.
And now my dick is hard at that thought.
Think of something gross.
Something to turn me off.
I close my eyes for a beat, taking a long, deep breath. My mind goes blank. Nothing can penetrate the image running through my brain of her on her knees in front of me, sucking my cock—
“Dane.”
I shake my head and meet her gaze.
“Yeah, Hellfire.” My voice sounds lower, huskier.
“Oh, now I’m hellfire again?”
“Well, you’re making me late to my appointment, so yeah, you’re a hellfire.”
“What appointment?”
“The one I’m about to make,” I say, admitting that there is currently no appointment.
“For?” she drawls out, circling her hand as if to tell me to get on with it.
“I need a massage.”
She swallows. “What?”
“I need to book a massage. My shoulder has a knot.”
She takes a step closer, and I see that her nose is scrunched, and her cheeks are pinched in.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Just concerned about you. Can you put the jersey on so I can take pictures of you wearing them and then I’ll grab the signed pictures after?”
“While I appreciate your concern, I just want to sign these jerseys and get on with my day. But if I must wear it for a photo op, let’s get it over with.”
She tosses the first one to me, and I lift my arm to slide into the jersey. Just as the shirt is being dropped over my head, I let out a groan of pain.
I stop moving, and so does Josephine.
“Are you okay?”
“Hence the needed massage. I pulled a muscle.”
Josephine rushes to me until we are close enough that I can smell the lavender in her soap.
Before I know what’s happening, her hand lifts up, and her warm fingertips are on my skin.
“What are you doing?” I growl. My brain short-circuits from her touch.
“Trying to help you. I thought—”
“That’s the problem, you didn’t think . . .” I’m about to say more, but I wince in pain this time.
“That’s it, let me see.” Placing her hands on my shoulders, she sits beside me.
Even though I know I should object, I don’t. Her touch feels too good as she massages the tight muscles.
The locker room is quiet except for the puffs of air I’m expelling.
The more she kneads, the more labored my breathing gets, but the knot is almost gone, and it seems she won’t stop until the knot no longer exists.
With each second that passes, I can’t help but wonder why I’m pushing her away so hard. Maybe it would be easier not to.
But then I remember her dad, the way he helped in those early years, and how much I needed him.
Being good might be more painful than the pulled muscle.
31
DANE
Hate is too strong a word, but my chest feels tight whenever I have to attend a fundraiser.
Even though we’re here to raise money for a cause near and dear to my heart, I’m not too fond of these functions.
It’s a necessary evil, but it reminds me too much of the past.
Especially when I look at my reflection in the mirror. Currently, my jaw is locked, brow furrowed, and not one hair out of place, but if you knew me enough to know what to look for, you’d know I wasn’t happy. The reason I don’t belong is because the man I am tonight screams that I belong and, worse, that I want to be here. Spoiler alert: I don’t.
These nights always remind me of my father. Of the night when my life changed. It reminds me of him walking down the stairs, dressed in a tuxedo, my mother with him, and how he said he’d see me later.
How my mom gave me a kiss and told me to be good. I wasn’t, and she died because of my mistake.
So even though I wasn’t driving the car, and I didn’t kill my mom, whenever I look at myself in the mirror, I see my father.
All the parts of him I hate.
I lift my hand to my tie and center it, then adjust my tuxedo jacket. Once everything is in place, I take a deep breath and walk out of the bathroom.
Tonight is already in full swing. The grand ballroom looks opulent, adorned with large chandeliers and rich burgundy tablecloths. Sheer drapes add to the timeless luxury, and it makes me want to roll my eyes.
None of this is needed. It’s so extra.