Twisted Collide – Saints of Redville Read Online Ava Harrison

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Chick Lit, Contemporary, Forbidden, Sports Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
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I peer around the room and my hands fist. The who’s who of Redville elite are all here, milling about, glasses raised, praising themselves like they did something important. Sure, they helped raise money, but in my mind, no one needed to take credit for their good deeds. The moment you do, it loses its soul.

The women in attendance are decked to the nines, dripping in jewels, dolled up, and begging for attention. All the guys from the team are here, scattered around, doing their best to work the room.

I should be mingling too, but I’m searching for one person instead. I’m having no luck finding her, but as if the crowd can hear me, they part, and she’s there.

Josephine is always gorgeous, but today she looks like a goddess. She’s wearing a stunning red gown that clings to her curves in all the right places. Her blond hair is swept up, exposing the graceful line of her neck.

What I wouldn’t do to touch that neck. To caress her soft skin. But that’s not in the cards, and I’ve been trying my hardest to stay away from her since she came to work for the team. The problem is, no matter where I go, she’s there.

She haunts my every thought and my every dream.

It’s a real problem.

Astonishingly, for the first time since I’ve known her, I don’t even care.

I’m not the only one drawn to her either. My gaze drifts around the room, and a bunch of my teammates are staring, most likely thinking the same thing I am.

A drink will help tamp down my need for her.

With a new goal in mind, I stride to the nearest bar.

Once there, I rest my hand on the sleek marble, then lean forward to get the bartender’s attention.

“Whiskey, neat.”

My new location is even worse. Now I have a clear shot of the little hellfire, holding court and laughing away with random men who would love nothing more than to bring her home for the night.

Must be nice for them not to be burdened with the desire to have something you can never have. Soon, a drink is in my hand, and I lean up against the bar, nursing it, and try my best not to watch her. All is lost, however, when Hudson gallops up to her, like a prince in a fairy tale who would happily slay the beast for a moment in her bed.

It’s too bad I like the guy so much because I’m having a hard time not wanting to kill him for how close he’s currently standing next to her. I have no business being jealous. She’s not mine, but it doesn’t stop the fact that I want her, and I can’t stand that my friend isn’t burdened by the guilt of what Coach would say if I had her.

Hudson and Robert don’t have the same relationship that we do. Robert has been the one stable person in my life despite Molly.

I shouldn’t jeopardize that relationship. Right?

He reaches out a hand, and she takes it; then, before I can even blink, they’re on the dance floor.

Fuck it, I’m going to kill him.

Fine. I won’t, but I watch him dance with my girl. She’s not your girl.

She should be, though. She should be in my arms, not his.

Breathe.

Nothing has happened to warrant kicking his ass, it’s not like—goddamn. His hand is practically touching her ass.

Friendship be damned. I’m putting an end to this. I hate how jealous I am. It bubbles up inside me like a volcano erupting, and before I can stop myself, I’m striding across the space until I’m beside them.

They’re still dancing, but Hudson stops when I playfully shove him.

The bastard has the audacity to smirk at me. “How can I help you, Daney-boy?”

I shoot him a look that would scare a lesser man, but Hudson is too rambunctious to sense a threat. “I’m cutting in.”

Now, his smirk is a full-fledged smile. “Are you now?” He’s loving this, loving my weakness. Hudson has been hinting for the past few weeks despite never letting on my history with Josephine. Despite his playboy persona, he’s observant as all hell—a genuinely good trait unless it’s aimed at you.

I suck in a deep breath. “Yes, asshole, I am. I need to talk to Josephine.”

“Josephine?” He turns to look at her, but look isn’t the right word. He undresses her lazily with his eyes. “Is that your full name?” His voice has dropped an octave, the pitch he has reserved for his future conquests. Is this asshole for real? I cross my arms at my chest, trying my best not to strangle my friend.

“What the fuck do you think Josie stands for? Michelle?” I bite out. I should really rein it the fuck in. I’m losing it, and I’m usually more stoic than an ancient rock.


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