Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
My whole body shivered without me being able to do a damn thing to stop it, and I didn’t miss the way she smirked at the sight.
It seemed my reaction to her only made her bolder, because she fisted her hand in my Henley and dragged me in closer — until I had no choice but to frame her against the door.
Her hands snaked up under my shirt without an ounce of hesitation, scattering every thought in my brain other than the ones consumed by how it felt for this girl to touch me.
She pressed her palms flat against my abdomen, which stuttered at the contact, a breath hissing out of me.
“Mm…” she moaned, biting her lip before her smile spread wide again. Her eyes flicked up to mine, hands rubbing under my shirt like it was a nervous habit she had instead of a sure-fired way to turn me all the way on. “You’re wearing contacts.”
“I am,” I managed, my voice rough.
“I didn’t realize you did, not until I saw you in your glasses earlier.” She paused, considering. “I like you in your glasses. Makes you look like a hot, nerdy bookworm.”
“Well, I don’t want to turn you on, but I do have a book with me. It’s spread open,” I teased, saying those words like I was whispering filth against her skin in my bed instead of talking about a fucking book. “Face down and waiting for me on my bedside table as we speak.”
She faked a moan, biting her lip. “Stop it, it’s too much.”
We both laughed a little at the joke, which I desperately needed to take my mind off how her hands were still exploring the span of my abdomen. But then, her eyes were surveying mine again, the question she wanted to ask written in them long before her words followed.
“Do you ever think about that night in Austin?”
The question itself was enough to shorten my breath, but the fact that she slid her hands a little lower when she asked it, tucking her fingertips under the buckle of my belt…
Fuck.
I stayed silent, the muscles in my jaw working overtime as I used every ounce of willpower I had to stay rooted in place.
Teammate’s little sister.
Eight years younger than you.
Don’t. Be. An idiot.
I needed to say no. I needed to douse whatever flame she still had burning for me — all while fighting the roaring fire I still had burning for her.
But I couldn’t.
I also couldn’t confirm, because if I did, I knew she’d be pulling me into her, and she was in no mindset to consent to anything right now.
So, I just stood there, hoping she could feel everything I wasn’t saying by the way I looked down at her, how my eyes searched hers, how I didn’t shy away from her touch.
Of course, I think of that fucking night.
But we both know why I shouldn’t.
After my prolonged silence, she deflated a bit, the playfulness leaving her eyes as she stared down at where her hands were on me. “I know, I know,” she said on a sigh, releasing her grip. Her eyes found mine again. “You don’t want me.”
Damn it all to hell.
I swallowed, but didn’t drop her gaze. I held it, praying once again that maybe she could see without me saying it that that was far from the truth.
Then again, maybe it was best that she thought that. Maybe that would keep us both out of trouble.
Grace looked sad for only a second before she blew out a long breath, stretching her arms overhead on a yawn. She smiled up at me next, tilting her head a bit.
“You know what?” she asked. “It’s nice to have a friend, actually.” She swallowed then, her eyes flicking to mine before they found the ground between her feet. “I don’t have many of those.”
Then, she pressed up onto her toes and kissed my cheek before unlocking her door and slipping inside.
And I stood in the empty corridor feeling like I’d doused her bright light in my own fucked up shadows.
Let’s See What You’ve Got
Grace
Closing my eyes wasn’t an option as I attempted yoga the next morning in the hotel gym.
Any time I did, the world spun, my stomach threatening to hit me with another wave of dry heaving. I’d already chugged water and popped some ibuprofen, but I had a feeling this hangover would hang around for at least half the day.
I couldn’t sleep in — never could the day after drinking — so I’d dragged my ass down to the gym with the best of intentions. But even a slow yoga flow wasn’t doing me any favors, so instead, I laid in a permanent corpse pose and stared up at the ceiling overthinking the night before.
Specifically — how I’d acted with Jaxson.
My memory was hazy, like I’d watched an old film rather than actively participated. I remembered all our conversations at the bar, and most of the chaos from playing quarters until Jaxson had quite literally carried me upstairs.