Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Roan, I’m not a bad guy.” His blue eyes soften, warming the iciest parts of me.
I cool every part inside me, especially the heat flooding down to my dick. “Sucks for you then, rat,” I mutter, leaning in to brush my words against the shell of his ear, “because I am.”
Hollis
The crowd screams when I make my shot. Adrenaline races through my veins, chasing away every nervous or uneasy feeling. When I’m on the basketball court, I’m in my element. A few guys from the team slap my back in appreciation as they pass.
Not the Hoodlums.
Terrence curls his lip up in disgust.
Cal’s nostrils flare.
Jordy shoots me glares filled with venom and hate.
Besides that, still feeling pretty good.
That is, until I catch Roan’s stare on the sidelines. He’s benched, just as he said, watching the game with furrowed brows and sadness gleaming in his eyes.
Someone from LHS rams into me, knocking me to a knee. Coach yells at me to pull my head out of my ass. Roan now smirks at me, satisfied.
Fucker.
“We wipe our asses with Hood River trash,” the Lebanon High kid mutters.
My eyes track the ball, ignoring this douchebag. He says something else, his attention diverted my way, and not on the play.
“And we embarrass Lebanon losers in front of all their friends and family,” I grunt as I dart around him, intercepting the ball that was meant for him.
The crowd screams again, numbing me with a pleasure you can only feel when everyone is rooting for your success. I storm down the court, sidestepping every LHS asshole along the way, before throwing the ball from the three-point line.
Swoosh!
Coach yells at me again, but this time he’s grinning. “Way to run the court, English!”
By half time, I’m starting to feel slightly woozy. The rush of adrenaline has sapped up the last of my energy. I knew I should have grabbed more than a protein shake. We’re all herded into the locker room so the cheerleaders can perform their halftime show. I get knocked along the wall a couple of times. Blindly, I reach out to steady myself. My palm wraps around Roan’s firm bicep.
Oh shit.
I should let go, but I can only stare at him, hating that he makes me feel even more lightheaded than before. He grips my wrist in a punishing hold, prying me from him. But, rather than letting go, he hauls me over to his locker.
“You’re going to pass out, rat,” he complains as he flings open his locker. “Coach won’t let me bail you out, so you’re going to have to figure your shit out and fast.”
Coach is rambling about kicking LHS’s ass, but I’m too focused on Roan to hear all the details of his gloating.
Roan pulls out a package of peanut butter crackers. My stomach recoils. His features darken when he notices my reaction. Before I can open my mouth to protest, he rips open the package and shoves a cracker at me.
“Eat this. Now.”
I shake my head. “I…”
“So help me, rat. Eat it or I’ll make you.”
Anger pulses deep inside me. It makes my gut clench hard and painfully like a fist. Rather than get into it with him, I snag the cracker and make a great, messy show of eating it. He smirks and hands me another one.
“Good little rodent.”
“Fuck off,” I grumble.
His eyes dart to my mouth, chasing away my irritation with a shot of heat. When he lifts his hand, I stop mid-chew. Oblivious to the chaos around us as Coach says something that makes everyone cheer, Roan lifts his thumb to my mouth. My breath catches in my throat.
“Crumbs.” He utters the word. I see it tumble past his lips more than I actually hear it over the noise. His thumb brushes along my bottom lip.
Time slows like molasses hanging thickly from an overturned jar.
The moment almost passes, but lingers.
Barely.
Seconds drag by, the heat of his thumb on my lip scarring me.
He pins me with a hot stare for what feels like an eternity. I’m no longer breathing. My heart doesn’t beat. I simply stare at him.
He kills the spell when he shoves the pack of crackers into my chest. “Eat so you don’t fuck up the game.”
With those words, he’s gone.
I’m left feeling even more fucked up than ever.
Why does Roan get inside me and strip me bare every damn time? Being so stupidly affected by him is becoming an issue. It’s overwhelming and exhausting.
And exhilarating.
Thrumming with adrenaline, this time the Roan induced kind, I run out of the locker room with the rest of the team to go kick some Lebanon loser ass.
“Keep kicking ass out there, English, and you might just lead this team to the state championship,” Coach says, slapping me on the back. “Awesome work out there.”
He turns to shower praise on a couple of other guys. I’m left grinning.