Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
We head up the stairs. Van stops at a hallway closet and grabs a toothbrush, handing it to me. “I know this is your room,” I say when he starts to open the door.
“That’s right. You snuck in here before.” He smirks.
“I can’t stay in here.” He ignores me.
“You can’t sleep in your pants. I’ll get you a pair of my boxers.” He releases my hand to go into his closet. Seconds later, he reappears with a pair. “Bathroom’s there.” He nods.
“Thanks.” I close and lock the door behind me.
I pull off my bra and pants before slipping into Van’s boxers. I have to roll them a few times just to make them somewhat fit. The shirt Van gave me to wear to the game is now long enough to cover them. You can’t tell I even have them on. I’m now in all his clothes except for my freaking panties.
Opening my purse, I find my contacts case. I proceed to remove them before brushing my teeth and slipping my glasses on.
I stare at myself in the mirror for a second, wondering how the hell I got here. I hear him flip the TV on before turning it down.
“Come on, Red,” Van calls impatiently.
When I open the door, Van is standing there in nothing but a pair of low-hanging sweatpants. His eyes roam up my legs and don’t stop until they lock with mine.
I have highly underestimated Van. He really does get whatever he puts his mind to.
Chapter
Sixteen
VAN
“Nice shirt.” I wink. Red’s nervous. She thinks I’m going to jump her the minute the lights turn out. In truth, I’d jump her with the lights fully on so I can see every gorgeous part of her body, but the girl’s hands are fisted by her side, and she’s rocking lightly on the balls of her feet as if she’s trying to decide whether she should fight or flee.
“It’s yours.”
“I know. Looks good on you. Better on you than me.” I tilt my head toward the bed. “Hop under the covers.”
“Under?”
“Yeah, I’ll lay on top of them.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Won’t you be cold?”
“Nope.”
She ambles over to the bed and slowly climbs in, pulling the blue comforter up to her neck so that all I can see is her face and a halo of red hair, making it seem like the pillow is on fire. I know I am. You could drop me in the Antarctic next to penguins and seals and I’d still burn up if all I had was something that smelled like her. To some, maybe being this far gone over a girl would be embarrassing, but I like it. All my life, I’ve been passionate about things—football, mostly. Girls never interested me, to the point that my dad, who is gay, wondered if I was, too. But no one moved me, not like football, not like my family. It made sense to me to be focused on Fleur. She has a hard time believing it, but time will change her. She’s got a lot of scars built up, and it takes a while to chip away at barricades she spent years erecting.
“You comfy?” I cradle my head on top of my interlaced fingers and stare at the ceiling. It’s the only way I can be patient right now with her lying beside me wearing my T-shirt and boxers. If I look at her, I’m probably going to rip all the covers off, strip her down to her birthday suit, and do a million dirty things to her body that she’s not ready for. I clench my fingers tighter.
“Your bed is surprisingly soft.”
“Did you think I slept on a board? My body is all bruised from the game.”
“Is it really?” She pops up on one elbow, and the covers fall away. I can make out the swell of her breasts beneath the cotton of the shirt. “I actually wondered if it hurt when that one guy jammed his helmet into your thigh.”
I bite back a moan and toss a corner of the comforter over my hard-on. “It hurt. Do you want to kiss it and make it better?”
“Your thigh?”
“I’m in pain other places too if the thigh is out.” My dick could use a fondle and a kiss.
“Why do I have a feeling this is a sex thing?”
“Because you’re smart.” I roll over my side so my back is to her. “I’ve got others, though.”
She gasps. “Oh my God. When did this happen?”
There’s a whisper-light touch against my back. I shiver from the contact. “Third quarter. In the end zone.”
“When that one guy tackled you from behind.”
“That’s the one.” I grit my teeth. Inviting her to touch me might have been a mistake.
“Is it this bad all over?” The tip of her finger is tracing the outline of my bruise. It’s the sweetest torture ever.