Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“Sounds like a new version of a sandwich compliment—a sandwich admission,” she says sleepily, then stretches.
Damn, she looks good in my bed, her hair fanning out on the pillow, her cheeks flush.
“That’s him for you,” I say, debating whether to reply to my dad right now or not.
“You and he have a complicated relationship,” she says, an observation rather than a question.
“We do. He’s intense. A little controlling,” I say in an obvious understatement. But she’s seen the fridge, she knows my schedule, and she’s aware I work out after games, too, and that Dad hired a personal coach for me as well. “He wants the best for me though. Always has.”
“That probably makes it even more complicated,” she says, with a sympathetic smile.
“Yeah. It really does. He’s a great agent though. The deals he’s landed for me have been top-notch. Both with the teams and endorsements.”
“Maybe because you’re a great player.”
I glance over at her, all soft and morning sexy. “Maybe,” I say absently, then what the fuck? Why the hell am I talking about my agent-slash-dad while I’m in bed with this woman? I toss the phone on the nightstand, far away, then slink a hand around her stomach. “Play hooky with me today.”
“What?” She asks it like she’s never heard of the concept.
I pinch her side. “Did you ever skip class?”
Her jaw drops. She swats my chest. “Wesley Bryant!”
I laugh. “Is that a no?”
She narrows her brow at me, all stern. Librarian stern, come to think of it. And I don’t mind. “Of course I never skipped a class. Why would I?”
“To have fun,” I counter with a smirk.
She lifts her chin primly. “Class is fun.”
This woman. She’s the total opposite of me, yet that doesn’t seem to matter. I drop a kiss to her nose. “You’re such a hot nerd.”
Narrowing her eyes, she growls at me. “And you’re such a sensitive jock. So there.”
“Then you should understand why I need to play hooky with you. It will help my sensitive side,” I say, laying it on thick.
She rolls her eyes. “Right. Sure.” She takes a beat. “Also, I don’t have work today, so there’s no hooky to play.”
“But I bet you were going to do errands, or read a book, or research something. So play hooky from that.” I refuse to give up.
She winces. “I signed up for a walking tour of the Marina this morning. With a local city guides group.”
Damn. That means she’s taking off soon, even though I’m intrigued. “That sounds like fun actually.”
“See? This is why I don’t play hooky. Because other things are fun.”
“When is it? The tour?”
She peers at the digital clock on my nightstand. “In an hour and a half.”
I could offer to tag along, but the thing is…I’d rather have her to myself. I go in for the kill. I nuzzle her neck, grazing my mouth along her skin up to her ear. “I bet I can convince you to skip it.”
With a hitch in her breath, she asks, “How would you convince me?”
Another kiss. Then, a flick of my tongue against her ear while my hand coasts down her stomach. “Let me fuck you again and then take you out for that second date instead.”
She stops squirming. Something I can’t quite read flickers in her blue eyes. A question perhaps? She parts her lips, like she’s going to ask me something after all. But she must think the better of it since she says, “Let me brush my teeth first.”
“I’ll do the same.”
A minute later, our minty-fresh mouths meet and I pull her on top of me, kissing her as the morning light streams through the windows, running my palms along her sun-kissed skin. As she melts into my touch, I slide a hand up her breasts, over her chest to her neck.
She loves when I touch her there. I don’t press too hard. But I do curl my palm around her throat gently and hold her close as I cover her mouth with mine.
It’s the kind of slow, sultry kiss that has her moaning, arching, asking. Then, I fuck my roommate, and I don’t think once about the things or the people I’m avoiding.
Why would I? I’ve convinced my roomie to go on that long-awaited second date with me.
This is winning.
An hour or so later, I do write back, telling my dad I’m hanging with a friend today, but I won’t miss my training session with Domingo this afternoon. It’s one thing to skip lunch with Dad; it’s another to blow off a trainer. That’s just rude.
But I do feel a little rebellious—in a good way, and in a necessary way too—as I send that note. Maybe that’s why I never confirmed lunch plans with him last night. Maybe I knew on some level I was going to have other plans for today. Plans with her.