Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Lizzy frowns. “But you’re still cute.”
“You don’t think I look like a penguin?”
"A penguin?" Lizzy interrupts, her laughter bubbling up. “No. But I was impressed with your athletic prowess.”
My prowess? Another thing no one has ever said to me.
“Prowess,” I deadpan. “What does that even mean?”
Lizzy laughs. “Sounds sexual, doesn’t it?”
Uh—yes. “Is it?”
She climbs back on to my bed, laying in the middle, hands clasped behind her head. “Of course.”
How am I supposed to know that?
“But what does it mean?”
Lizzy fishes her phone out from the back of her leggings. Taps on the screen and then, “Prowess refers to exceptional skill, talent, or expertise in a specific area or activity.” She looks up at me. “It means you’re exceptionally good at something.”
“Okay. But what does that have to do with it sounding sexual?”
She taps on her phone again. Clears her throat. “Having prowess in the bedroom is not solely about physical prowess or stamina. Having prowess in the bedroom often implies being adept at various sexual techniques, knowing how to please one's partner, and being responsive to their needs and desires.”
She clucks her tongue. “That’s definitely you.”
I gawk at her.
Glance behind me.
Point a finger at my chest. “Me?”
She thinks I have skills in the bedroom?
Actually?
“Yes.” Lizzy laughs, giving her head a shake. “Why do you look surprised.”
“Cause I am.”
"You’re acting like you've never scored a goal off the ice in all your years of playing hockey.” She laughs again, giving me a look.
I grin sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck. I don’t know what to tell her and I’m not exactly about to spill my guts about my lack of prowess, masturbating not included.
I hit ORDER on the delivery app and put the phone back in my pocket.
“Want to grab something from the kitchen? To drink?”
Her brows go up and she’s already scooting her way off the bed. “A drink to celebrate your win?”
“Sure.”
When we get to the kitchen and I pull open the fridge I discover that we don’t have much in the way of decent alcohol. A few beers—the cheap kind—a bottle of vodka, several of those canned, hundred calorie drinks that girls like and…
I lean in, staring to the back. “We have a bottle of wine.”
It’s been opened so I don’t know how good it is.
Lizzy peers into the fridge next to me. “I’ll do one of the pomegranate things. On ice?”
Awesome.
I pull a beer and her drink from the fridge, and open a cabinet.
Jesus, we don’t have a single glass to pour this in, just shitty plastic cups, none of which match. Like, where did we even get these? I bet if I walked back over to Lizzy’s house and went into her kitchen I would not only find glass glasses—but I bet they would all match and have some cute design on them.
I crack her can before I crack mine. “Are you sure you want this in a cup? We only have plastic.”
Lizzy nods. “That’s no problem. I realize that this isn’t the Ritz.”
“Do you have matching sets at your place?”
Another nod.
“I knew it.” I chuckle, filling a cup emblazoned with CUM’ON I WANNA LAY YA, KAPPA ZETA UPSILON ANNUAL HAWAIIAN BASH with ice. Then I pour in the pom seltzer and had it to her.
She takes a sip, smiling at me from over the brim. Hums. “Mmm, this is yummy. Thank you.”
You’re yummy, I want to say but don’t. Because I wouldn’t know what else to say after that and don’t want to sound like a fucking tool.
Not brave enough.
Maybe I’ll get to a place where I don’t feel like a total wanker saying shit like that but today is not that day…
I crack open my beer and sip the foam off the top, leaning against the counter.
“Look at us drinking together.” She smiles. “Sure you don’t want to go to the bar?”
The bar? “Shit, I haven’t been to a bar in months.”
Her eyes widen. “Really? Why?”
I shrug. “Just haven’t? We go to diner sometimes and hang out in town but not usually during the season. I have no idea why my roommates went out tonight, that’s not usually their thing either.” Some of the guys on the team can go drink until they’re under a table—but my roommates aren’t soaks.
“I’d probably have to drink an entire case of beer to get drunk and I’m not spending that kind of money at the bar,” I confess. “Plus, I get handsy when I drink.”
Lizzy wiggles her eyebrows, stepping forward, between my legs. “You do not get handsy when you get drunk, you liar. Although I appreciate you saying so.”
“Yeah you’re right—I don’t get handsy. It would be cool if I did, though, wouldn’t it?”
She laughs, taking another sip from her cup. “I’d only think it was cool if it was my ass you put your hand on.”