Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I find Van in the kitchen, pulling out a beer from the refrigerator. When he closes the door, he sees me standing there, and a heavy look of resignation overcomes his face. He doesn’t say a word to me and gives me his back while he twists the top of the bottle before tossing it into the garbage.
“You played great last night,” I say as I lean against the half wall that separates the kitchen and the living room.
They had game four of the series against the Florida Spartans and secured the win with some outstanding goaltending by my brother Max, and tremendous defensive play by Van. I mean, sure, other players did great too and it was a team effort, but Van was awesome. And since the game was in Miami, I had to watch it on TV, but you can be assured I watched Van like a hawk when he was on screen. I decided if I was going to have a stalkerlike lust for him, I’d spare no weirdness on my part.
“Thanks,” he mutters as he moves past me into the living room. He plops down on the couch—which is also where I sleep at night—and picks up the remote control. He sets his beer on top of one powerful thigh, which looks fantastic in the jeans he’s wearing, and aims the remote at the TV.
I step into the living room and just lean back against the other side of the half wall now. I don’t sit down, because I know my outfit looks great, and I want him to get the full effect.
Skinny jeans, high heels, and an off-the-shoulder sheer blouse in cream that’s pretty damn see-through. I put on a lacy nude bra underneath, so it’s really hard to tell what’s skin and what’s not.
Van doesn’t spare me a glance as he flips to the national news.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask him genially.
“You’re looking at it,” he mutters.
Damn, it sucks that I have to work, because sitting here with Van and drinking beer could be fun. I am positive he would have no choice but to loosen up with a deadly combo of alcohol and my charm.
“Want me to fix you something to eat before I leave?” I ask him.
Van gives a long-suffering sigh and turns the TV off. He pushes up fast from the couch and heads toward his bedroom. I follow right along behind him, not willing to believe I irritated him that fast into retreat.
“I could put together a quick spaghetti,” I say as he walks into his room. I slip in right behind him before he can close his door, and then I flop down on my stomach on his bed. I rest my chin on one of my hands and give him a sassy smile that shows my dimples.
They’re usually irresistible.
Van glares down at me and asks, “What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“Just trying to get to know you,” I quip. “You make it kind of hard, you know.”
“I don’t want to know you,” he growls. “I’m a temporary roommate to your brother. You’re just a houseguest.”
I frown at him and give a petulant pout. “Now that just hurts my feelings.”
“Apparently not enough to drive you out of my room, though,” he bites out.
“Come on, Van,” I cajole. “Give me a shot. I make a fun friend, and if you’re interested in a benefits package with that friendship, I’m fucking dynamite in the sack.”
Van’s chin actually pulls in hard as his eyebrows shoot up. “You did not just say that to me.”
I look at him innocently. “Why not? It’s the twenty-first century. Believe it or not, women have a firm grip on their sexuality. Some of us even—and don’t get too bent out of shape about this—”and here I drop my voice as if I’m telling a very important secret—“actually like to have sex.”
Van’s mouth drops open, and for the first time I see confusion in his eyes. It’s brief and flickers out as quick as it ignites, but I’ve rattled him.
“I really, really like to have sex,” I add, knowing I’m probably throwing him into mental overload. “And you look like you’d be fantastic at it. I mean…I’m fantastic. I’m also quite bendy in bed. My flexibility is—”
I stop in midsentence as Van turns on his heel and bolts out of the room.
Without hesitation, I roll off the bed and follow him. I find him in the kitchen with his head tipped back and the beer flowing down his throat as he chugs it without interruption. When he finishes, he tosses the bottle into the garbage and pulls another out of the fridge.
I strike a sexy pose back against the half wall and wait for him to look at me.
He finally gives me his eyes after he takes the cap off the new bottle and tosses it. With a shake of his head, he says, “You’re not right in the head.”