Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
“No.” She opens her mouth to elaborate, but seems to change tack, peering up at him. “I don’t want you to think I’m asking for pity.”
“I won’t,” I vow, meaning it. I just want to know every last thought in her head.
She nods. Shifts. “Well I thought once I was finished with college, it would be easier to make friends. I wouldn’t be the youngest one of the group anymore. And my reputation as a…”
“Genius.”
“Yes, that it wouldn’t follow me everywhere outside of a school setting. But I was wrong.” Her shoulder lifts and drops. “I thought I could fill this house with friends and people, but…well, I’m very off-putting.”
Wait. Huh? “You’re off-putting?” My shout is so loud, a flock of birds takes off from the closest tree. “Who the hell told you that?”
“Nobody. It’s just the truth. People don’t want a know-it-all around. I correct everyone when they state a false belief or fact. I’ve tried to stop, but once I get comfortable, I can’t help it. Pointing out mistakes comes naturally to me. It breeds resentment.”
“Missy.” Seriously, it’s like someone is strangling me. “Anyone who resents you isn’t worth your time. Your brain is something to be celebrated, not…begrudged.” I’m pulling on the collar of my polo shirt trying to cool myself down, but it’s not helping. “I don’t like the idea of you living in that big house being lonely all the time.”
“I don’t like it either. That’s where you come in.”
Oh shit, is she asking me to live with her? Have I gotten even luckier?
“You’re going to give me a baby,” she clarifies.
My stomach drops. “Right. You won’t be alone anymore. Because of the baby.”
She smiles, as if glad we’re on the same page.
Cutie, we’re in completely different books.
She’s in a science textbook and I’m in Romeo and Juliet or some shit.
Isn’t that the one where the dude drinks poison over losing a girl?
Sounds about right.
“I’ll just run back inside for a second and put these in some water,” Missy says, backing away step by step. “Don’t leave.”
“Don’t worry.” Your sperm donor isn’t going anywhere.
I lean against the front bumper of the truck and wait while she runs back inside. A minute later, she jogs back out and I almost swallow my tongue over the way her tits jiggle around in her white tank top. Dear lord, how am I going to make it through this game? I make matters worse by boosting her up into the truck, dragging the nylon seatbelt down the center of her rack and locking her into place. “Thanks,” she says, sounding a little winded.
And those nipples pop up into little peaks, right there in front of my eyes.
The proof that I’ve turned her on gives me the push I need to slide my palm between the leather seat and her pussy, rubbing the top of her slit with the heel of my hand, squeezing her warmth until she whimpers. “Thanks, who?”
“Thanks, Daddy,” she says in a rush.
I lean in and speak against her soft mouth. “Going to get you pregnant as fuck tonight.”
Her head falls back on the seat. “Yes. But…but you said we have to spend time together first, so my body will trust yours. R-right?”
The reminder of my selfish lie punches a hole in my gut. But I’m not going to lose this day with her. No way. It’s what I’m going to hold on to when she’s gone. “Yeah.” I kiss her mouth once, twice, greeting her shy tongue with a possessive stroke from mine. “We have to spend time together.”
That trickle of relief in her golden eyes must be my imagination. Or wishful thinking. I’m searching for some sign that she wants to spend time with me because I feel like a bastard for misleading her. With my throat locked up, I head for the driver’s side and bring the engine of my truck to life. There’s more than enough room in her driveway to flip a U-turn and drive toward the gates, so that’s what I do, taking a right onto the manicured avenue.
“Do you miss playing football?”
“Yeah.” That answer comes from my gut. “I love the game. Strategy. I love being on a team and wanting something really bad at the same time with a bunch of other people. It’s a feeling that’s hard to capture anywhere else.”
That’s not entirely true. Driving this truck with Missy as the passenger is a hell of a lot better than any game. It’s everything I get out of football, plus a sense of responsibility and protectiveness that no man could ever get on a football field. It’s an achievement that no trophy could represent.
“Did you ever think of coaching?” she asks me, turning slightly and leaning her cheek against the seat. “You’re the kind of man that other men look up to. It seems like a natural fit.”