Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Kiss me like you mean it,” she whispers.
“Where?” I whisper back.
“On my mouth, you goof.”
“Oh.” I pout. “I thought maybe you meant I should kiss your pussy like I mean it.”
Sweet.
Smooth.
Mine.
“Maybe you can show me how much you mean it later.”
Our mouths meet, and it’s slow and deliberate. Different.
Better.
We’ve had a few trials, Ryann and I. Already jumped a few hurdles that’ve been thrown our way, and we’ve done them together.
She’s my best friend.
Fuckin amazing, isn’t it, when you think about it?
“If you had told me a few weeks ago when Diego Lorenz paid me to break up with you that we would be lyin’ in bed together, eatin’ burgers out of a plastic container, and you would end up one of my best friends, I would have told you to piss off.”
Ryann giggles, rubbing a hand across my cheek, along my stubble. “That is so sweet.”
We laugh.
“Yeah, cheesy is my new middle name.”
“I love how you’ve become so sensitive all of a sudden.”
“Have I?”
“Yes. You love holding hands and wait for me after class. And when I’m having an off day, you try to cheer me up. I appreciate that.”
Gag.
My shoulders move up and down. “Guess I do like holdin’ hands.”
And waiting for her after class. And touching her ass in public, and when no one is looking, I like grazing her boobs with my hand and making it look like an accident.
It’s not.
I do that shit on purpose.
Ha!
“So what happens next?” Ryann asks.
“What do you mean?”
“After this football season is over?”
I consider this question. “Once the season is over, the real hard work begins. I do the Combine, then the draft. You can come with me if you want, or take it one day at a time.”
I want her there with me.
Drake and Drew will of course come, along with Duke and Eli, but Ryann—she’s who I want there by my side if she’s willing to put up with my bullshit until then.
“All right.”
I lean in and kiss that simple ‘all right’ into her lips.
“Remind me to send that douche Diego a thank you card, would you? He did me the hugest favor anyone’s ever done.”
“Can I sign it too?”
I nod. “Fuck yes, we’ll sign it together. It’ll be hilarious.”
“What’s it going to say?”
I gaze at the ceiling for inspiration. “Dear Diego, just a quick note to thank you. I thought I was doing you the favor, but the truth is, you might have lost the girl, but I’m the one who found her.”
Ryann raises her brows, surprised at my prose. “Babe! You’re a wordsmith!” She rolls out from under me, hands going to the hem of her T-shirt. Pulls it up over her head. “That is so hot.”
Fuck yeah, it’s hot.
So are my girlfriend’s naked tits when she throws her shirt to the ground and goes for the hemline of mine.
Game.
On.
epilogue
Ryann
Six months later
“Dad, please take it easy. You need to chill.”
My dad is acting like a teenage girl at a boyband concert, laughing at whatever comes out of Dallas’s or the twins’ mouths, smacking them on the back like they’re his teammates and agreeing with every stupid thing they say.
It’s over-the-top.
“I can’t act normal. My daughter is moving in with her boyfriend, who happens to be going through the NFL draft, who happens to be Duke Colter’s brother. There is no chill, Ryann.”
He’s holding one of the last boxes of my bathroom essentials when Dallas walks through the door, also carrying a box of my stuff.
He overhears my dad and glances over, setting my box at the bottom of the stairs so we can take it to the bathroom when we go up.
“Why is there no chill, Ryann?”
My boyfriend wipes his hands down the front of his jeans.
I roll my eyes. “My dad keeps expecting Duke to materialize and waltz through the door, and if he does, Dad will shit his pants.”
“Ryann!” Dad’s eyes bug out of his head. He’s horrified by my declaration, gaze darting back and forth between us. “I would not shit my pants.”
I grin at him. “It’s a metaphor, Dad. We know you’re not going to shit yourself.”
My mom couldn’t make it this weekend; she had a last-minute emergency session with two clients going through a divorce who needed mediation. But she’s had her fill of Dallas, having met him a few times when I brought him home, then again when he came with us on a short spring break trip to my grandparents’ condo in Florida.
Plus, she wasn’t keen on the idea of manual labor.
Mom isn’t the warm-and-fuzzy maternal type—she learned what she needed to know about Dallas and is fine with Dad taking the reins on this moving weekend since it’s mostly heavy lifting and moving things from my apartment to the boys’ house.
Dallas actually doesn’t have much time left to live in this house. The football draft is looming, and if he makes a team (which he will), he’ll have to move to the city where the team is located while I finish my senior year.