Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
I catch her smiling as we drive to the restaurant. The companionable silence is a nice change. It was a long fucking day. We’re still in the off-season, but that won’t last long. The coaching staff is already sending us schedules and planning all-team meetings. I met a few high school recruits this week who will be joining the team this year, but new faces and new blood doesn’t an easy win make.
We’re seated right away when we arrive, and I’m surprised how many people are here, considering it’s six in the evening, still early in my book.
We order drinks.
And bread.
forty-four
daisy
I’d consider shaving my legs for you.
Why is he not looking at my boobs?
I feel slightly insulted that he’s being a gentleman, considering he is not a gentleman, not in the slightest.
Weird how I’m turned on by that.
The good news is, he can conduct himself in public as if he were one, at least making a gallant effort at it, though I can see right through Drake Colter.
Still.
His eyes have not left my face.
He asks about my day. He asks about classes. He tells me about training and a meeting he has coming up and how football begins in a few weeks so they’re going to be working out and practicing in pads soon.
In this heat? Awful.
But.
I can picture him in those tight, navy pants the players wear. I can also picture him in only a pair of shoulder pads, no shirt beneath it, sexy, sweaty abs, and a trail leading from his belly button to his—
“You have that look in your eye,” he tells me, reminding me yet again that he has not once glanced down at my tits.
“Funny how I suddenly have a look when I’m thinking certain thoughts.” I punctuate the sentence by wiggling my brows, taking a sip from my wineglass, a fruity white that will taste delightful with my meal.
“Do I want to know what you were thinkin’ about this time, or am I not allowed to know?”
He loves this game.
“Well.” I set down the bread in my hands so I can lean in a little closer. “I was imagining what you looked like in your football uniform…with no shirt on. But I was also wondering why you haven’t looked at my boobs.”
If he’s surprised by this pronouncement, it is not showing on his face. “Who says I haven’t looked at your boobs?”
“You haven’t. I’ve been watching you watch me, and your eyes haven’t strayed south.”
He laughs. “That’s a crock of shit. I have too looked at your boobs. They’re great boobs.”
“When?”
“When you’re not looking?”
I sit back in my seat, pleased by this news. “Oh, okay. Good.”
Drake laughs again. “You were pissed I haven’t been checkin’ out your rack? My god, you’re adorable.”
Checking out my rack?
Er.
“I mean, it’s not every day I get to show them off.” And Stella has them bronzed up and contoured between, shadowing the valley in the middle so they look bigger than they actually are.
Drake sets down his cocktail glass and reaches over to take my hand, stroking the top of it with his thumb.
“You have beautiful tits.” He pauses. “I can’t wait to see you naked.”
I swear, my entire body blushes.
“Have you, um, been…” Um. “Counting down the dates?”
“It’s only five dates, so it’s not like it’s hard.” He shrugs. “Have you?”
I shrug, too, trying to be nonchalant, debating about whether to be honest.
“I’ve always been good at math.”
One.
Two.
I hold up two fingers. Then a third.
Than a fourth.
I wiggle my hand and slide my heeled shoe up the calf of his leg beneath the table.
Down.
Up.
Raise a brow and smile, laughing at his expression.
“Stop it, or I’ll get a boner.”
“You won’t get a boner because I’m rubbing your leg with my shoe,” I tell him, confidently.
“Wanna make a bet? Keep it up if you want to find out.”
“You’re not that easy to turn on.”
“I am when it’s you.”
“Then you’re lucky I’m not barefoot because I’d probably want to put my toes between your legs and—” You know. Feel about for your cock.
I don’t say it, but I don’t have to. He’s hanging on my every word.
“I like this flirty side of you,” he says, sipping his drink. “I also like the casual side of you.”
“I was only casual with you when I wasn’t taking this seriously.”
“What do you mean?”
One of my shoulders raises up and down. “I wasn’t sure how all this would work out.” Still do not, obviously. “You’re you, and I’m me, and…you know.”
“What does that mean? You’re you, and I’m me?”
“I had it in my head that I’m too basic—plain or whatever. Not like the girls you see online who date players, and I just thought—”
“We talked about this. I’m a normal person who doesn’t want to do anything but play football and come home and eat and not deal with people. I’m not lookin’ for a girl who wants to put me on blast all over the damn internet ’cause she’s thirsty. I want someone like you.”