Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Don’t you dare fucking say it.
I don’t—but it’s close—and when I come, it’s hotter than the water that washes it down the drain.
I don’t know how long I stand under the shower spray before rinsing the rest of my body, but it’s long enough that Teddy is dressed and downstairs, curled up on the living room sofa when I finish and find her.
Nothing has been turned on, not the television or radio, and she’s not playing on her phone. There’s just the light from the kitchen streaming into the room casting a glow. Knees drawn to her chest, Teddy has a blanket in her lap, pulled to her chin, shoulders bare except for the straps of what must be a white tank top.
“Hey.” She looks up when I enter the room, snuggling deeper into the blanket.
“Hey.” I plop down in a leather chair across from her, propping my feet up on the wooden coffee table. Spreading my legs, I lace my fingers behind my neck—a better position to observe her in.
She eyes me up in the dark, but not in a calculating way. It’s more like she’s trying to decide if I’m going to pounce on her or whatever—if she should get the fuck out of the room or stay put.
I want to laugh at her aversion to me, and at the same time, I want to push her buttons.
It’s late and dark, and I’m fucking beat, but I can’t just leave her sitting here, alone.
Today ended up being shit, and it looks like that’s how it’s going to end. I have a strange girl in my house—the house that is my sanctuary—and I pray to God she can’t remember how to get here. The last thing I fucking need is her dropping by unexpectedly, expecting something…
Then I’d have to be a complete dick, which would make me feel like an asshole. And I hate when I have to be an asshole.
Actually, that’s a lie—I fucking love it.
But looking at her? I’d hate to be an ass to Teddy. She looks so sweet, curled up on my couch, snuggling in my blankets and Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck am I saying?
“Tired?” she asks softly.
“Yeah.”
“You should go to bed.”
“You trying to get rid of me?”
“No.” She laughs. “Besides, it’s your house. You probably want to get rid of me. I’m the one invading your space.”
That’s true.
“Nah. It’s cool.” I glance toward the staircase—the dark cherry balustrade, polished to a shine along with the counters, cabinets, and whatever else Barb scrubs when she’s here. It leads to the second level, to the two guest bedrooms. “Take whichever room you want. They’re both on the same side of the hallway as the bathroom.”
“Thank you.” She pauses, and I can hear her thinking. “I’ll be gone first thing in the morning, promise.”
“Whatever, it’s not a big deal.” I cross my legs at the ankles. “I’ll probably be gone anyway—I run every morning.”
“Oh? What time?”
“I generally hit the pavement by six.”
“Wow, even on the weekends?”
“Yeah. We usually have matches on the weekends, so gotta stay conditioned.”
“Matches? For what?”
“Rugby.”
“You’re a player?”
The way she says player gives me pause, and I search for a hidden meaning on her expression. When I don’t find one, I give my head a terse nod.
“Yup.”
There’s a short hesitation before, “Wait, is the rugby thing intramural, or is it an actual university-sanctioned sport?”
“It’s a sport.”
“So do you travel?”
“Yes.”
“Like…where to?”
“Same places the football and baseball teams travel to, if they have rugby.”
Teddy wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know where those places are.”
“You’re not a sports fan?”
“Nope. I mean, it’s fine, but I don’t, like, go to football games or anything.”
“Why?” You can bet your sweet little ass her jock-chasing friends do.
“I just don’t.”
“Not even with your friends?”
“No. Those sports passes are really expensive.”
Hmm.
“Maybe you’d like rugby better than those other sports anyway.”
“And why is that?”
“Those other sports? The guys are all a bunch of pussies.”
This gets me a laugh, deep and throaty and sexy. Teddy covers her mouth with a hand, stifling a snort.
My brows shoot up. “Did you just snort?”
She groans, drops her hand. “Ugh, you heard that?”
“I mean, yes? It was an audible snort.”
And it was so fucking adorable.
“I hate when I do that.”
“So you’re a snorter?”
“Could you not call it that?”
“Snorter? Do you have a better word for it?”
“Not giving it a word is a better word for it. And not bringing it up again would be fantastic.”
“But it’s kind of cute.”
“Stop.”
I oink like a pig.
“Oh my god.”
I oink again.
“Kipling.”
No she did not just call me that. “Hey, we had a deal about the names.”
“Then stop oinking!”
“That was a snort.” I’m tempted to do it again. “Not to be confused with a fart. Two opposites ends.”
Teddy sits up, indignant, blanket falling away and revealing her crisp white tank top. The shadow of her nipples beneath, chest rising and falling. “I do not sound like a pig when I snort!”