Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“You can fall asleep, Anna,” he murmurs in my ear as his fingers dance across my breasts.
“I don’t want to fall asleep if you’re still here. I want to do…I want more,” I say sleepily. “Besides, you did all the work.”
“My mouth on your pussy is not work, believe me. And you’re too tired. Next time,” he answers, kissing my brow. “I need to go anyhow.”
I try to protest, but there’s little point to it; he unwinds me from his body, then takes the time to tuck the blankets back around my limbs. I watch him get dressed, amazed at how he seems to own the space— my own bedroom— even when doing something as menial as putting his clothes on. No wonder he’s such a strong leader on the field; he has the sort of presence that makes you certain he’s in charge. He gives me a long look, then a half sort of smile, and finally slips out of my room. I hear him pause by the couch, I assume to pull his shoes on, and am about to drift back to sleep when I hear another door open— Trishelle’s door.
I gasp as silently as I can manage, and sit up— she’s going to see him in the living room. Will he tell her what happened? Will she know? I stand up too fast, dizzy and achy from last night’s events, and hurry to the door, listening through it.
“Tyson!” Trishelle says cheerfully. “I didn’t realize you stayed over.”
“I did,” Tyson says in that solid, steady voice.
“I had a great time,” Trishelle says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. I frown at the door. Trishelle goes on. “See you later?”
“Sure,” Tyson says politely. I hear some shuffling, and then the front door closing. I force myself to count to thirty, then open my bedroom door. Trishelle is in the kitchen, making herself a cup of coffee. There are circles under her eyes, but last night’s makeup is making her look perkier than I suspect she really is.
“Hey! Did I wake you up when we came in?” she asks. There’s weight to her words, like she’s making sure that if I’d missed the fact that she came home with a guy, I’d know now. The thing I really notice though is the fact that Trishelle, my best friend for over a decade, didn’t even notice I wasn’t home, and didn’t think to ask if I was cool with her bringing a guy here.
“No. I didn’t hear you,” I answer, which is technically true, I suppose. I sit down at the bar, unsure what to say. Trishelle is buzzing in the kitchen, an aura of delight around her. I can tell by her body language that she wants me to ask about the guy who just left, or, if I’d missed that, the “we” she’d just mentioned. I bite, just because I want to know what she’ll say. “So, how was that auction thing?”
She pounces, spinning to me and leaning over the counter so her cleavage— she’s still wearing the push-up bra from last night— bulges. “Anna, it was crazy. So, I was the second to last one to go, and I was sort of sad because all the really hot senior players had already bid on the other girls. It was pretty much a given that me and the girl who just barely made weight to get on the squad were going to get stuck with juniors, and I basically wanted to cry. It just sucks, you know? I’ve worked so hard, and the captains intentionally put me last, and…well…” She sighs, takes a quick drink of coffee, and goes on. “So, I get up on the stage, and I’m spinning around and everything, trying to not look miserable, and then all of the sudden Tyson Slate bids on me.”
“Tyson Slate,” I say.
“You wouldn’t know who he is since you don’t follow football,” Trishelle says, waving a hand at me. “But he’s the senior star of the team, and comes from this legendary football family, and he never does stuff like bid in the auction. He basically doesn’t do anything but play football. He’s stupid hot though, and all mysterious and broody, probably cause his dad is a legit murderer and is on trial. The dad is in the tabloids all the time— I bet you’d recognize him.”
“Maybe so.” I’m trying to keep my face neutral. Trying to keep my face unreadable. Like Tyson’s.
“So he bids on me. Like, a winning bid. It’s the first time he’s ever bid on anyone. I think the seniors cheerleaders were a little mad, honestly, because they sort of thought of him as their prize, you know? They’re always trying to hook up with him, but none of them have. Anyway, everyone was cheering and celebrating and he comes and helps me down off the stage and we party for a few hours with everyone else and I drink way too many cups of hunch punch, but it was just so crazy because like…Tyson Slate! He won me!”