Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
With the clock ticking, I’m behind the center once more, taking the snap, then hunting for an open man.
Where the hell is a receiver when you need one?
But I spot an opening, a line down the right side of the field if I can just weasel past that big-ass linebacker.
Sometimes, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
Tucking the ball into my arm, I run like hell, dodging the defensive end, darting around a linebacker, and then the end zone is mere yards away.
All I have to do is run like hell. And I fucking do, carrying the ball all the way.
Holy shit.
I’m electrified as my teammates swarm me, high-fiving and chest-bumping. They’re so ready to crack open the sparkling cider.
But there are ten seconds left, and anything can happen. After Hayden secures the extra point, I pump a fist, then pace the sidelines, where all I can do is watch.
When the Mustangs’ quarterback throws a Hail Mary pass, time freezes as the ball sails down, down, and down the field, looking like it’ll land in a receiver’s arm right in the end zone. But Isaiah cuts in and snatches the ball from the air for a goddamn game-ending interception.
We did it. We fucking did it.
My teammates crush me in the most epic hug of all time as we pull it off—a repeat.
I guess trading for me wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
I look to the stands, wishing my brother were here but knowing he’d be as thrilled as I am.
But someone else who loves me is here. When I return to my hotel, my voice is nearly gone, but my energy is sky-high, especially since Jason’s waiting for me in the lobby bar.
He didn’t come to the game. He said it would look to fans like he was rooting for me. I could understand that. A compromise here or there for our fans is a small sacrifice for being together.
Here in the lobby bar, he holds out a glass of champagne.
“Fuck you. I hate kitty litter,” Jason grumbles as I stride over to him. I take the champagne, set it down on the bar, and grab his face.
Then I kiss the man I love.
When I break the kiss, I whisper hoarsely against his lips, “You may hate kitty litter, but you’ll love fucking a Super Bowl winner.”
In my hotel room, he shows me how much he loves it by bending me over the bed and taking me hard and fast. It’s intense and bone-rattling, and it borderline hurts as he drives into me, his hand on my shoulder blade, his mouth near my ear.
“Made me so hot watching you run that ball,” he grunts.
“Turned me on, winning a Super Bowl,” I rasp out in my fading voice.
“It gets me so hard, fucking a Super Bowl winner.”
“Winning one makes me wanna come on you,” I mutter.
He obeys, pulling out and then flopping to his back. I climb onto him, sink down on his cock, and stroke myself till the pleasure consumes me. I finish my night by finishing on his chest.
He follows me off the cliff with a dirty, satisfied groan.
A little later, when we’re cleaned up and under the covers, he sighs contentedly. “Question for you. I’m already on kitty litter detail since, you know, the cat lives with me. So, how does this change anything?”
“That’s a good question. I guess I’ll need to monitor you to make sure you do it every day,” I suggest, hoping Jason hears more in my offer.
“And how would you do that exactly, Beck? I mean, you do sleep over a lot already, I suppose,” he deadpans.
Enough crumbs. Time to be bold. “You could ask me to move in with you,” I suggest in my shredded voice.
He flips to his side and props his head in his hand. “Move in with me,” he says with a smile.
“So you can fuck a Super Bowl winner any time you want?”
He laughs. “Yes, baby. I love fucking a Super Bowl winner, but next time, that Super Bowl winner is going to fuck me on our Alaskan king.”
Our.
That sounds very good to me.
Another thing that sounds good is introducing Jason to my friends in Los Angeles. The next day, we go to breakfast at a café in Venice Beach where we meet Rachel.
Is this a bad idea? She’s my friend, but she’s also an ex. I hope it won’t be weird, even though Jason knows she’s a part of my life.
Rachel’s already here, and she pops up from the table, and rushes over to us. I’m expecting her to throw her arms around me, but she goes straight to Jason. Clasps his shoulders. Looks up at him since he’s a foot taller. “Thank you,” she says, earnestly.
He furrows his brow, but then a second later the line is gone. Doesn’t take him long to get her meaning. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says.