Total pages in book: 174
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
He’s standing only a few feet away, all tall and frowning, as he stares at me. And I throw him a small relieved smile. Just then one of the guys says, “Oh hey, Coach Thorne. Good game.”
The second one grins. “Fucking great game, dude. I thought this season was doomed.”
The third one says something as well but I barely pay attention to him.
I’m only paying attention to Conrad, who I don’t even think heard the first two guys speak. Because his entire focus is on me, and then he begins to stride over and my heart gets louder than the stadium, which is still cheering at our team’s victory.
He bulldozes through them, barely saying a word while they keep talking, to get to me.
But when one of the guys steps in front of him to say something, he snaps his gaze away and points it at him. And right in front of my eyes that heated denim blue turns into such an icy shade that I shiver. I shiver at the chill Conrad blasts that guy with for getting in his way.
Which makes that boy scramble to get out of Conrad’s way, and then his focus is back on me again.
Then his eyes are heating up again too.
And when he reaches me, they’re flashing and intense. So intense that I feel a pull toward them, toward him and I crane my neck up as I whisper with my heart in my throat, “Surprise.”
His nostrils flare at my soft voice.
Before he grabs my hand and begins to stride again with me in tow.
I don’t get a chance to say another word after that. Or check out my surroundings as I jog behind him, my backpack slung over my shoulders.
Not that I would even want to look at the surroundings right now.
Or even talk.
Which is a surprise, because I always want to talk to him.
Right now though, I’m happy being pulled along and taken places. I’m happy with his rough fingers digging into my wrist in a way that makes me think that he’s just as afraid of losing me as I am of getting lost in this strange, crowded place.
Soon we’re in the parking lot and quickly we cross it and at last, we’re at his truck.
Still holding my hand, he snaps the door open and pulls me forward. He puts his hands on my waist and dumps me in his truck, all silently and broodily. Just as my thighs hit the leather seats, he shuts the door with a bang and rounds the vehicle.
Through the windshield, I see that the muscle on his cheek is ticking and my heart ticks along with it. I place my backpack that I packed for my weekend stay with him on the floor, between my knees, and buckle my seatbelt just as he enters the truck.
Still without a word, he starts the ignition, backs out of the spot, and then we’re off.
I’m not sure where we’re going — I’m thinking back to his house? — but I know that I want to get there fast. I know that I want to go to a place where we’re alone.
Truly alone.
And I think he feels the same as me.
He feels the same desperation.
I think all his agitation, the speed with which he’s driving and the fact that he just ran through a yellow light, is because he wants to get wherever he’s going fast as well.
And I’m proven correct in the next few minutes, when he doesn’t even get to where he’s going.
Unless his destination was in fact a random spot on the dark highway, at which he goes off the road and drives into the woods. He drives until we’re a little further in and the road isn’t as visible through the thick trunks before he brings his truck to a jerking halt.
By the time he gets out, I’m already untethered, both literally — my seat belt is off — and figuratively because I’m ready to melt with all the restlessness. So when he opens the door and wraps his hands around my waist again, this time to get me out of the cab, I’m thankful.
I’m so thankful to him that my arms go easily around his neck. And then he shuts the door again and settles me against it, hauling my thighs up, tightening them around his body before going for my face and cradling it.
“How did you get here?” he asks thickly, his eyes staring into mine, into my soul even.
My own hands settle on his cheeks too, my fingers tracing his long hair, moving it out of his gorgeous eyes. “I took the bus.”
His chest pushes into mine with a breath. “The bus.”
I nod, arching up against him, rubbing my heavy tits against his chest after the longest week I’ve ever had in my life. “I know you don’t like that. Me taking the bus. But I wanted to see you. I wanted to see the game. I know it was important and I know you thought you guys wouldn’t win, but look, you did. And I told you —”