Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Fuck.
None of us are kids anymore.
None of us want to go back to those days.
I just wish he wouldn’t wear his armor plating all the time.
The girl starts by swimming breaststroke. There’s an elegance to her style that only comes with the confidence of regular swimming. Then she switches to crawling and cuts through the water like she’s an aquatic creature rather than a land-dwelling human. Fascinated, I watch for a length, then enter the water as she turns at the end, racing her in a fast-paced lap. She’s good. Better than I would ever have guessed, but not as fast as me. Men have a level of upper body strength that it’s not possible for women to compete against. Still, she’s a skilled swimmer, and I respect everything about that.
I complete all my planned laps and then pull myself onto the side of the pool, watching her swim some more. Eventually, she comes up for air, too, clinging to the tiled side while she catches her breath.
“You’re a great swimmer,” I say. My deep voice echoes in the cavernous space, and she flinches.
Pulling up her goggles, she focuses her dark brown eyes on me. I noticed them yesterday; how they soak up all the light into their thoughtful depths. She’d looked scared when Jacob’s attention laser focused on her, which struck me as odd. Most girls are eager to catch his attention, and if not eager, then at least curious.
“Thanks.” Her rich tone makes me wonder if she can sing like Adele.
“You swim a lot?”
She pulls off her goggles and easily hauls herself out of the water. “Are you asking if I come here often?”
I laugh at the cheesy pickup line. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
“I’m a freshman,” she says. Well, that explains a lot.
“Did you enjoy tearing my brother a new one?”
She shrugs as rivulets of water run from her shoulders into her cleavage. My mouth goes dry watching.
“Your brother’s an outstanding hockey player, but he’d be even better on and off the ice if he lost the attitude.”
I rub the back of my neck and stretch my arms overhead, conscious that I might stiffen up in the cool air and undo the work I just put in. “He’s a good guy, and he loves his sport.”
“And sticking his dick into anything with a pulse.”
“He’s an athlete.” It sounds like an excuse, but it’s not. If women could experience what it’s like to bear the load of all this testosterone, they’d understand our fixation with porn and fucking. If I don’t release every day, my balls ache, and my training goes to shit. Jacob and Hayes are the same, and if our teammates’ track records are anything to go by, I guess it’s not just a Drayton problem.
“And my vagina is not an extension of the hockey training facility.”
Like a preteen in sex-ed, my cock twitches at the mention of the V word. Jesus. Have I not matured even slightly since then? There’s no blaming it on pent-up sexual tension because I fucked less than twelve hours ago, and I jerked off this morning. If my dick gets any more action, it’ll drop off.
“I’m not suggesting it is. What’s your name?”
“I told your brother last night.”
She rubs the water from her thighs, and my gaze follows the movement. Even though they’re thick, they’re toned, and her skin has a slight tan left over from summer. Jacob told me he didn’t know her name, but he thought there was something familiar about her. He asked if I’d fucked her, but it was a definite no from me. There is something, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“Did we go to school together?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“Are you secretly famous?”
“I don’t think being secretly famous is a thing.”
“Smart ass.” I grin because her sassiness is funny, and I appreciate humor in a woman.
“I’m not famous.” She smiles, but something about it makes me wonder if she’s lying. Something secretive and knowing.
“So, why do you look so familiar?”
“I have no idea. But you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Maybe you’ll work it out.”
“I’ve got good hands, too, if you need help with stretching,” I offer hopefully.
She smirks and rises, and I follow, drawing up to my full six-two. Her black-coffee gaze drifts over my dripping wet body, following a rivulet of water between my pecs, over the ladder of my abs, and into the waistband of my shorts. It’s like she’s mesmerized or doesn’t give a shit if I notice her staring. Her eyes linger on my shorts, which are clinging to my package. I try to stifle my grin, but she’s too cute and way too obvious. For all her denial, she likes what she sees.
I grab my dick and heft it to the side, interrupting her fascinated gawping, and laugh when she takes a step back, like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.