Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Bang, bang, bang.
Joy opens the door in a midthigh-length T-shirt and nothing else. Or at least nothing else I can see. “Are you fucking serious? Where is he?” I roar.
She leans against the door, digging a bare pink-painted toe into the floor. “Who?”
The smile on her face says she knows exactly who I’m talking about and is enjoying this.
I slam a hand to either side of the door, gripping the frame so hard that my knuckles creak. “I swear to fuck, Joy, if that guy’s in your bed, I’m gonna—” I grit out.
“You’re not gonna do shit,” she hisses, “but there’s nobody here.” She twirls around, giving me her back as she saunters sassily away. She has to be fucking with me—swishing her hips and swinging her hair to put a spell on me.
I follow, shutting the door and looking around for any telltale signs. The sweater she was wearing is draped over the arm of the couch, but that’s not unexpected for Joy. There’s no extra drink on the coffee table or any sign of the asshole’s flannel, though.
Maybe she’s telling the truth?
In the kitchen, Joy leans against the counter, watching me. “Wanna check the bedroom? Bathroom? Closet? Oh, you should check under the bed, too, but watch out for the dust bunnies.”
I stalk toward her. “What the fuck was that tonight?” I hiss. I’m angry as hell, and though I won’t let her see it, I’m hurt too.
She hops up on the counter, kicking her dangling feet like she’s not the least bit affected by my fury. “Dalton, you know what this is. Remember saying that? Both of us agreeing to it?” she reminds me. “We’re not dating. We’re not anything. I was reminded of that when I saw Blondie all up in your business, offering you her personal sucking service like her name’s Hoover. So I can dance with whoever I want, fuck whoever I want, and it has nothing to do with you.”
She glares at me as if she actually believes that.
“The hell you can.”
“It’s okay, you can too,” she generously offers.
As if that’s remotely happening. I shake my head, her words rattling around and not making any sense. “You don’t mean that,” I challenge.
“Maybe I do,” she huffs, jutting her chin two inches higher in the air.
“I don’t want to fuck anyone else. You basically own my cock at this point.” The confession passes my lips before I can stop it, and as much as I hate to admit it, it’s the truth.
I don’t know when or how that happened, and it’s probably going to be the thing that gets me killed or kicked off the team when Shep finds out. But I look forward to talking to Joy every day. She’s a bright spot in my existence I didn’t know I was missing. I want to see her, listen to her, and I sure as shit want to touch her.
I move in front of her knees, caging her in with a hand planted to the counter on either side of her hips, and lean closer. I drop my eyes to her lips, ready to taste her.
Finally.
I’ve been waiting for this. Watching her every night, talking to her, sharing with her . . . and finally, I’m going to feel her skin the way I imagine doing.
Her hand lands on the center of my chest, stopping me. “No. I don’t date athletes.”
It’s ice on the fire inside me that hasn’t cooled, but merely morphed from anger to desire. “Why?”
I expect her to say it’s something to do with her brother, or my friendship with him, but she doesn’t even give me that. “Not up for discussion,” she says firmly. “I’m not sharing that.”
“But you’ll share your orgasms?” I snap.
She shrugs, looking down between us. My hips are less than an inch from her knees. I could push them apart and plant myself between her thighs to let her feel exactly what she does to me. “If that’s what you want.”
She pushes me away and I let her, so confused that I can’t find words to argue with her. She draws out the temptation, lifting a long leg, and places her foot on the counter to spread her thighs, giving me a look and daring me to walk away. I cross my arms over my chest and pretend I’m a statue, immovable and made of stone. Part of me definitely is.
Not getting the reaction she expected, she says haughtily, “You can watch. That’s it.”
She’s wrong. This isn’t some meaningless jacking off. But if that’s all she’s comfortable with, I’m not strong enough to say no because this is progress. We’re in the same room. I never thought I’d have to go at a snail’s pace for a woman, but if that’s the game Joy wants, then I’ll fucking play along like a good boy.