Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Kyle was suspiciously quiet when he flopped down in the beanbag, and I took a seat in the middle of the couch next to Blake, saving a spot for Leo. Kyle handed me a controller while Braden set up the first game, and I actually thought I got away without their smart-ass remarks about me and Leo.
But then, Kyle stretched, casually turning to his roommates. “Hey, did y’all hear some sort of… thumping sound this morning?”
“Yeah, come to think of it, it’s been a couple mornings now,” Braden said, tapping his chin. “Sounded kind of like a thump, thump, thump against the wall.”
My cheeks flamed, but I ignored them, fighting back my smile as I picked my team for the game.
“Maybe it’s a plumbing issue,” Blake added, and I tongued my cheek, shaking my head and still ignoring.
“I don’t know,” Kyle said. “Might be a ghost. I could have sworn I heard some moans and screams.”
“Must be haunting Leo, then, because I definitely heard it screaming his name,” Blake added.
I finally succumbed to my laugh, bopping Kyle on the head before I threw a pillow at Blake and elbowed Braden in the ribs since he was closest. They all laughed, too, just as Leo joined us and plopped down next to us.
“What’d I miss?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Blake said. “Just debating whether The Pit is haunted or not.”
I rolled my eyes, but my heart was light as a bird, the wings of it fluttering in my chest and making it impossible not to smile.
I’d never felt more at home.
Mary
It surprised me how easy time slipped away after that.
Leo and the guys were busier than ever with the season starting up, and I was working at the shop almost every night. Now that I had some experience, Nero had me taking on the walk-ins.
In two weeks, I’d tattooed everything from the inside of bottom lips and fingers to the tops of feet and knees. I had a printout of my designs that some people stumbled in and chose from, signing legal paperwork that swore they weren’t drunk, and I also had very specific design requests that were mostly script and images printed off Pinterest. Those were my least favorite.
My most favorite were the clients who found me on Instagram and booked an appointment with me, giving me vague instructions but allowing me to have creative freedom.
There’d only been two so far, but one had been a five-hour upper back piece where a girl around my age let me draw up a tree with striking roots and branches, along with leaves that tested my shading skills. The other was a man in his fifties who wanted his first tattoo — a thigh piece — and it was an ode to his brothers in the military, a sloth in a bar eating nachos. It was apparently an inside joke with them, but I didn’t care either way. It was hilarious and challenging and made me so happy as I created it, both the sketch before he got there and the actual piece on his skin.
The Rebels took on their first home opponent on a warm Saturday afternoon. I had sweat running down my back along with the rest of the student body, and for once, I was upset that my friends were so successful. I would have given anything to have Giana or Riley in the stands with me instead of on the field, or for Julep to give up her job hunt and wedding planning to get on a flight and come sit with me. But as soon as the coin toss was over and the game began, I didn’t care who was in the stands.
All I could do was focus on Leo.
It was one thing to see him in his practice gear, the mesh jersey with the padding underneath. It was another completely to see him all suited up, wearing the white home uniforms with crimson letters and numbers blazing against it in contrast. HERNANDEZ stretched across his upper back in all caps, the number thirteen underneath it, and that jersey was tucked into pants that should have been illegal for how they hugged his ass. I assumed he was wearing some sort of protection around his manhood, because otherwise, those pants would leave nothing to the imagination. Even with whatever he had on underneath, it was impossible not to notice the giant bulge.
It made me and every other girl in the stands salivate when he jogged by.
But as much as I loved checking him out, it wasn’t his looks that held me enraptured once the first whistle blew. It was his talent. I hadn’t seen him play since high school — had avoided it at all costs, actually — but to see how fast he was now, how massive he was as a running back when most were smaller, how he could plow through defenders and give them stiff arms like they were nothing more than little kids trying to block him… it was breathtaking. It felt like the equivalent of seeing a leopard in the wild, the muscles and speed a phenomenon you couldn’t tear your eyes away from.