Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
You’re jealous, you moron.
"I'm the Neanderthal?" I questioned, slamming my empty hand against the push bar and walking us into the deserted hallway lined with management offices. "I wasn't the one with some guy’s head up my skirt in full view of the crowded bar."
"Put me down," she seethed.
I walked into the corner office, slamming the door behind us, then gripped her waist and lowered her to the hardwood floor. A quick flip of the light switch, and it was more than easy to see just how furious she was at me.
Too. Damn. Bad.
"First, I'd pay money to see you in a skirt," she retorted, jabbing me in the chest with her finger and glaring up at me like she was the wronged party here. "And secondly, Paul's head wasn't up my skirt." The impact of her fury was somewhat diminished when she had to stop to brush her hair out of her face.
"Close enough!” I raked my hands over my hair. I was never going to be able to scrub that image from my mind.
“Oh, my God, Hendrix, the zipper for my boot broke, see?” She marched to one of the two chairs that faced the heavy desk in the center of the room and turned it slightly, then hauled her boot up onto the cushion, exposing her inner thigh.
It took a second for me to roll my tongue back into my mouth and pay attention to what she was actually saying because damn. Okay, maybe I am a Neanderthal.
“He was just trying to see what happened,” she continued, pointing to the inch or so of separated zipper just above her knee. Her gaze swung to mine and narrowed. “I swear to God if you make a Pretty Woman joke, I’m going to throttle you.”
“What?” I just about shook my head to get my brain back in the game.
“Zipper. Broken.” She arched an eyebrow.
“And the guy who sent his hands up your skirt?” I folded my arms across my chest.
“Paul is my friend, and it’s none of your damned business where I let him put his hands.” She lowered her foot.
“It sure as hell is if you’re the one asking me to put my hands there!” I snapped.
“Huh.” She cocked her head to the side as a wide grin spread across her face. “You’re jealous.”
Heat rushed up my neck. “Hardly. That guy wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with you if he ever got you into bed. You’d chew him up and spit him out for breakfast.” No one that gave her up that easily to a stranger at a bar deserved her. Period.
“Well, on that, we can agree. Paul is gay.” She hoisted an eyebrow.
I blinked. “He’s gay.”
“Yep. Been with his boyfriend for almost a year now. They’re both great guys.” The sparkle in her eyes was pure mischief.
“And he was just helping you with your boot,” I said slowly, feeling every ounce of the jackass I was.
“He sure was.” Her gaze skimmed down my body, lingering where my tee was pulled tight across my chest and biceps. Then she tugged her lower lip between her teeth, and I damn-near groaned. “When are you going to give me an answer?”
“About?” I leaned back against the thick wood of the door, putting as much distance between us as possible.
“Fucking me?” That word had never sounded so hot.
“That’s the best thing about you. You know that?” I said softly despite the hunger that held me by the balls, unraveling the threads of my self-control.
“The fucking?” Two little lines appeared between her eyebrows. “Because we haven’t gotten there yet.”
And now I was hard.
“Your honesty. The way you say exactly what’s on your mind and don’t play games.” I gave her a long, thorough look, my blood heating as I took in the rise of her breasts—coming faster now, the dip of her waist and swell of her hips, and the silk of her exposed thigh that turned to leather where her boots began. “Though I’m sure the fucking would be right up there, too.”
Her lips parted. “You want me.”
“Every minute of every damned day.” There was no use denying it.
She shifted her weight. “Then why won’t you give us both what we want? You know I’ll keep it between us. My father will never know. I swear. I’d never risk your career like that.”
“I know.” I did. She loved the Raptors just as much as I did. Even if we weren’t friends in our own way—which we were, she’d never let the Raptors lose me.
“Then what’s stopping you?” She stalked forward, sleek and agile as a mountain cat.
“Savannah…” It was all I could say. Every single one of my reasons felt inconsequential when she looked at me like that, needy and turned on. If she’d been anyone else, I would have tackled her already, and yet she was the only one who’d ever brought me this close to the edge of losing it.