Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Hell yes. I slide in a chip, then slap down the cards. “Three jacks. Which means…” I scoop the pile of chips my way. “I win. I’m free of my ex, and I’m beating your sorry asses. It’s like a double victory.”
“Damn right it is.” Drew speaks with the same intensity he has in the huddle. “Don’t date women who abuse the English language. You need a woman who reads. Like, a lot,” he adds, with a thump on my shoulder and a wiggle of his brow. His fiancée is a big-time reader.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Axel says.
“Of course you’d say that. You’re a writer,” I point out.
“But I don’t see you disagreeing, Gabe,” Milo adds, then lowers his voice. “And you shouldn’t. Because women who read are usually a lot more…fun.”
There’s a twinkle in his blue eyes. He doesn’t sleep and tell—none of us do—but his message is clear.
A well-read woman is more fun in bed.
Hmm.
Maybe a bookworm would like to be bent over the bed, fastened to the headboard, or tied to a chair. Would take a hard smack to her ass and beg for more.
“I like fun,” I deadpan as Drew gathers the cards. It’s his turn to deal.
“Then maybe focus on that. We’ve got less than a week till training camp,” Drew says, a leading tone in his voice as he brings up our trip to San Diego.
A week sounds perfect for a rebound. But if I go for a rebound, I don’t want someone who’ll shout you kinky fucker at me at the end of the week. It was bad enough the way Brittany stormed out. What if a woman comes up to me on the football field and does that for the media to hear? Shudders.
“It’s my last year, though, so it’s best that this old dog stays focused on the game,” I say, with a resolute shrug. “No distractions.”
“And sex is both distracting and dangerous, man. You could get injured screwing in the shower,” Axel offers helpfully.
“Dude. Do you work to be a buzzkill, or does it come naturally?” I ask.
“I’m just saying. It’s a thing. Be careful, old dog,” Axel adds, with a smart-ass wink.
And ouch. Like I don’t already know that, in football years, I’m as old as Yoda. “Hey, now. I don’t want to hear about sex injuries till I’m way past forty. Maybe even fifty.”
Drew sets down the deck and lifts his glass of beer. “Let’s drink to staying healthy in your final year. No football injuries and no dick injuries. Just getting banged up on the field.”
Laughing and rolling my eyes, I lift my beer and toast to football. At least she always likes it rough.
After taking a drink, I set the bottle on the table. As Drew shuffles the deck to deal the next round, my gaze strays to the window where a sexy-as-sin brunette chats on the phone as she walks a little dog down the street.
The woman’s got a swing in her hips and a pouty fullness to her lips. She looks like a piece of candy, all effortlessly delicious in tight jean shorts, cut off and raggedy sexy, and a purple halter top that shows off her pierced belly. I’d like to peel that top off her, lick a path between her tits and down her stomach, then tug on her belly ring with my teeth. As I stare unabashedly a little longer, she starts to look damn familiar.
She reminds me vaguely of picnics, barbecues, Thanksgivings. Then, a Christmas party. A moment under the mistletoe, maybe.
Wait.
Hold the hell on.
Is that…?
No fucking way.
Another memory flashes before me of Ellie Snow. One of the times I babysat her.
3
A THING FOR BAD BOYS
Ellie
I dread calling my mom back, but I hung up on her when I got into my house. I used my pee-mergency as an excuse, but I’m a little freaked out over any news about my ex.
Still, I have to know the score. I grab a pair of pink flip-flops—with a flower between the toes—then shove my feet into them.
Except, this shirt is a little gross. I did drive in it all day. After a quick freshen up, I tug on a purple halter top, then leash up my leading lady and hit the road.
Our first walk in our new town. Too bad I’ll have to use it to get the lowdown on my ex. But a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. I stab Mom’s contact name, my gut swirling with worry.
I’d heard rumors that LGO had picked up a series about my infamous ex-boyfriend—Dexter Longfellow, aka Fabio. The timing couldn’t be worse professionally.
Mom answers on the first ring with a relieved sigh. “There you are. I was getting sick,” she says.
“I was only gone for a few minutes,” I reassure her as I turn down the block toward Abbot Kinney Boulevard. “What’s going on with…” I gulp, then woman up and blurt out the name I wish I could avoid. “Fabio’s List.”