Series: Torn and Bound Duet Series by K. Webster
Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“I’m smart,” I argue.
“Undeniably so.” She grins. “But you skim by on your classes because you can. Not exactly tutor material.”
My smile twists up into a devious one. “It’s answers. Not tutoring.”
“Again?” she asks in exasperation. “Your dad will kill you if he ever finds out.”
“He won’t.” I shrug. “Besides, someone’s gotta pay for your sugar habit around here.”
A rap on the door has me hopping off my sofa and sauntering over to it. Mia grumbles from nearby as she slides on her shoes. Ignoring her, I open the door.
Fuck.
I hate athletes.
With a goddamn passion.
That’s something I’ll psychoanalyze one day, but for now, I chalk it up to the fact most are ridiculously hot but total assholes. This dude’s no different. He got my name through the grapevine. Being the dean’s son and pretty proficient with computers, I can get access to just about anything at this university I want to. He texted his coded request and I told him the price.
A hundred bucks and the test answers are his.
“Hey,” he grunts out, not looking up from his phone.
He might be a dick, but I can appreciate when someone is fucking hot. This guy with raven-black hair styled in one of those obnoxious just-fucked ways stands at least a couple inches above my six-foot frame. But where I’m lean with muscle tone that comes from good genes and swimming, he’s built from sheer hard work and frequent lifting. His shoulders are broad and sculpted, his fitted olive-colored Henley showcasing each curve of his form nicely. I sweep my gaze along his arms to his hand that grips his phone. Strong. Veiny.
Fuck.
Maybe I do need to watch some gay porn.
No sports shit either.
Just regular guys with regular hands jacking each other off.
I bet his hand is strong and those veins would pop with each move of his fist around my—
“You Ashton?” he grits out, a sneer on his perfectly carved face.
“Yup.”
“Brayden.”
I shrug. “Cool. Got my money?”
His dark eyes drift past me into my apartment. I’ve got a nice place. So what? It’s all paid for by my generous daddy anyway. Insert huge fucking eye roll.
“You should give me a discount.” His deep brown, almost black eyes lock on mine. “You don’t seem to be hurting for money.”
“And you must be pretty fucking dumb to jeopardize your hockey career over buying test answers from the dean’s son but here we are.” I don’t back down when he steps forward, hostility rolling off him in waves. “Give me the money or leave. No sweat off my back.”
Mia creeps up behind me. I know she’s there because Brayden’s gaze turns molten, greedily drinking in my beautiful friend. I’m used to it by now. Mia downplays her looks with her silly braids, sexy librarian glasses, and gamer shirts, but my girl cleans up well. I know for a fact when she goes out later, she’ll be the hottest chick at that club. Fuckers like Brayden will buy her drinks and try to woo her into their beds. Unlucky for them, my girl is smart.
Guys like Brayden don’t stand a chance.
“Hi,” Mia greets, injecting friendliness into her tone. “I’m Mia.”
“Brayden.”
“You know there’s a legitimate way to passing,” she sasses. “It’s a novel idea…”
“Oh yeah?” Brayden says, smirking. “What’s that?”
“It’s called studying.”
He chuckles. “Right. So, you got my shit or what, bro?” His hard eyes land back on mine. “I have places to be.”
Like starring in my fucking fantasies…
“I’m not your bro, dude.” I turn on my heel, pushing past Mia, and saunter over to my bag. After yanking out the answers, I make my way back over to them.
Brayden has stepped over the threshold of my door and is peering down at her, wearing one of those confident grins guys like him so easily slap on when they’re making a move on a chick.
Mia lifts her chin and gives him her nasty-ass attitude I love so much. “Sorry. Can’t.”
“I didn’t even ask yet,” Brayden says, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.
I try not to think about that same ravenous stare seconds before those lips wrap around my dick.
“The answer is no.”
“But you want to say yes,” Brayden tells her, undeterred. “They always eventually say yes.”
“In English that translates to something really fucking rapey, man,” I tell him, slapping the answer key against his ridiculously hard chest.
His features darken. “Rapey? Fuck you, bro.”
“I’m not your bro.”
He lifts his chin just so he can look down his nose at me. All that arrogance dripping off him is suffocating. I can be a bit of a masochist, though, because I willingly step closer just so I can have a little sniff of the way he smells. Asshole or not, he calls to the baser parts of me.
“I was flirting,” Brayden explains. “That’s what people like me do. Not sure what it is people like you do.”