Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Duke leans in close. My lips are at his ear. “I’m Batman,” I whisper.
Duke rolls his eyes and groans at my horrible joke. “Seriously, Sarah. You never come to the games. You don’t hang out with anyone else but me outside of school, well, not that I know of anyway.”
“Maybe, I’m giving you space,” I suggest. It’s a lie of course. One of a million I’ve told Duke over the last several months. “I don’t think Missy or Misty or…Maci?” I grimace. “Would like it very much if they saw us together.”
“Well, I happen to not give a shit what Melanie or anyone else thinks. I like you, Sarah.” Duke pushes my knees apart and stands between them. “I like you a lot.”
“Melanie,” I nod and snap my fingers. “That’s it. Melanie. I’ll have to remember that one.”
I pass him the joint. He takes a long hit, grabs the back of my neck with the hand holding the joint, using the other to press on my cheeks, parting my lips. He blows the smoke into my mouth, our lips only a breath apart. I inhale deeply.
Duke pulls back as I exhale. He presses the glowing end of the joint between his fingers, extinguishing the cherry, tucking it behind his ear.
“I think you like me, too.” Duke says softly. He’s kneading his fingers gently into my thighs, inching his hands further and further up my legs with each rotation of his skilled fingers.
“I do like you,” I tell him. And in another life—no, if I were another person, I might give Duke a real shot.
But not in this life.
“So then, why do you pretend you don’t know me?” Duke presses, pursing his lips.
So no one sees us together. So you don’t become collateral damage if the shit hits the fan.
“I guess I don’t like high school all that much. Plus, I like to keep to myself. That’s all,” I assure him.
Duke gives me a knowing look. He’s not buying it. Not one bit.
I try again. “Or maybe,” I sigh dramatically and let my shoulders fall. “I just don’t want to be considered one of the many in the Duke Weathersby Harem.”
“The what?” he asks with a laugh.
“The harem. The bevy of beauties that run after you, leaving puddles of drool in your wake. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Duke Weathersby. I’ve heard that term a million times so I know you have, too.”
“I might have heard it a time or two,” Duke admits. A sly smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me to the edge of the counter. “I mean I guess it’s good you don’t talk to anyone else. That way, I get to keep you all to myself.”
Duke leans in and presses his lips against mine. Our mouths meld and move together. It’s an enjoyable kiss, it always is. I liken it to finishing a great book. A nice hot shower. Or finding a killer pair of jeans on the 50% off rack.
There’s fireworks, but not the exploding colors, loud booms, fourth of July finale, kind. No, what we have is more of the waving-a-sparkler-around-in-the-front-yard kind. I like sparklers.
Sparklers are nice.
Plus, the chances of getting hurt or burned are low. And just like Duke—they’re safe.
I return his kiss. My mouth opens to his when he parts my lips with his tongue. My nipples harden when he presses closer, and I can feel the heat of his skin through our shirts. I relax and push myself up against him, needing to feel his hard body against mine. Needing to be reminded that I’m human and that I’m alive and that someone else in this world knows it, too.
Duke Weathersby is the closest I’ve ever come to having a boyfriend, even though he isn’t my boyfriend and never will be. Our pseudo-relationship consists of small talk, getting high, and making out. Which is basically a lot of over-the-clothes petting followed by me sending Duke home with a raging case of blue-balls.
Duke pulls back slightly, fingering the neckline of my shirt, brushing along my skin toward my exposed shoulder. His forehead is pressed against mine. “I think we should take this upstairs to your room. All these clothes are getting in the way,” he whispers against my lips, tugging at the frayed end of my sweat-shorts. He rocks his erection between my legs.
I smile against his lips and lift my ass off the counter, shamelessly grinding myself against him.
Duke groans into my mouth and grabs my hips, rotating them, grinding me against the hardness jutting up against the zipper of his khakis.
I’m turned on. I am. I am female, after all, and Duke’s stunningly attractive. As much as I know I’m not like other girls in school, I’m not immune to the charm, smile, or muscles of Duke Weathersby. I blame nature and pheromones. Birds and bees. You know, science-ey stuff and all that jazz.