Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
“Save it, Garnett,” Josh mutters.
And I take that as an invitation. “I’ve been saving it all season.”
A line digs into his forehead. “What are you talking about?” Then he seems to think better of it, walking closer, lifting the key fob. “Forget it. Don’t care.”
Bullshit.
I don’t move, even though he’s in my space now. And why not get to the bottom of things? That’s part of my plan to celebrate. To deal with the shit he said, then take him to bed. Once and for all.
Those are my plans. Plain and simple. We both want it.
Josh’s gaze drifts down to the bottle I’m holding. I set it on the ground like we’re just gonna have a little heart-to-heart in a dim parking lot when I smell like victory champagne and cigar smoke. A reminder of everything I just won. Everything he lost.
And maybe everything we can still have later tonight.
I set a hand on his hard chest. His breath hitches, then he goes still. “So it seems you think I played dirty?”
“You did,” he says, but it’s a little wobbly. Like maybe he’s not quite certain.
“I don’t think you know what it means to play dirty, Spencer,” I say in a low voice, fingers gripping his shirt.
He doesn’t pull away. He just lets out a harsh breath, close to a pant. “You’re a world champion. Why does it matter what I think?”
“The better question is, why do you want to think the worst of me all of a sudden?”
Josh scoffs, then licks his lips. “Trust me. I’m not thinking of you at all.”
“You were definitely talking about me on TV tonight.”
His face shutters, transforming back to the locked-up Josh Spencer who called me dirty to the press. “I thought you weren’t that kind of player.”
“The kind who’s a world champion?”
He seethes, huffing through his nostrils, then lets loose. "The kind who thinks it doesn’t matter how you play so long as you win. But I guess you want it both ways—to bend the rules and to not get called out for it.”
But I don’t feel like debating the game anymore. “Seems like you've thought about the kind of player I am a lot. Or, really, just about . . . me.”
Up close, his eyes are a ludicrous brown. They widen slightly in surprise. Gotcha.
But he’s not a competitor for nothing. He recovers quickly. “I think about a lot of things, Garnett. Right now, I’m thinking about whether there’s traffic on the Harlem River Drive, so don’t flatter yourself.”
“Take I-87. It’s faster,” I whisper. “If you’re in a rush to get home, that is.”
“Thanks,” he says, breath a little shaky. “Appreciate the tip.”
But maybe he’s not in such a hurry after all. The man isn’t moving, so I make the next move, admitting something since maybe that’ll get us closer to bed. “Funny thing is, you play just as hard. You leave it all on the field too,” I say.
Josh takes a beat, maybe to process that admission, his lips twitching in a hint of a grin. “You watch me?” he asks, and with those three words, his tone downshifts. For the first time, there’s a flirty vibe to it, one that might tell me to fuck off. Or order me to my knees. And we’re getting warmer.
“Yeah, I do,” I say, my fist clutching the fabric now. “I definitely have my eyes on you and you know it.”
Josh looks down, then back up, his eyes locking with mine. “I’ve noticed,” he murmurs.
“You’ve been looking back.” It isn’t a question.
He gives the barest of nods.
And for a few hot seconds, the temperature in me spikes.
The air crackles.
I know what we both need. “I’ve got an idea, Spencer.”
“What’s that?” His voice pitches up with dirty hope.
I jerk him closer. There’s an inch between us. One more move, and we’ll be smashed together, hip to hip, grinding it out.
That’s what he wants. That’s what I want. “You and me. This champagne. My place,” I say, putting it out there for the first time, so there’s zero confusion. This is an invitation for one person only, not for a casual thing. Because the one thing Josh and I aren’t is casual about each other.
Josh swallows roughly, breathing hard. My gaze drifts down to his neatly trimmed beard, to the way his throat pulses. Yeah, his body’s an open book too, and the pages are telling me he’s so damn aroused right now.
Join the club, Josh.
“Let me get this straight,” he rasps out, clearly trying to fight off the gravel in his voice. “You think that after all the shit you pulled tonight, I'd let you suck my dick?”
“I don’t just think you’d let me. I think you want me to. Badly. And like I said, I can be gentle.”
“Maybe I don’t want it gentle,” he counters, with a hiss.