Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
I noted Gabe’s double take as he homed in on my crotch. No doubt he was wondering what the hell had gotten into me. I was definitely not myself. I was known for being cool under pressure and always in control. I hardly recognized this vodka-infused version of myself, though I had to admit, it felt strangely liberating to speak my mind and—literally and figuratively—let it all hang out.
Gabe refocused on the road and pursed his lips. “I never said you were a jerk.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, Amanda is a great girl, and she’s obviously into you. If you like her and she feels the same, I wish you well,” I assured him.
Gabe scoffed sarcastically. “Gee, thanks.”
“Hey! I’m trying to be cool here. You probably don’t know many people at college outside of water polo, and the entire team hates you,” I teased. “We’ll adopt you as one of our own eventually but in the meantime, you should meet more people like Chelsea and Amanda. Chelsea especially. She knows everyone.”
“That’s what my mom said. She’s either worried I’m gonna get mugged or worried I’ll never meet anyone ’cause I never go out.” He huffed in amusement as he turned onto my street. “One minute it’s, ‘Gabe, you need to meet kids your age’ and the next, ‘Gabe, watch out. They all do drugs.’ I can’t win. And reminding her that I’m twenty-two doesn’t seem to make a difference.”
I snickered at his affected falsetto, tapping the window when we approached my house. “It’s the one with the big olive tree in the front. Where do your folks live?”
“Mom lives in Glendora. Dad lives in Arizona. New wife, new family. I’ll see him when I graduate or if I make the Olympic team.” He pulled into a parking spot in front of my neighbor’s house, then turned in his seat to face me. “What about you? I’ve seen your parents at games. Not today, though.”
“Thank God. They would have been pissed at me for winding up on the bench. Even if it was your fault,” I huffed.
“Whatever you say, Der. Water polo is a rough game. You’ve got to give it your all, take risks, and occasionally put on a show. I’d say it was bad luck that the ref caught your jab last but the truth is, you let emotion get the better of you. You got mad, and it made you careless.”
I glared at him in the darkened car and leaned across the console. In a Mini Cooper, I probably looked like I was trying to sit in his lap.
“Just when I think I could like you, you open your mouth.”
“I thought we agreed to a truce.”
Gabe cocked his head and gave me a wicked lopsided grin. It was slow-growing and kind of…sexy. Fuck. Wait. No, I didn’t mean that. He wasn’t sexy. ’Cause your teammate wasn’t sexy; he was just another guy. My dick didn’t get the memo. It swelled in my boxer briefs, making me extraordinarily glad I’d unzipped. I would have passed out otherwise.
“Hmph. It’s hard to trust the guy who slashed open my side with his fingernails,” I snarked without heat.
Gabe rolled his eyes. “Oh please. I may have accidentally scratched you but—”
“Scratch?” I unbuckled my seat belt, then yanked my shirt from my jeans and pulled it up over my right side, twisting to show him my wound. “Look at this.”
Gabe undid his seat belt too and squinted as he turned. “Can’t see a thing. You must be overreacting.”
“You must be blind,” I retorted. I stuffed my shirt back into my jeans and nudged my half-hard dick. Fuck. I had to get out of there before I embarrassed myself. I reached for the door handle and inclined my head. “Thanks for the ride. I guess I’ll see you at practice next week.”
“Right. Hey, do you mind if I use your bathroom before I go? I’ve had four bottles of water, and I’m not sure I can make it home. At least not comfortably.”
“Yeah. Come on.”
I led the way up the hedge-lined path to my Craftsman-style bungalow, rezipping and reassembling myself as I moved. I’d forgotten to leave the porch light on, so it took me a second to get the key in the lock. Once we were inside, I flipped the switch in the living room and directed Gabe toward the bathroom down the hall before heading for the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and guzzled half of it in record time. Then I set it on the counter and glanced around the pristine space.
My place was a two-bedroom, one-bathroom bungalow built in the 1940s. A lot of the original features were intact—like hardwood flooring, subway tiles, arched doorways, and interesting niches carved in random walls. We even had a fireplace. And the backyard was killer. A massive wood deck just off the kitchen led to a huge grassy lawn with lemon and apricot trees lining the perimeter. In other words, this wasn’t a typical residence for a couple of early twentysomethings.