Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
"Nash," I whimper, my knees threatening to buckle under his sensual onslaught. Good lord, there is no stopping this man when he's determined to get his way. He's sex on legs. Or in skates. Whatever. The point is, he's too hot to handle.
"Whatley! Where the fuck are you?" my dad shouts from the other side of the bus.
"Goddammit," Nash growls, pressing his face up against me. He takes a steadying breath before placing a soft kiss to my throat. "Guess that's my cue to let you go."
"Yeah, I guess so."
"You better be waiting for me in bed when I get home on Saturday."
"Maybe."
"I mean it, Emilia. I want you naked and dripping wet, ready for my cock." He nips my throat again. "I think I'll keep you on it for the rest of the weekend."
"We'll see," I say.
"Yeah, we will see," he growls, spinning me around to kiss me breathless. When we're both panting, he breaks away with a groan, pressing his forehead to mine. "Goddamn, I hate leaving you."
"It's not my favorite thing either," I admit, my heart feeling like it's in a vise. "But I do enjoy watching you walk away, Whatley. That ass is a thing of beauty."
He doesn't smile. Instead, he groans again, his lips brushing mine. "Forty-eight hours," he mutters like it's a lifetime. "Forty-eight fucking hours."
"Whatley!" my dad shouts again. "Don't piss me off, kid. Time to get your ass on this bus!"
"You gotta go."
"Yeah." Nash sighs, reluctantly pulling away. "See you soon, princess."
"See you, Whatley."
He turns to head toward the other side of the bus…and my freaking heart drops into my stomach. Charles Montaque is standing right there, watching us.
"Fuck," Nash growls, going rigid.
"I thought I recognized the two of you last night," he says, smiling at us like we're old friends and he isn't about to blow up Nash's entire life. "But it was dark outside of the bar, so I wasn't sure. I guess this is confirmation."
He was at the bar last night? He was watching us?
Bile crawls up my throat, threatening to choke me.
"Fuck off, Montaque," Nash says, his hands in fists as he steps toward him. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"It seems pretty clear to me, Whatley. You're fucking Lariat's daughter."
"Watch who the fuck you're disrespecting, Montaque."
"What the fuck is going on back here?"
No. Oh, no.
My dad steps around the side of the bus, glowering at Montaque…and then he notices Nash standing a few steps from me, his body angled as if he's trying to keep me out of sight. His brows pull down as he looks from Nash to me and then back again, suspicion slowly taking root in his eyes.
"Dad, I…"
"How do you feel about your daughter dating Whatley, Lariat?" Montaque asks, blowing up my world without a single care.
For the longest, my dad doesn't say a word. He just stares at me, complete silence stretching between the four of us. "Is this true, Emilia?" he finally asks, his voice softer than I've ever heard it.
"I…" I glance at Nash, the truth right there on the tip of my tongue. My heart screams at me to say yes, to tell my dad the truth and damn the consequences. But Nash's career might just be the consequence. His future may be the price.
That's the story Montaque is waiting for—how dating me ripped apart a team headed for the Playoffs. I see it in his eyes. He wants this to blow up, wants it to be a big, torrid scandal he can hock to the masses. He doesn't give a shit if this is my life or Nash's career. All he sees is a damn story to sell.
And I don't want to give him the ability of telling it. But I should. For Nash's sake and my own…I should.
I shake my head anyway, denying the truth with tears streaming down my face. And as soon as I do it, I know I'm making the wrong decision. I'm failing myself and I'm failing Nash. But I'm still so fucking scared of ruining him that I make it anyway.
The look in Nash's eyes when he meets my gaze… I hate myself for putting that devastatingly handsome, broken look on his face. But he doesn't stop me. He doesn't say a word. He just quietly accepts that, even now, I can't tell the damn truth about us.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold myself together as my heart threatens to shatter into pieces.
"Get on the bus, Whatley," my dad says.
Nash turns away from me without a word.
"Nash," I whimper, my freaking soul screaming in protest.
He doesn't stop. He just walks away without even looking at me.
"Montaque, get the fuck out of here. We have nothing to say to you," my dad growls at him, a warning in his voice.