Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74844 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74844 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
But no matter how I sound, I know it’s true.
My favorite part of sex with her was the afterglow.
Her fingers trailing along my chest, tracing the tattoo on my neck and shoulders.
Her legs tangled with mine.
Her dripping center making a mess of my thigh.
My hand squeezing her sweet ass.
Her lips.
Her eyes.
Fuck me, I need to go fuck someone else.
I roll my eyes as I carry my water bottle back to the goal and throw it on top of the net. I want to ask Ciaran how she is. She hasn’t been posting much on her social media, only photos of the Knoxville Bears players and things going on at the arena. I only have her past photos to look at and enjoy. I’ve wanted to reach out, but I refuse to be rejected again. She didn’t even stop me when I left on our last night together.
She just whispered, “Good luck.”
That’s it. I don’t know what has her so closed off to wanting anything more, but I wish I could hurt the person who hurt her. It has to be that. She’s a vibrant, gorgeous, smart girl, and I’m a stud, so she should want me without question.
I’m a damn good time.
In and out of the sheets.
But she didn’t want anything more than my cock. Not that I blame her—it is a great cock—but still… I miss her with my whole heart. I miss the way she smiles and how she wrinkles her nose before she sneezes. I miss how she said my name and how she reacted when I called her mami. I miss the feel of her in my arms and how she laughed when we watched Friends. I miss how pissed she’d get when I stole a fry or a pepperoni off her pizza.
But most of all, I miss her lips and the feel of her ass in my hands.
Why do I do this to myself? Why do I care? She didn’t want me. So why am I still hung up on her?
She was the one who got away.
Fuck me. Why did I just think that?
“Cruz.”
I look over my shoulder at the sound of the voice of the Assassins’ coach.
River Moore stands in the door of the boards, and he fills it with ease. He is a massive man and fit at his mature age. He has been a great mentor, but the look on his weathered face has me pausing. “Come on. We need to talk.”
Ciaran glances over at me, and I can tell he’s thinking what I am.
Well…fuck.
CHAPTER 3
Elliot
A year earlier…
Clara: wyd
Me: On the treadmill, call in a bit.
Clara: Boo, so I guess going to the new ice cream place probably won’t happen?
Me: Um, yes. That’s why I work out.
Clara: I love you. LOL Any hot eye candy today?
Me: Oh yes, in the form of a hot Mexican goalie in only skintight shorts as he bounces two balls off a wall.
Alejandro Cruz is lethally ripped. Thick, corded muscles down his thighs, his waist so trim and strong. Abs on top of abs, and then some more. Along with that deep V that God created on guys to trick girls into thinking a guy is decent. Each toss of the ball has his back flexing as he catches and does it again, over and over. He’s been at it for over thirty minutes, and in that time, I’ve tripped twice on the treadmill because I’m so engrossed in everything he does.
He’s covered in sweat, and I want to lick him clean.
Ew. What’s wrong with me?
Clara: Mmm, mucho caliente?
Me: Sí, muy caliente!
Clara: I may need to come work out with you.
Me: Nope, he’s all for my viewing pleasure.
Clara: Selfish slutbag.
Me: Takes one to know one!
Clara: LOL
Clara: I love you.
Me: Love you more.
Clara sends me the kissy-face emoji, and I place my phone on the treadmill ledge before I kick up the speed. Even at my fast pace, I have no issues controlling my breathing. My wandering eyes? That’s a whole other story. They run along the length of Alejandro Cruz’s side profile, to his sweaty neck and shoulders. To his waist, that plump ass of his, and then those thick thighs that are all flexing and lickable.
What is my deal with licking him?
I need to run faster.
I punch up the speed again, but it doesn’t distract me. I keep ogling him, and I feel like a bit of a perv. He’s just working out—in only tight black shorts that leave nothing to the imagination—but this is the players’ gym. Being an employee and the owner’s granddaughter, I am allowed to come in here and work out, but it isn’t like he threw on pants when I entered. He saw me too, gave me that sexy little tip of his chin in hello as I waved while I got on the treadmill. He knows who I am, and I don’t get the vibe he’s interested in me.