Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Insanity.
I stop at my house just long enough for a quick shower and a shave.
Cranking the water to cold, I scrub furiously at my skin, wondering if it’ll magically scratch Tory out of my head.
Nope, it just makes it worse.
It’s like that whole don’t think of a pink elephant trick.
Only, in this case, I wish I had an annoying goddamn pachyderm stuck on my mind.
Instead, I’m thinking about Tory wearing those boots with the pink stitching and nothing else.
Preferably bent over, her hair in my fist, ass up, moaning my name with this fuck-hot smolder in her throat.
Hell.
I don’t even know what I’m doing at first when I look down and see my fist wrapped around an angry hard-on, stroking it harder, driven by animal lust more than conscious thought.
I remember how good she felt pressed up against me on that swing.
Then I think about how nimble she was while she helped me hang it. Even with her knee messed up, Tory Three Names can flex like a yoga teacher, her lithe body and lush curves bending in ways that’d ignite any red-blooded man’s imagination.
She sends mine right off the rails to dark places full of flesh. Stolen kisses. Driving hips.
She makes me imagine what it’d be like to shred the veil of everything we’ve had, all chaste smiles and friendly jabs and electric need throbbing underneath it.
She begs me to get her on the nearest surface, stretch those long dancer legs over my face, and devour every last bit of her soft, dripping peach till the only sounds she can make are ragged, otherworldly screams.
And then I’d flip her over, put her under me as I stare into her eyes, drunk on her taste. I’d watch her face shudder and twist with delight, sinking every furious inch I own deep inside her.
A tension rips up my spine, fills every muscle, and before I know it—
“Fuck, Tory!” I’m grinding her name through my teeth, panting for dear life.
A white-hot orgasm rips out of me in a sudden burst and streams all over my leg, the wall, and my fist before the water rinses it away.
Unbelievable.
This is who I am right now.
Comin’ my fucking brains out to my childhood best friend, who I haven’t touched, haven’t kissed, haven’t even gotten comfortable with in anything more than a friendly way.
Because this is exactly what I’m afraid of.
This is what a baser, wicked, totally irrational part of me wants.
And this is what might just happen, whether I like it or not, when I ask Tory out tomorrow on something that’s bound to feel like a date.
I’m glad the boys gave me bottle salutes for good luck back at the Bobcat.
There might be no coming back from this.
Stick a fork in my horny ass, I’m done.
The next evening, I head over to Granny Coffey’s.
She opens the door before I get a chance to knock, decked out in a pink-and-white-checkered shirt, jeans with a huge silvery belt buckle, and pink boots just like I’d seen Tory wearing.
“Oh, thank God you’re here, young man!” she hisses while grabbing my arm. “I damn near lost faith in you.”
My nerves instantly kick into gear. “Why? What’s happened? Where’s Tory?”
“Shhh.” She presses a finger to her lips, then taps it against her mouth. “She’s in the kitchen, getting ready to cook that godforsaken eggplant,” she says under her breath. “Look, I’m all for adventurous eating, but that blasted thing is purple. Some plants God made for decorations, and nothing else.”
I bite back a grin. “Can’t disagree with your logic, ma’am.”
“I knew you wouldn’t.” She glances over her shoulder, still whispering. “You have to take her to the rodeo tonight, Quinn. Have to.”
“Why’s that?” I whisper back.
“Because I’m not choking down eggplant parmesan for supper. I’m having a burrito as big as my head from Kenny’s Taco Truck. I’ve been hankering for one ever since I saw the first rodeo poster, but I can’t go get one with her cooking us supper.”
“Sounds like you’d better take her to the rodeo then,” I say, a small doubtful part of me wondering if Tory will give me a chance.
“Oh, posh.” She rolls her eyes. “Would you want to go to the rodeo with your grandma, Quinn Faulkner?”
I shake my head. “Granny, anyone who rides around town on a bike built for two with their grandma won’t mind going to the rodeo with her.”
“Truth be told, I bought that bike to help exercise her poor knee. That first week of riding damn near killed me, but if you tell anyone that, I’ll deny it till I’m blue in the face. Now come along.” Looping a hand through my arm, she pulls me farther into the living room. “Tory, dear! You have a visitor. Quinn’s here to take you to the rodeo tonight!”
“What?” Tory yells from the kitchen. “What the...did you text him?”