Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
“Oh, I completely agree. And it’s not just because she’s pretty, you know? She’s just… She’s the most hardworking, independent girl I’ve ever met. She has two jobs plus her occasional catering gig, rents her own apartment, she takes care of her little sister all by herself, and especially after what happened last year—”
“Why aren’t you at practice?” I ask abruptly, putting a stop to Joe’s story.
I know I said I’d keep aloof and that I wouldn’t get involved. But I don’t want Joe talking about my sister or anything at all that’s remotely personal to my life. Not to him. My secret stepbrother.
If Joe thinks my interruption was weird, he’s too polite to show it. And the other guy at our table is acting like nothing is wrong anyway. Like he isn’t here, crashing my date and exacting revenge for what I did two days ago.
Like sitting back in his high-backed chair, all broad and tall, with the overhead lights bringing out the chocolate-colored strands in his gorgeously messy hair and highlighting his killer jawline, he has every right to flick his eyes over me. All arrogantly and dominatingly.
Possessively.
“Because practice is done for the day,” he says at last.
Well, duh. It’s dinnertime, so of course practice is done. But I didn’t have time to think of something better to say. I keep forging ahead though. “What about your after-practice activities?”
His eyes flash. “If by that you mean my weekly book club, we don’t meet on Tuesdays.”
He thinks he’s so funny, doesn’t he? I narrow my eyes at him. “Have you ever finished a book in your life?”
“Only the ones with a happy ending.”
“You—”
“Which is kinda why I’m here.”
My heart jumps in my chest. “What?”
He knows he’s got me. I can see it in his dark eyes. Dark and pretty and evil. I clench my fists in my lap, lest I give in to temptation and punch that look right off his face. Then, “Well, what kind of a big brother would I be if I didn’t make sure my little sister’s best friend’s date is capable of giving her the happy ending she deserves?”
Okay, I’m hitting him. I am. I don’t care what he does in retaliation but I’m wiping that triumphant look off his face right this second. But somehow, I curb myself once again and say, “Yes, that’s what I am. That’s all I am. Which means you don’t need to be interrogating my date like you’re really my big brother, and—”
I feel Joe squeezing my hand, interrupting me. “Hey, I don’t mind. He’s just trying to look out for you.”
Look out, my ass. He’s trying to tell me that he hasn’t forgotten what I did two days ago. Seriously though, what a fucking asshole. All I did was knee him in the junk, and it wasn’t as if it was uncalled for.
But all I do is smile at Joe for being so nice and squeeze his hand back. Only for me to notice a second later that he—the asshole—has his eyes on our joined hands at the table and his jaw is clenched. And it’s clenched so hard that a muscle is beating on his cheek. Somehow, I can feel the pulse of it on my skin, the burn of it, and I have to take my hand back and fist it in my lap.
At this point, the waitress brings our drinks and the moment breaks. Thankfully. I let Joe direct the conversation. Which mostly revolves around soccer. About practice, the upcoming season. Joe is careful about not bringing up the recent media rumors or last year’s championship game. And despite myself, I breathe a sigh of relief.
But I think I did it too early because just then, as I’m settling down into his sudden presence, I feel something. Something rough and scrape-y, something warm, and I feel it on my knee.
My right knee.
It’s a hand. It’s fingers. It’s his. What?
Am I… Is this… Oh God, is he touching me? Under the table.
Yes, he is.
He’s touching me. His fingers are grazing my knee. Actually no, not just my knee. I think his hand is so big and his fingers are so long that I feel his thumb rubbing circles on my thigh. On the underside of it, and my head snaps up, my eyes skittering over to him.
I have been looking down at the table, focusing on the dark grain of the wood, trying to tune him out, but now I’m watching him like my life depends on it. I’m watching his face, impassive and aloof, the way his lips are moving as he talks to Joe. I’m watching his deeply breathing chest, massive and corded. His shoulders, relaxed and broad.
I’m watching how calm he appears as he touches me for the first time. I mean, he has touched me before, but not like this. Not like… whatever this is. I can’t even think of any words to describe it. Except his thumb is moving, sometimes in a circle, sometimes side to side. Sometimes he even massages my soft flesh with those warm and rough fingers of his. As if trying to not only memorize the feel of my skin but also mold it into whatever shape he wants.