Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Those four words send heat straight to my core. I feel a gush of wetness, and I’m breathless at the feeling. He says it like it’s so simple, though it’s anything but. I want to argue, but what the hell do I say to that? Not that I think I could actually form words anyway.
My eyes fall to his chest once more, like a perv, and I mutter, “Where is your shirt?”
His eyes don’t leave mine, but his lips curve just the slightest bit, like he’s fighting a grin. “Not on my body.”
I flash him a bored look. “Well, you need to find one. Your nipples are cutting glass.”
Jett full-out grins at me now, the tension so thick between us, a part of me wants to run and hide, while the other wants to drown in the emotions building between us. With a smirk that should be illegal, he says, “Hey, now. You can’t talk about my nipples if we can’t talk about yours.”
Dean sputters with laughter, and all I can do is gawk at Jett as he grins down at me, so damn pleased with himself.
Meanwhile, all I want to do is rub my thighs together.
What is he doing to me?
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Jett
My unhealthy obsession with watching Fable on the west rink camera actually pays off when I see my so-called friend hugging her. I was in the middle of changing when Dean wrapped his arms around her. Unlike most women when it comes to Dean Moore, Fable didn’t seem very interested in the hug. Though, she never seems interested in anyone. I’ve watched guys try to talk to her, but she either looks away or just walks off. She only ever looks me in the eye, but she hasn’t smiled for me like she just did for Dean. The smile she flashed him made me want to agree to all her insane ideas just to be on the receiving end of her grin. It was real, and it was for him.
Yup, don’t like that at all.
Before I could even register that I was only in socks and shorts, I was down the stairs and through the west rink doors to find Dean with his hands still on her. Never in my life have I wanted to tear my friend’s arm off and beat him with the bloodied end.
But that’s exactly how I feel.
Even after teasing Fable, I want to beat the fuck for touching her.
The mention of nipples has her cheeks and neck bright red, while her plump lips press together so hard they’re white. She shifts on her skates, and my grin grows.
Does my girl need some friction between those thick thighs?
I force myself to look away, shaking my head in the frustration that only Fable Winthrop brings me.
The past two weeks have been hell. I have spent an ungodly amount of time looking at the photo she sent out to announce her coaching for just a glimpse of what I think I saw. I have racked my brain trying to figure out if I made it up, but I know what I saw. I need her to admit it. Not only do her nipples keep me awake at night, but so does the rest of her. I toss and turn until it’s time to get up and face her each morning. We spend hours going through her damn file and arguing about what she wants. Are her suggestions bad? Not at all, they’re great, but I just can’t seem to let go of my pride.
Plus, I love arguing with her.
She’s so passionate, and all I want is for her to channel that passion into me. I want her to look at me with those heated eyes as she takes my cock down her throat. I want her to ride me like she wants to break me in half, and fuck, I’d let her. She’s just too damn perfect. Since the moment I met her, I knew she was special, and even now, after twenty years, nothing has changed.
Fable is the girl of my dreams.
As I gaze down at her, Fable’s eyes are dark and trained only on me. It’s like we’re the only two on this rink, and I wish I could touch her like Dean did. I just want to feel her beneath my palms.
When she checked out my chest, I wanted to step closer to give her a better look at my ink. She was always intrigued by the tattoos my grandma had since she was a tattoo artist. But back then, tattoos were so against what the Winthrops believed in that Fable knew she couldn’t get one. It blows me away that she has her thighs done. I want to know how many she has, what prompted her to get them, and if I can see them up close.