Harper James – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Harper James – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Tue, 08 Jun 2021 21:04:00 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Harper James – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Snatched Read Online Harper James http://www.books2020.com/snatched-read-online-harper-james Tue, 08 Jun 2021 20:46:01 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/snatched-read-online-harper-james Genre: College, Contemporary, Romance, Sports Authors: Harper James Advertisement

Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Snatched
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Harper James
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B01M6YHVMH
Book Information:
Who the hell answers their front door wearing next to nothing and showing off their monster cck? Finn Thorne, that’s who. Recent transfer, new quarterback, rumored bad news, and my new tutoring student. He’s cocky as hell, smart-mouthed, and thinks he owns me the way he owns his opponents on the field. But he’s wrong. I have plans. Goals. And I’m not about to get deterred by some sexy football player who screws anything that walks. Except…before I know it, his cocky, dirty mouth is whispering nasty things in my ear. And soon our tutoring sessions are becoming less about me teaching him math, and more about him teaching me how good his mouth feels between my legs, how to get him off, how hard and fast he can make me come. I’m determined not to fall for him. But off the field, Finn Thorne only plays dirty… **SNATCHED is a standalone sports romance with a guaranteed HEA
Books by Author:	Harper James

Chapter 1

All athletes think they have big dicks, but the guy standing in front of me actually does.

I know this because he opens the door wearing nothing but a towel. A very small towel, one that’s straining to reach all the way around his thick, muscular thighs. Because of the largeness of the man and the smallness of the towel covering him, it’s almost impossible not to get a glimpse of what’s between his legs.

Who the fuck answers their front door wearing next to nothing and showing off their monster cock like it’s a collectible item on display?

Finn Thorne, that’s who. Recent transfer, rumored bad news, and my new tutoring student.

“Do I know you?” he asks, looking at me as if I might be a door-to-door vacuum cleaner saleswoman, or maybe even worse.

A football groupie.

Which is ridiculous, since I don’t care about football.

Like, not a bit. Negative caring. The actual game, I mean. I like the tailgating and the temporary tattoos and the giant confetti cannons they shoot off in the stadium after a win, even if I do think that’s just asking for a PTSD-related lawsuit. But the actual game? Whatever. Downs and tackles and punts and…bunts?

No, that’s baseball.

I don’t care at all about sports.

But going to Harton University means I more or less have to shut up about that fact, because anyone who doesn’t care about football here gets eaten alive. And besides, the one perk of going to a school with a huge and competitive football team? I make good, good money tutoring linebackers that never see the inside of an actual classroom. I’m good at it, too— which is why they’ve sent me to handle the new guy.

“I’m Kenley. Kenley Sullivan?” I say, thinking it might jog his memory. “Your math tutor?” I avert my eyes from what’s going on below his waist and meet his arrogant gaze.

Is it possible I have the wrong house?

I glance down at my phone to double check the address. I’m in Ansley Park, one of the nicest neighborhoods in Atlanta, but it’s not totally insane that a football player would be meeting me for a tutoring session here— there’s a house one of the alumni owns, and my understanding is my new client is staying here to keep a low profile before the first game of the season.

Finn Thorne.

453 Magnolia Ave (white house with blue door), 5pm

Struggling with math, classes from Florida didn’t transfer, needs to pass first test in order to play, don’t worry about second since it’s after season is over. Thanks!

“Ohhhhhh….right,” Finn replies, nodding. He adjusts his towel, mercifully blocking his, um, parts, from view. Strangely, I’m still visualizing what I just saw, even wishing he hadn’t so quickly adjusted the towel—which makes no sense.

I should not be ogling my student’s cock, no matter how enormous and eye-catching it might be.

“That’s all? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” I manage to ask, incredulous.

“Say for myself?” He smirks. “I don’t have anything to say for myself.” His huge biceps flex as he crosses his arms over his smooth, muscular chest.

My eyes roam momentarily over his tanned skin, noting the finely drawn tattoos in various places, all of which seems to underscore the raw masculinity that permeates the air around him. His muscles are insane. What sort of pushup does someone have to do to work those muscles, exactly? I find myself inhaling, wanting to touch his chest, to see if it’s as hard as it looks.

I push on, trying to take control of the situation. “I’m here to tutor you in math, which I assume you need. And you show up to answer the door half-naked and acting completely rude—”

Finn’s smirk grows.

To say he’s good-looking is a huge understatement. He’s one of those guys that even if you took away the muscles, the height, the flawlessly straight teeth, would still be hot. Maybe it’s his cheekbones? Or the way he carries his shoulders— like he owns everything around him.

Including me.

“Apparently showering is now considered rude,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll be sure to make a note of it.”

I sigh and try to control my voice. He’s trying intimidating me with his size, and his looks, and his cockiness -- which makes me think about the glimpse I got of his cockiness, and how big it was, and that makes me wonder what it would be like to touch it…

“Maybe I should come back another time, when you’re actually prepared for our lesson,” I say, forcing my eyes to look away from his body, away from him. I want to glance back again, but instead I force myself to turn and begin walking away, down the steps, moving toward the sidewalk.

“Have a nice day, Kenley,” he calls out in his deep baritone, and I hear the door slam shut, causing my shoulders to rise as I grit my teeth and keep walking.

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Advertisement Spiked a Sport Romance Read online Harper James http://www.books2020.com/spiked-read-online-harper-james Sat, 29 Sep 2018 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/spiked-read-online-harper-james Genre: Alpha Male, College, Erotic, New Adult, Romance, Sports, Young Adult Authors: Harper James Advertisement

Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Spiked
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Harper James
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B01IO6DE8G
Book Information:
We were total opposites. He was the university's star quarterback, gorgeous, sexy, experienced, rich. Everyone knew his name. I was a country girl, a waitress, a nineteen-year-old-freshman who was totally inexperienced. When I met him, I couldn’t move, or speak, or even look away. All I could focus on were his eyes, and all I could think of were the rumors that swirled around campus: That Jacob Everett had nine inches and knew exactly how to use them. There was something about the way he stared at me that told me he knew exactly how paralyzing his eyes were, and how much he enjoyed watching me squirm. I’d never had someone look at me like that— like they not only wanted, but planned to undress me. I found myself thinking of Jacob in the middle of class. After class. At the library. And perhaps, worst of all, late at night, when I fought fantasies of him off for hours before finally giving in and touching myself to the thought of him on top of me. So, yes, Jacob Everett was a problem. But I never thought my fantasies about the most popular guy at Harton University could ever come true. Until they did. Spiked is a standalone sports romance with a guaranteed HEA
Books by Author:	Harper James Books

1

Atlanta was full of new things.

Strange things.

Confusing things, even.

I’d never, for example, seen so many clubs proudly flying rainbow flags (which delighted me) or so many one-way streets (which horrified me). I’d never experienced traffic as bad as the connector at rush hour, and I’d definitely never had so many dining options at two o’clock in the morning (including a place where apparently one could order both egg rolls and nachos, delivered, which was the trifecta or strange, confusing, and new).

But traffic aside, it was a thrilling place to be— not just Atlanta—but being enrolled at Harton University. Finally, finally, finally, I was out of my tiny town of Tifton and getting my actual life started.

Even as I stood in the middle of Harton University’s beautiful campus, I was blown away by the fact that I was actually there.

Everything felt fresh and new and vibrant. I could smell the grass and see the gorgeous buildings, and it was like a dream I didn’t want to end.

A cheery girl on the school’s north campus handed me a thick folder. “Here you go— Copeland, Sasha, right?” She flashed a smile at me and continued talking. “This is your welcome packet. There’s a campus map, a social calendar for upcoming freshmen, and your housing information. Looks like you’re in Wells. Which…wait. That can’t be right,” the girl said, frowning and pulling the folder back.

“No, Wells is right— that’s the one that was on the letter they sent to my house,” I said.

“But Wells is the upperclassmen suites. You’re registered as a freshman,” the girl said. “You should be in Parks.”

I smiled, though I could tell the expression was more than a little tight. “I’m a freshman, but I’m nineteen and didn’t really want to do all the freshman stuff with the eighteen year olds. So they put me in Wells.”

“Oh! Ok,” the girl said, looking a little baffled. “Are you sure, though? The freshman mixers are a great way to meet people.”

“I’m not really interested in mixers. I’m just trying to get my education,” I replied in my best polite, yet final, voice.

“Sure,” the girl said. She shrugged and surrendered the folder. “If you change your mind, talk to your RA. She can probably get you on the freshman calendars even though you aren’t in Parks.”

“Thanks,” I said. I tucked the folder under my arm and walked away— or at least, I tried to walk away. I was more or less stopped dead in my tracks by a row of cheerleaders who broke into cries of “Go Rams!” as I started down the path. At the end of the path, should I survive the cheerleader gauntlet, was the school’s costumed Ram mascot and a photographer.

“No, thanks!” I called to them, and tried to walk the other direction.

“Come on! You’re joining the herd. You’ll regret not getting a picture to commemorate it,” the nearest cheerleader said. She had a kind face with bright red lipstick and a Rams logo fake tattoo on one cheek.

Cheerleaders and the sports they were attached to weren’t really my thing— but I didn’t hate them either. Everyone needed to find their tribe, after all; the cheerleaders’ tribe was for people who possessed amazing hair and unheard of flexibility; mine was with those who called the library home.

“Come on,” the cheerleader pleaded. “One quick photo with Ramses! We’re supposed to get one with everyone who picks up their registration. They’re doing a big collage in the football program, the sort where they use everyone’s photo to make a giant ram? You won’t want to be left out.”

I really wanted to get to my suite, so I could chart my schedule. But hey, I had come all the way to Atlanta to attend school— why not mark the occasion with a photo? It’d definitely look a lot nicer than one of my infamous scheduling charts in a scrapbook, someday.

“Sure,” I said, finally. The girl slipped her slim arm through mine and led me down the path, cheerleaders on both sides hooting as we went. I was deposited by the Ram mascot’s— er, Ramses’— side, and a photographer knelt down to snap a picture.

“Say, beat the hornets!” the photographer shouted.

“Beat the hornets!” I said cheerfully. “Whoever they are.”

The photographer lowered the camera, looking stunned. “What? Are you serious?”

I realized that the cheerleaders had gone quiet. “Oh. Um. I just don’t really do the sports thing. Sorry.”

The cheerleaders glanced at one another; the photographer looked at the ground. I turned to Ramses, like his giant cartoon eyes might offer some sort of solace; instead, the light hit the costume eyes in such a way that I could see through them, to the disappointed eyes of whomever was wearing the costume.

“But I hope…we beat the hornets all the same?” I offered.

“Honey, you’re gonna have to do a lot better than that here at Harton,” the photographer said, smiling pityingly, and before I could resume a smile, snapped a picture.

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Advertisement SNAPPED Read Online Harper James (Slate Brothers #1) http://www.books2020.com/snapped-1-read-online-harper-james Sat, 24 Dec 2016 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/snapped-1-read-online-harper-james Genre: College, Erotic, New Adult, Romance, Sports, Young Adult Authors: Harper James Series: The Slate Brothers Series by Harper James
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Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	SNAPPED (The Slate Brothers, Book One)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Harper James
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B073RSC1R8
Book Information:
Meet The Slate Brothers. Each One A Football Star. Each One Sexy, Rough And Completely Untamed. A standalone romance with a guaranteed HEA Sebastian Slate is everything I’m against: Privileged athlete. Arrogant sex-machine. Ruthless heartbreaker. When I came to Berkfield University, I vowed to stay away from men like him. Men who think they can toy with women, use them as playthings and then discard them like empty cups of beer after one of their obnoxious parties. But then I actually meet Sebastian Slate up close and personal. Before I know it, my body is responding to him despite knowing how wrong it is. And even more shocking is the fact that he actually seems to notice me back. It’s as if everything in my universe has been turned upside down. All the things I thought were important, I’m turning away from. And all of the things I thought I hated, I actually want. Like Sebastian Slate, the super-confident football hero who walks around this entire college like it’s his personal playground. It turns out that I’ll give up everything, all of my hopes and dreams and values, simply to be touched by his dirty, rough hands. Just to feel his lips all over my body. Just to be snapped, once and for all….
Books in Series:	The Slate Brothers Series by Harper James
Books by Author:	Harper James Books

1

The first time attending a real college party full of football players was bound to be intimidating. But it’s definitely more so when you arrive wearing a pig nose and a shirt that says “Papa Pig’s Pizza Palace” across the front of it.

I stand at the door to the swanky house, holding boxes of hot pizza, and wondering what horrible stuff I must’ve done in a past life to end up in this karmic hellhole. Hellhole factor, the first: Football players. They’re the actual worst, so far as I can tell— all smashing beer cans on foreheads and smelling-like-old-socks and full scholarships for being good at hitting people.

Hellhole factor, the second: Pizza. I don’t even like Papa Pig’s pizza. It’s basically 90% grease, and the smell of it gets in my hair and clothes for days after I work a shift.

Hellhole factor, the third: Parties. I’m not really a party kind of girl. I’m more of the coffee shop, bookstore, quiet night with Netflix type.

But here I am, heading up to a college football party, delivering twenty-seven large boxes of Papa Pig’s pizza (their regular order, according to my boss). I lug the warming boxes out of my car and up the steps— I’m pretty sure they weigh more than I do, but like hell am I making two trips. The house is one of those totally re-done craftsman bungalows that probably has a thousand more rooms than you’d expect based on the street view. There’s a wide wooden front porch covered in rocking chairs, and the whole place glows with the light pouring from every window and the glass storm door. It’s probably a million dollar home— most of the houses that sit right across from the school’s north campus are. At Berkfield University, though, parties in million dollar homes are just Friday nights for the football team.

Must be nice.

I take a deep breath, trying not to let the exertion show as I finally reach the porch. I drop the warming boxes onto the ground, adjust my pig nose, and ring the bell.

“Pizza! It’s here!” a thick, heavy voice shouts. There’s a sea of people inside, girls in short dresses filling up the hallways and guys leaning against the walls or man-spreading on the wide staircase. The voice belongs to none of these— it belongs to a bro who muscles his way through the crowd, grinning at me. He’s got his phone ready.

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath. He grabs the door and swings it open.

“Thanks— hey, we need some people for the picture,” the guy shouts over his shoulder. “Come on, come on, let’s do this so we can eat!”

A few girls from the hall cut their conversations short and walk toward the porch, glossy lips and heels so high they seem physically impossible to walk in. “Can she come in? It’s cold out there,” one of them pouts, rubbing her arms. I want to point out that if she was wearing more than a glorified washcloth in September, she might not be cold, but I resist.

“Yeah, she can come in,” the guy who answered the door says, like I’m an actual pig that needs to be cleared before entering the premises. He pushes the door farther open, and I grab the pizzas to hoist them inside. No one makes any effort to help, as they’re too busy arranging themselves by height for the photo. I’ve just gotten the warming boxes in when they’re satisfied, and they usher me over to the place of honor, right in the center of a pack of four supermodel-gorgeous girls and a number of chiseled, broad-shouldered guys.

“Alright, ready? Say, “Go Razorbacks”!” the guy who answered the door calls, and a flash goes off as he takes a photo. I’m pretty sure my eyes were closed.

“Do we look cute?” one of the girls asks. “Can we redo it if we don’t?”

“You all look great,” the door guy says, and slaps her playfully on the ass. She giggles and scampers away. The girls begin to delve into the warming boxes, pulling out pizza and announcing repeatedly that this is their “cheat day”, like they need to have a formal excuse to eat Papa Pig’s.

“I just need you to sign the receipt—“ I say, reaching inside my short apron for the pad.

“Yeah, yeah, hang on, let me get this loaded,” the door guy says. He taps around on his phone, uploading hellhole factor, the fourth, to social media— the photo he just took, with the hashtag #ImAPapaPig. Doing so earns you free cheesy bread. That’s right, folks: My dignity is worth sacrificing for free Papa Pig’s cheesy bread.

I didn’t know all this when I took the job, for what it’s worth.

“If you could just sign here,” I say, again pushing the pad toward door guy. He’s snorting, adding filters to the photo that make the other girls look cuter and highlight my pig nose.

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Advertisement STUFFED Read Online Harper James (Slate Brothers #2) http://www.books2020.com/stuffed-2-read-online-harper-james Sat, 24 Dec 2016 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/stuffed-2-read-online-harper-james Genre: College, Erotic, New Adult, Romance, Sports, Young Adult Authors: Harper James Series: The Slate Brothers Series by Harper James
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Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 42889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	STUFFED (The Slate Brothers, Book Two)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Harper James
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B073ZJ8XSK
Book Information:
Meet The Slate Brothers. Each One A Football Star. Each One Sexy, Rough And Completely Untamed. A standalone romance with a guaranteed HEA When I first meet Carson Slate, he’s half-naked, his perfect abs and chiseled biceps on display. Of course, that’s because I’m in the team locker room and he’s changing after a game. But you don’t have to be a sports fan to know two things about him: 1) He’s only a junior, but he’s already being looked at by professional scouts. 2) His father is a murderer. Or at least, he’s accused of being a murderer. The only reason I’m even talking to someone like Carson Slate is because I’m a journalist for our college paper. But from the moment I lay eyes on the gorgeous superstar, it’s like I become a different person. I’ve always been responsible to a fault, and suddenly I’m doing bad things. Shirking all of my responsibilities, lying, hiding, pretending to be someone I’m not. And before I know it, Carson is treating me differently too, demanding that I do sexual acts for every question he answers for my article. The worst part? The worst part is that I love it. I love it when Carson Slate tells me what sexy outfit to wear. I love letting him touch me And I love it when he tells me how to touch him. Or where to put my mouth… And yes, he’s as big as the rumors suggest, in EVERY way. But then again, so is the story I’m writing. The story that could destroy Carson, his father, and everything I hold dear…
Books in Series:	The Slate Brothers Series by Harper James
Books by Author:	Harper James Books

1

There’s a locker room full of half-naked, sweaty men on the other side of this door. The door in front of which I’ve been standing for god knows how long…

And in a moment, I’m going to be walking into the lion’s den, pretending that this is a normal, everyday occurrence for me.

But instead of putting one foot in front of the other and going inside, I’m still standing out in the hallway and trying to psych myself up.

It’s not working, though. My traitorous feet aren’t moving, as a text from my editor appears on my cell phone.

If you cant do this I need to know asap, I can send someone else

I glare at the text for a few minutes. This is so Devin— he’s always been the sort of editor who assumes I’ll fail without giving me a chance to succeed. While admittedly, I’m definitely feeling out of my league, I’m also not planning on throwing in the towel this early.

Sports aren’t really my thing, but the school paper was in a bind and needed someone to handle this interview for a headline story. It’s not like sophomores can just turn down assignments and cite a preference for fine arts over football. Besides, if I want to be a real writer, I’ve got to stray outside of my comfort zone, right?

Astrid? Answer please.

I roll my eyes and respond, hoping he can read the “fuck you” I’m crafting between the lines.

I’m on it.

Of course, now I have to do this, or admit to Devin that I chickened out. Not that I was going to chicken out, because I’m a journalist and journalists don’t freak out over going into a locker room full of football players—

“Can I help you?” someone asks, staring at me. My eyes snap off my phone, and I force a smile. It’s a man wearing a Bowen University Staff polo, with gray hair that matches the hallway paint color perfectly. I know he’s one of the coaches— an important one, in fact, given that I’ve seen him at televised press conferences before.

“Hi! Yes! I’m with the newspaper. I have a press pass. I’m supposed to get after game interviews with the starting players.” I have no idea why, suddenly, everything I’m saying sounds stupidly excited, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I smile bigger because I’m not sure what else to do.

“Which one?” the coach asks politely.

“This one!” I say, holding up the press pass, wondering what other type of press pass exists.

“Which paper?” he clarifies, still polite, but now clearly more than a little exhausted by me. I can’t say I blame him.

“Oh, sorry— the school paper. The Bowen Blaze.”

“Sure,” the coach says, nodding. “Well, go on in. If you’ve got a press pass, you don’t have to wait out here.”

“Thanks. Great. Got it!” I say, nodding robotically. I’m so, so glad that Devin isn’t here right now to see this. I’d be stuck editing the horoscope for the next three years. The coach reaches back to hold the door for me, and I slink into the locker room as fast as I can.

The humidity hits me first, so intense that it’s nearly difficult to breathe.

Next, the scent in the air hits me. To my surprise, it’s not an awful smell— which I had prepared for, what with it being a college football locker room and all. No, it’s more…masculine. Heavy, and spicy, like deodorant and sweat and toothpaste and soap.

There’s a short hallway ahead of me that ends in double doors; the walls leading up to them are lined with inspiration sayings about Bowen University, and quotes from former famous Bowen coaches. There are two frosted windows on the doors— which are dark navy, one of Bowen’s school colors— through which I can see shadows of players milling around. I can hear them laughing, carousing, shouting at one another. They’re understandably in a good mood— they won the first game of the season.

Other reporters are surely in there already— I saw them practically sprinting from the press boxes to the locker room as the clock ran out. I take a deep breath of thick air and march forward, putting Devin and his irritatingly persistent doubt out of my mind. I’ve got a press pass. I’m a reporter. I’ve got every right to be in there. And besides, they’re just a bunch of jocks— it’s not like they’re the kind of guys I’m trying to impress. I reach the navy doors and push through, head held high.

Then immediately squeeze my eyes shut, because there are three naked guys right in front of me.

“Oh, god, sorry, I just— I’m sorry,” I stammer, yanking my hands to my chest defensively. My mind is racing, replaying what I just saw over and over and over. A room full of very large, very muscular guys, all with tattoos and thick arms and shining, just-showered faces. Most with towels wrapped around their waists or wearing athletic shorts or boxers. But three— one putting something in a locker, two others drying off— with everything hanging out for me to see. My chest feels hot, my heart races— I’ve never actually seen a guy naked in person before, not really, and this was not at all how I expected it to happen.

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Advertisement STRIPPED Read online Harper James (Slate Brothers #3) http://www.books2020.com/stripped-3-read-online-harper-james Fri, 23 Dec 2016 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/stripped-3-read-online-harper-james Genre: College, Erotic, New Adult, Romance, Sports, Young Adult Authors: Harper James Series: The Slate Brothers Series by Harper James
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Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	STRIPPED (The Slate Brothers, Book Three)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Harper James
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B074BCVB9T
Book Information:
Meet The Slate Brothers. Each One A Football Star. Each One Sexy, Rough And Completely Untamed. A standalone romance with a guaranteed HEA I can’t believe I want to f**k a football star. I’m so not that girl. I’ve always been a nerdy loner, my head in a book. And that’s how I prefer it… But Tyson Slate is different, and for some reason he keeps teasing me, toying with me, touching me and making me melt. I try to resist him but he’s so undeniably sexy, with muscles that I want to run my fingers over and gray-blue eyes. I try to pretend to be calm when Tyson is near, not wanting him to see how he’s flustered me with his words and his looks and that hard stare. I can’t understand why he seems to want me, out of all the hot girls lining up to be with him. But maybe it’s because I’m different, because I don’t come from his world. Maybe that’s why he can be himself around me, let his walls down for just a little while, and then…touch me. God, the way he touches me. The way he looks at me. I’m falling for him and he’s only going to trample my heart. But Tyson Slate always gets exactly what he wants. And he wants me. Hard. Deep. Stripped of my defenses. And he won’t stop until he gets it…
Books in Series:	The Slate Brothers Series by Harper James
Books by Author:	Harper James Books

Chapter 1

My best friend is trying to back out on me and I refuse to let it happen. As we stand on the campus quad just a few hundred feet from the gymnasium, I try to talk sense to her.

“This is a new start,” I remind Trishelle for what must be the millionth time. “You’ve got to tryout for the cheerleading team, or you’re just resigning yourself to another four years of who you were in high school. Besides, if you don’t go to tryouts, I’m not going to auditions.”

Trishelle and I are friends from high school, but we’re both trying to start fresh now that we’re in college. Neither of us had successful high school experiences, but college is supposed to be different.

We’re going to blossom, dammit--we’re going to do all of the things that we were too scared to do back then.

She’s supposed to go to cheerleading tryouts and I said I would go to acting auditions. But now my best friend is trying to back out on her end of the deal.

“Fine, Anna. I guess I’ll go make a fool of myself,” Trishelle finally agrees (thanks to my vigorous pep talk and refusing to take no for an answer), taking a big breath and adjusting her shorts. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Sort of,” I say.

We continue on to the gymnasium, a massive concrete and glass building in the center of campus. Banners featuring the school’s basketball stars hang from the rafters. Once inside, Trishelle signs in and gets her number, and then we’re both on our own— her to go stretch and me to sit in the bleachers with a collection of nervous moms, boyfriends, sisters, and a few stage-dads who are so adorably freaked out that I can’t stand it.

I sit alone— which is cool with me. I’m perfectly happy to go to restaurants, theaters, and, I suppose, cheerleading auditions by myself. I’ve never understood why it worries so many people; solitude isn’t my preferred state of being or anything, but I’ve never been uncomfortable by myself. Maybe it’s a throwback to my childhood— kidney insufficiency means I spent a lot of time in hospital rooms alone despite the best intentions of nurses, other patients, and my parents. A transplant finally solved the problem, thought it a) left me with two insane scars and b) meant that someone had to, you know, die so I could have the transplant.

A therapist once told me that’s part of the reason I’m so hyper-responsible and anti-risk; I feel like I owe it to my donor to not mess up my life. Like, say, by auditioning for theater and totally humiliating myself and—

This isn’t the time, Anna. Focus on Trishelle.

Tryouts begin, and the stage-dads can’t sit still— they stand up and sit down over and over, hands to their chests or on their hips, like they’re playing a solo version of musical chairs. There’s lots of cheering among the audience, so I shout for Trishelle when it’s her turn to take a basic tumbling pass. She nails it, obviously, since round-off back-handsprings are something she’s been doing since first grade.

Trishelle was always a good gymnast, but for some reason the cheerleader mean girls never took to her. The way they treated her when we were in high school was sickening…

And that’s why my stomach is so nervous right now. I so badly want to see her do what I know she’s capable of, and it’s making me anxious and clammy.

Suddenly, the doors to the exterior of the gym open up, and a barrage of guys walk in. They’re sweaty and grass stained, and I guess that they’re from the football team— we saw them practicing outside on one of the fields as we were walking up. Plus, it’s fairly easy to spot a football player: Huge, muscular, and arrogant. They sit at the back of the bleachers, which means they’re only a few rows behind me.

“Not a double d cup in sight,” one of them says, sounding disappointed.

“That girl is hella flexible though,” another one says, and I hear some grunts of agreement. They go on like this for a while, picking their way through each and every girl auditioning, using their numbers to identify them. It’s a level of sexism I thought only existed in movies, but I remind myself that there are douchebag guys everywhere, and that if I cause a scene it’ll only distract Trishelle.

She wants this.

And so I want it for her, even if she’ll be cheering on these a-holes if she gets the gig…

The newbies are moving on to more difficult tumbling passes, and it’s obvious they’re using sudden death rules— people are dropping out, unable to complete the requested feats. Trishelle is still going strong, though, and I smile to myself when I notice that the vets running the audition have stopped doing passes alongside her. They’re talking in small groups like they’re just bored with the whole event, but I suspect it’s because they know they can’t hold a candle to Trishelle as a gymnast, and don’t want a side by side comparison.

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