I Bet You Read Online Ilsa Madden-Mills (The Hook Up #2)

Categories Genre: New Adult, Romance, Sports, Young Adult Tags Authors: Series: The Hook Up Series by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

I Bet You (The Hook Up #2)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Ilsa Madden-Mills

Book Information:

Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills returns with an all-new swoon-fest of a novel about what happens when you look beyond labels and take a chance on love.
Sexy Athlete: I bet you… Penelope Graham: Burn in hell, quarterback.
The text is random but Penelope figures out exactly who “Sexy Athlete” is. And why she shouldn't take his wager.
Ryker Voss. Football star. Walks on water and God's gift to women. Just ask him.
His bet? He promises Penelope he’ll win her the heart of the guy she’s been crushing on. His plan—good old-fashioned jealousy. Once her crush sees her kissing Ryker, he'll realize what he's missing. Sounds legit, right? The only question is…why is Ryker being so nice to her?
Penelope Graham. Virgin. Lover of sparkly vampires and calculus. His mortal enemy.
Penelope knows she shouldn’t trust a jock, but what’s a girl to do when she needs a date to Homecoming? And Ryker’s keeping a secret, another bet, one that could destroy Penelope’s heart forever.
Will the quarterback score the good girl or will his secrets mean everyone loses this game of love?
*Author's Note: This is a standalone sports romance with an HEA. **You do not have to have read I Dare You, although you should if you love jocks and nerdy heroines. Xo
Books in Series:

The Hook Up Series by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Books by Author:

Ilsa Madden-Mills Books


The door to my bedroom flies open and I grab my chest, my fingers clutching the bodice of my sapphire-blue dress. Standing in front of me with his cravat slightly askew is none other than the devil himself, Lord Ryker Voss, the Duke of Waylon. He thinks he’s the best thing since crumpets and scones. Maybe he is. But I hate him.

“I’m here to ravish you, Lady Penelope.”

“No,” I gasp, but I suspect he knows I don’t mean it.

“I know you don’t mean it.” He gives me a cocky smile, whips off his dark coat, and tosses it on the floor. His white linen shirt is next, the buttons flying around the room. My wide eyes linger on the rippling muscles of his abdomen, wandering to the deep V on his hips that leads to—

Dear me.

His male length juts out of his trousers, and it’s hard and long…and magnificent.

Will it even fit?

“I’m a virgin,” I say, darting around the canopied bed even as I imagine him spreading me out naked on those velvet covers, his tongue sucking my peaks one by one—

He captures my arm. “Are you imagining me fucking you, Lady Penelope?”

I tremble and melt into him. “Yes.”

“Good.” Caressing my bodice with his palm, he tugs on the fabric until it rips and my voluptuous breasts pop out. Desire glows in his aqua-colored eyes. He pushes me down on the bed and gathers my skirt up, his fingers finding the opening in my undergarments. His huge length teases my entrance, and I moan, my hands clutching his shoulders—

“Yo! Garçon, we need some help back here,” comes a deep male voice from somewhere inside the restaurant. I jump at being pulled from my concentration and nearly fall off my stool before righting myself, my face a deep cardinal red. I slam my journal shut with an emphatic bang and tuck it under my laptop on the bar to make it less conspicuous.

I’m on my break, but I stand to see who needs help, groaning when I see the football table waving at me.

Of course it has to be him.

I exhale as my eyes drift over the players and jersey chasers before coming back and landing on Ryker freaking Voss himself, the center of attention and Mr. Golden Boy Quarterback of Waylon University.

I swear I can smell the testosterone from here.

And to think I imagined him ravishing me…

Please. I grimace. Ryker is such a douche. Everyone knows his bedroom is a revolving door, and he wouldn’t know what a real woman was if she walked up and hit him on the head.

He cocks an infuriating eyebrow at me and calls out, “Today would be nice.”


I glance at my journal. I probably inserted him in my bodice-ripping scenario because school is back in session—senior year, baby—and Ryker just happens to be here in Sugar’s. I waited on his table earlier, and once I get going with an idea, it gets a life of its own and the words just flow across the page.

I make a mental note to go back and scratch his name out of my notebook.

Clearing my throat, I stick my hands in the pockets of the half apron tied around my waist and head to his table. Of course, I could get one of the other servers to wait on them, but most of them are dealing with their own customers or cleaning up in the back.

And his table is in my section.

I exhale. Since the moment he waltzed in with his buddies an hour ago and requested me as his waitress, I knew it was going to be a long night. School started two weeks ago, and he’s been in a few times, always asking for me.

He enjoys me being at his beck and call.

His gaze is arrogant and riveted on me the entire forty feet or so it takes to get there. It’s a little intimidating to be the focus of his scrutiny, as if I’m his serving girl and he’s the lord of the manor, but I straighten my shoulders and give him my brightest, sweetest smile—the one I reserve for people I don’t like.

Which I suspect he knows.

The truth is I wrote a scathing editorial about him a few months ago in the Wildcat Weekly, an article that carefully detailed his part in a football fighting ring spring semester. Once the smoke cleared and the NCAA exonerated him, I did write a brief follow-up…but too little, too late, I suppose. I already painted him in an unethical light, and I’m guessing those words are probably hard to forget.

He hates me.

I come to a stop at their table, my hand going to my hip like it does whenever he’s near.

Our eyes meet and I hold my ground, not breaking our stare. I’ll admit he’s a magnificent male, all six feet, four inches of him. With his tousled mix of brown and blond hair, ocean-colored eyes, and sensuous full lips, he’s the kind of gorgeous that makes you stop and blink. You might even rub your eyes to make sure he isn’t some sort of sexy devil/angel.