Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
She laughed. “I may have to, if they don’t find my luggage soon.”
I lowered my voice. “Well, if that’s the case, I was thinking just the jersey—no underwear, no bra.”
* * *
“Hey, Hayes! Can I get your autograph?”
I had my hand on the restaurant door, about to open it for Sloane, when a kid who was probably about thirteen or fourteen yelled over. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not.”
I walked over to the kid and his friends. The one who’d yelled took off his sneaker and held it out to me.
“You have something for me to sign it with?”
“Shit. No.”
“Watch your mouth.” I thumbed to Sloane, who stood next to me. “There’s a lady here.”
The kid looked her up and down and grinned. “She’s hot. Is she your girlfriend?”
I chuckled. “I’m working on it. Maybe you can help me out? Tell her how good a player I was.”
The kid looked at Sloane. “He was great. The best. Except for that playoff game where you sucked.”
I frowned. “Thanks, buddy.”
The kid looked over his shoulder at his friends. “Don’t one of you have a pen?”
They all shrugged.
I shook my head. “Hang on a second.”
I went into the restaurant and asked the maître d’ to borrow something to write with.
Back outside, I uncapped the felt-tip marker as I spoke to the kid. “What’s your name?”
“Rinaldo.”
“You play rugby?” I scribbled my name along the side of his sneaker.
“Twenty-eight points so far this season.”
“Nice. How are your grades?”
The kid’s face fell. “School sucks.”
“If you’re lucky enough to make it to the pros, you get maybe eight, maybe ten years. School is what teaches you to make good decisions and not get ripped off. You can do well in more than one thing.” I handed him back his sneaker.
The kid looked back at Sloane. “School wouldn’t score you her. Rugby will.”
“Dude.” I shook my head. “She didn’t even know who I was when I met her.”
“Really?”
I mussed his hair. “Keep yourself out of trouble, huh?”
I noticed a few people starting to point and break out their phones, so I put my hand on Sloane’s back and guided her into the restaurant. We were quickly seated at a quiet table in the corner, and I ordered a bottle of wine and some appetizers.
Sloane smiled. “You’re really good with kids. Not just the boys outside, but your brother, my niece…”
“I get a lot of practice with kids, since I’m a big one.”
“You know, for a guy who came off as a cocky bastard when we first met, you’re pretty shy about taking compliments.”
“I’m not shy about taking them for the things I deserve to be complimented on—rugby, good looks, my talent in the sack…”
She chuckled. “Don’t ruin the moment, Hayes.”
I smiled.
Sloane sipped her wine and ran her finger along the top of the glass. “Do you want kids someday?”
I expected to hear sirens, the flashing of warning lights in my head. But it didn’t happen. That question should’ve scared the crap out of me more than the fact that I hadn’t checked my phone or thought about my new team since we sat down, but for some crazy reason, it didn’t. “I want a slew of them. All boys. Enough to build my own rugby squad.”
“You better watch it. God has a funny sense of humor when you say things like that. You’ll wind up with eight girls.”
I drank my wine. “What about you? You want kids?”
Sloane nodded. “I don’t know about a team of them, but yeah, I do. I loved growing up with my brothers.”
“Speaking of brothers, Lucas tried to talk me into flying Olivia out with you.”
“Oh gosh. She would’ve loved that. But she has school.”
I reached across the table and took her hand. “Plus, I wanted you all to myself.”
Her cheeks pinked, and I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering. Her skin was so responsive, coloring when she was embarrassed or shy—what would it look like when I was inside her? Pouty mouth parted, skin flushed as I looked down at her, big, green eyes rolling back in her head as I sank deep. I wasn’t a missionary fan usually. I preferred a woman up on all fours, taking her from behind, or maybe a little reverse cowgirl so I could watch my dick slide in and out. But with Sloane, I knew I would want to watch her face.
Fuck. I shifted in my seat, feeling my pants grow snug at the thought of it. Sloane said something, but I had no idea what the hell it was because I was too busy trying to ward off embarrassing myself.
Grandma …
Missing the shot with one second left on the clock in the big playoff game …
7832 + 9408 …
The time I walked in on my father getting a blow job from his sixty-year-old girlfriend …
That did the trick. Except now I had no damn idea where we were in the conversation. I was relieved when the waiter showed up with the food we’d ordered, interrupting things. We both dug in, and it made me happy to see Sloane wasn’t a salad girl.