Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I pointed out another pattern. “Remember what we named that one?”
“Ursa Nike. I still say it’s a tick, though.”
“You’re crazy. That is one hundred percent a swoosh.”
She huffed out a laugh. “How many concussions have you had now?”
“Five. But I was saying it was a swoosh at two. Seriously, that is a smooth curve.” I rolled onto my side and swept my hand over the dip from her waist to her hip. “Just like this. Smooth as shit.”
“Now who’s smooth?” She leaned over me, half rolling onto my chest. “Still a tick.”
“You like being wrong, huh?”
“I’m never wrong.” She grinned. “You have impaired vision.”
I slipped a hand under her shirt, brushing her bra. “Think I should start reading braille?”
“My boobs don’t count as braille.”
I pulled down her cup and skimmed a finger over her nipple. “This says differently.”
“You are such an idiot.”
I didn’t miss the hitch in her breath. “Calling me that isn’t politically correct. Head injuries and all.” I went to the other nipple. “Probably should apologize.”
“Probably,” she said, pushing up to shimmy out of her shorts before straddling me. “I’m good at apologies.” She tugged her shirt over her head, her dark hair falling over her chest, before she took off her bra. My dick hardened. I’d have sold my soul to get inside her right then. She fumbled with my fly. “I don’t feel like I’ve apologized enough, though.” She lowered my fly and fisted my dick.
“Now we’re talking.”
“This isn’t talking…” She shoved her panties to the side before positioning me right where I wanted to be. At the first touch of wet heat, I threw my head back, trying to ground myself.
Then she stopped, and I lifted my head to look at her. “That’s not even half of an apology.”
Smiling, she sank down until all I could focus on was the way she felt wrapped around me. Like fucking heaven.
Twenty-Seven
Jade
Thursdays were the worst. I had class from eight until four, two classes of which I had exams. Then I had to work. Thankfully, my boss cut me early.
Squishy greeted me when I shuffled through the front door of the frat house, bags in hand. When I didn’t immediately bend to pet him, he shot off toward the kitchen on a screech.
Wolf was at the table with his algebra book open in front of him.
“Hey.” I kissed his cheek on my way past.
“Hey. How was work?”
I dropped the bags onto the counter. “About as good as roller skating in butt crack-chafing spandex for three hours can be.” I pulled the “best if used by” chicken from the bag, followed by the “best if used by” broccoli and shredded cheese. Seven bucks wasn’t a bad deal at all.
And seeing as Wolf had given me five hundred bucks for “my half” of the picture I didn’t take from the old serial killer’s trailer (he’d tried to give me all of it), I figured I could spare seven bucks and make him dinner.
I’d also insisted on giving him the money for my tires, as much as he’d argued. The rest, I’d used to pay off my parents’ mortgage debt. I never thought I’d see a day when that wasn’t hanging over my parents’ head, but it was looking possible. Only thanks to Wolf.
He was great. We were great. Almost like before but not quite. I guessed there was a new awareness from both of us. I sensed the hesitancy in him at times. He still hadn’t told me he loved me since that first drunken night, but I didn’t blame him. I blamed me. I was the one who had broken us first.
My mistakes do not define me.
Fear lit up his eyes as he scanned the groceries. “Chicken casserole?”
“Look, they had all the ingredients in the clearance aisle.” It wouldn’t have been my first choice of meal to cook for him. “I learned from my mistake, okay?” Last time, I hadn’t cooked the chicken before putting it in the casserole. I called that growth.
He didn’t look convinced. “Oh, guess what?” He pulled a paper from underneath his book, proudly displaying it. “Eighty-nine.”
Pride swelled in my chest. I took the paper from him, glancing at the eighty-nine circled at the top of the paper before I grabbed his face and kissed him. “That’s so good.” Never did I think I would see Wolf Brookes looking so damn cute, actually proud of doing anything that wasn’t football. “I’m proud of you,” I said.
He pulled me onto his lap. “I might actually have a shot at avoiding academic suspension thanks to you.” He kissed my lips, then my forehead. “Thank you.”
I stroked the stubble of his jaw. “Anytime.” In the grand scheme of helping each other, he’d done far more for me, and he knew it, but he looked so happy. For a second, I wanted to just bask in his success.