Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
This is what I’ve been missing. And all I can think is—I want so much more of him.
24
THE GAME PLAN
Tyler
After I return from the bathroom, I fiddle with the condom wrapper left on the nightstand. I didn’t notice it before, but the packaging says, Put some protection on that erection.
As I sit down on Sabrina’s bed, I arch a brow, waggling it her way. “This is…interesting.”
A splash of pink colors her cheeks. She’s still stretched out on the bed, all loose and languid, skin glowing, hair a perfect mess. “Trevyn gave it to me. Turn it to the other side.”
I flip it over and snort. The words Large are written on the back, then in small print: Just tell him it’s X-Large, sweetheart. He’ll love a good ego stroke, among other strokes.
I laugh. “Way to knock me down a peg,” I say.
She gives a faux pout. “Aww, did I hurt your feelings with the novelty condom?”
Novelty. That word sends a zip of worry down my spine. “They work like regular condoms though?”
She sits up. “Yes! They’re just in fun packaging. And I’m on protection too.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Good.”
“Trust me, I don’t want to get pregnant,” she says.
And damn, we are racing right into the serious conversations faster than I’d expected. I drag a hand through my hair, hoping to reset. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make a thing of it.”
She sits up and sets a hand on my arm. “I’ll be right back.”
She rushes out of the bedroom, and I can’t help it—I watch her go, admiring her heart-shaped ass for the first time ever. I let out a low moan of appreciation at her fading form, then take a deep breath, looking around her room.
There’s a notebook and a pen on the nightstand. A couple books. Some necklaces on her bureau. And a few framed photos of her and her friends.
That ought to make me smile—all this normalcy.
But my chest tightens, and I rub my sternum to try to loosen the tension. What the hell happens next? Where do we go from here? No idea. Since I’ve disposed of the used condom already, I grab my boxer briefs and pull them on, then my pants. Seems presumptuous to just lounge around in the buff, and honestly, I haven’t thought beyond this point.
Well, I didn’t think beyond immediate gratification when I banged on her door. And now that the lights are on and the deed is done, I’d better think fast.
Sabrina turns the corner back into her room, eyes me up and down quickly, then hustles to grab a long T-shirt from the bureau and fish out a pair of panties. In no time, she’s covered up too.
I’m standing here stupidly, thanks to a novelty condom wrapper, unsure what to say. But I can read her body language loud and clear. She thinks I’m going, so I sit down and pat the bed. “Come here.”
She walks toward me, but apprehensively, like a small dog who doesn’t trust me yet.
When she sits, I reach for her hand. She takes mine, and we thread our fingers together. My heart settles a bit. Just a bit though. I study our clasped hands for a beat. “Hey,” I begin.
She closes her eyes, her shoulders sinking. “Just say it.”
“Say what?”
When she opens her eyes, she looks tough, resolute as she says, “Pretend it didn’t happen.”
But I can hear the pain in her voice. I squeeze her hand tighter. “I’m not going to say that,” I try to reassure her. “I’m just not…good at this. This is all…like learning to ride a bike again.”
A small smile shifts her lips. “News flash: you’re a quick re-learner.”
I don’t mean the sex though. I mean the post-sex. Sorting my thoughts, I rub my thumb along her fingers. It’s such a privilege to touch her like this. “What I’m trying to say is—” I stop, make sure I’m meeting her eyes. “I meant it when I said it earlier. I mean it now. I won’t pretend this didn't happen.”
And then, maybe because I’m better with physical things, I tug her onto my lap, then flop down on the bed with her, sliding under the covers together, pulling the quilt to my waist—and hers too.
“Tell me more about this condom gift,” I say, finding my way back to intimacy like that. “When did he give it to you?”
Her lips quirk up, then she admits, “A few weeks ago.”
I feel like I’m in on a secret, but then I wonder—was it because her friends were encouraging her to date again? Does she even still want to date? I didn’t come in here asking her out to dinner. I stormed in here wanting to take her to bed, so how the hell do I reconcile the two? “Any reason in particular?” I ask, fishing for intel.