Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
As he stares at me.
He flicks her top lip with his tongue. For me.
Head tilted to the side, he peers over, and I can’t take my eyes off of him. He glides his tongue across her bottom lip, slow, and I fucking feel it like he’s doing it to me.
My groin warms as my cock swells, and my breathing turns a little faster.
Letting my eyes fall down his body, I can almost make out the muscles in his legs through his black pants, and I sail my eyes up his bare arms, toned and tanned from laboring outside, in his sleeveless navy T-shirt. The Tryst Six tattoo blazes big across his shoulder where it meets his arm.
When I meet his eyes again, he’s fucking smirking at me.
As he still kisses her.
He knows I’ve been looking at him a lot longer than I’ve looked at a single girl since I walked through the door.
“Fuck,” I grit out under my breath.
Moving along, I head to the dining room and through the door to the patio.
Olivia Jaeger sits on a stack of cinder blocks, a drink in her hand.
Dallas won’t like me talking to her.
None of them will.
Walking up, I take her drink, seeing her straighten as I sniff it.
Something fruity with vodka. I take a sip and hand it back to her. “How are you?”
“Better than you’ll be in about ten minutes,” she replies, glancing around and behind me.
Are all five of her brothers here tonight?
I lean back next to her. “We’ll see.”
“What the hell do you want?”
I glimpse the confused expression on her face, and I notice her brown eyes. Not green like Dallas’s.
Liv and I have traded shots at school. She stands up for herself, but I never disliked her. She’s low on bullshit and refrains from wasting people’s time. I appreciate that.
I shrug. “I just want you to myself for a little while.”
Away from school and prying eyes and maybe fuck with her family for a bit.
She chuckles, about to take a drink from her cup until she remembers I did and tosses it out. “You’re not my type,” she points out.
“Yeah, I know.”
That’s why I’m talking to her, really. No expectations.
Sliding my hands into my pockets, I nudge a rock with my shoe. “What do you like about women?”
“Fuck off.”
She jumps down from the blocks, and I stand back up, grabbing her arm.
Her eyes widen and she looks down at my hand on her, and I half expect her to go feral.
Instead, she laughs. “I was raised with five brothers.” She looks at me like I’m stupid. “If you think you can handle me, come back with more guys.”
She yanks her arm away, but I speak before she can walk away. “I’m honestly asking you,” I say, softening my voice, sincere. “What do you like about them?”
Tell me, please. Maybe she can tell me what I’m not seeing.
She just shakes her head. “Everything,” she explains. “Their legs. Their hips. Their necks. Their mouths…”
A lump moves down her throat, and I think about her walking around at school and seeing people she wants but can’t have.
“Their softness,” she goes on. “Their gracefulness. Their smiles.” A little smile of her own drifts across her mouth. “The gloss on their lips—just enough to look sticky.”
The hair at the back of his head—just enough to fist.
“Her chin on her hand,” she muses.
His body under the sun…
“I’m just always looking at them,” she tells me.
I wish I could share something, too, and maybe if she asked me a question—like I had asked her—I might.
But not the thing I haven’t even said in my own head, though.
I fall back into the cinder blocks again, hands still in my pockets. “Clay’s making your life a living hell, isn’t she?”
She folds her arms over her chest, looking at me behind long black bangs with her hair in a ponytail.
We’re not friends. She has no reason to confide in me.
“I can call her off if you want,” I tell her.
“And why would you do that?”
Well, not because I’m a nice person.
I jerk my chin instead. “What are you doing this summer?”
We still have eight weeks of vacation before senior year. She’s probably working somewhere. Maybe the playhouse. Isn’t she interested in acting and theater?
“Why don’t you come with me for a while?” I ask her before she can respond. “No fucking around. We’ll just get out of here together.”
I don’t expect her to say yes.
At first.
I can convince her, though. The only thing that would hold her back is her rightfully placed distrust of the arrogant, entitled future president of the most misogynistic frat ever asking her to go with him and not only expect safety but no sex.
“Where?” she asks, oh so interested, because she thinks this is a joke.
But I’m totally serious. It’ll be fun to be the sole focus of her brothers’ attention, piss some people off, and get out of here with someone I don’t have to perform for.