Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
A cascade of moisture splashes my face. “Thanks,” I say sarcastically.
“You’re welcome.”
The next thing I know, his hands are on my waist. No, scratch that—his cold, wet hands are sliding underneath my tank top.
“You’re so warm.” He sighs happily, then rubs his damp hair against my neck.
“You are so obnoxious,” I inform him as I try to squirm out of his grip. “I really hate you right now.”
“No, you don’t.” But he does release me and conducts a quick examination of my very plain bedroom. “This is not what I expected.”
“I was already living on my own when Dad bought this house. Neither of us bothered to give my room a personal touch. Now, are you going to tell me why you showed up out of the blue? Actually, wait. First I’d like to know what the hell was up with that stunt you pulled at Malone’s tonight. That was incredibly immature.” I texted him about it when I got home from the bar, but he hadn’t provided an explanation. Or a response, come to think of it.
“Hey,” he says defensively, “don’t lump me in with my idiot teammates. I investigated after you texted. Turns out the Whipped Cream Bandits are two of my sophomores—Heath and Jonah. They were in the Hastings area tonight, off their faces. They claim it was just a joke.”
“Dumb joke. I could’ve come up with something way more diabolical.” I give him a stern look. “You should keep a better eye on your guys. Jesse Wilkes wanted to drive out to Cambridge tonight and exact his revenge. Me and Nate talked him out of it, but that boneheaded stunt nearly started a prank war.”
Jake’s expression becomes pained. “Thanks for doing that. Last thing I needed was a brigade of angry Briar boys storming the Dime. Don’t worry, I’ll have a talk with them tomorrow.” He walks toward the bed and falls onto it, making himself comfortable.
I admire the long, lean body stretched out on my mattress. He’s wearing cargo pants and a black sweatshirt. The latter doesn’t stay on for long—he peels the shirt off and tosses it on the floor, then settles back down. The T-shirt he’s left with is so thin it looks like it’s been washed a thousand times. There’s a hole near the hem, and the logo is almost completely faded away. I can barely make out the words Gloucester Lions.
“Is that your high school team?” I ask, while trying not to focus on how the thin material clings to the most impressive chest I’ve ever seen. And I’m constantly surrounded by ripped dudes, so that says a lot.
Connelly’s body is amazing. Period.
The crooked grin he gives me sends a shiver up my spine. “Yup, we were the Lions.” He picks up my closed laptop and puts it on the nightstand, then pats the empty space. “Come here.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I go there, we’re going to fool around, and my dad might hear.” I immediately feel like a total loser for saying those words. It’s like I’m fifteen years old again, sneaking Eric into my room.
But I snuck him in often, I remind myself. And in all that time, we didn’t get caught, not even once.
The reminder of my previous stealth is what propels me to join Jake on the bed. I settle beside him in a cross-legged position. He takes my hand, his thumb rubbing the inside of my palm in lazy circles.
“Why are you here?” I find myself blurting. “You didn’t come all this way to talk about the whipped-cream incident, did you?” A thought suddenly strikes me. “How did you know where I live?”
“I came because I wanted to see you,” he says simply. “And how did I know where you live…I’m gonna take the Fifth on that one.”
“Oh my God. Please don’t tell me you hacked into my school records or my phone or something.”
“Nothing that nefarious.”
“Then how?”
He shrugs sheepishly.
“Connelly.”
“Fine. Freshman year we played Briar and got our asses kicked. Your dad was an asshole to Pedersen after the game, and, well, we loved our coach and wanted to avenge him, so…”
“So, what?” I demand.
“So we drove back to Hastings later that night and toilet-papered your house,” he mumbles.
I gasp. “That was you? I remember that! Dad was livid.”
“That was us. In my defense, I was eighteen and kind of a moron.”
“Not much has changed,” I offer sweetly
He laces his fingers through mine and squeezes. Hard.
“Ouch,” I complain.
“That didn’t hurt.”
“Yes it did.”
“No it didn’t.” He pauses. “Did it?”
“No,” I admit.
“Brat.” Jake brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles.
I gaze down at him, trying to make sense of this guy. He constantly shows me new sides of himself. It’s unnerving. “I can’t believe how touchy you are.”
“Touchy as in testy, or touchy as in I like to touch you?”