Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
He’d be so proud of me, how I’d walked right up to Shawn at the table, how cool I’d played the whole thing. I was becoming a natural — or, at the very least, I was leaps and bounds ahead of the girl who couldn’t even hold Shawn’s gaze across a crowded coffee shop just a few weeks ago.
I was still thinking about how excited I was to tell Clay when Shawn started singing, his voice rough and edgy, smoky like a brush fire.
“I like
the moon
when it bleeds
through the window
and paints your flesh.
I like
your legs
when they’re spread
and you’re burning
for me, babe.”
I nearly choked on my coffee, but somehow managed to cover it up and hold my composure as a smirk creeped up on Shawn’s devilish mouth.
“I like
the mountains
of your breasts
when they’re swelling
and peaking
and aching for my mouth.
I’ll give
you what
you want if you
just open up and say
that magic word.”
There was a break in the chords, the heel of his palm beating on the guitar in time with the tap of his fingers in a fluid percussion before he launched into the chorus.
“Beg for me, baby,
scream out my name.
Get on your knees for me, baby,
let desire
erase all the
shame.”
Before he could continue, I hopped out of my seat, tilting the last bit of my espresso down my gullet as Shawn abruptly stopped playing.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry. I just realized the time!” I hid my flushed cheeks as I slipped the strap of my bag over one shoulder. “The song is really great. Truly. Very sexy. Can’t wait to hear it live.”
Shawn set his guitar to the side and stood. “Giana,” he tried, but I was already rushing toward the door. I tripped on the leg of a table, windmilling forward before I balanced and did a little spin to keep from running into one of the baristas carrying a tray of dishes.
“So sorry, I’m going to be late if I don’t get going. But I’ll see you soon!” I threw behind me.
“Wait!”
I stopped, heart thundering, turning with a flush I knew was too furious to hide staining my cheeks.
Shawn ran a hand over his hair. “Can I… would it be possible for me to get your number?”
The blood drained from my hot face.
It was working. Everything Clay and I were doing… it was working.
And for the first time, I realized the implications of that.
Swallowing, I held out my hand, typing my phone number in quickly when Shawn pressed his phone into my palm. I gave it back just as quickly, forcing the best smile I could.
“I’ll text you,” he promised.
I threw a wave over my shoulder as I turned, trying to keep my smile calm and collected. But the way he stood with his hands in his pockets, one brow arched, told me he saw right through the act.
It also told me he liked that he’d ruffled me.
When I pushed through the doors and out into the heat growing thicker by the minute, I smacked my palm against my forehead, dragging it down my face with a groan.
I might as well have had I’m a virgin! flashing on my face in neon lights.
Embarrassment faded into shame, and just as quickly into panic, as I raced across campus, my pace growing practically to a gallop.
What the hell did I think I was doing?
Here I was playing this… this stupid game with someone so far ahead of me it was unreal. Shawn was a musician. A hot, talented, male musician. How had it not occurred to me that he’d likely fucked a dozen girls, if not more, by now?
And I?
I hadn’t even gone to second base.
I was all but sprinting when I made it to the stadium, the espresso kicking through my pulse like a war drum. I flew through the metal doors, down the hallway, swinging into the cafeteria only to find that the team wasn’t there yet. I glanced at my watch again, squinting as I tried to remember Clay’s schedule.
Weight room.
A little hop had me switching directions and power walking in the opposite direction. I didn’t think about what I would say, or about the consequences of what I was about to ask as I ripped open the weight room doors and hurdled inside.
Loud rap music assaulted me as soon as I did, but it was no match for my heart thundering in my ears as I scoured the room until I found Clay. He was on his back, a bar saddled with heavy weights across his chest as he heaved a breath and pushed it up toward where Holden was spotting him.
With one last deep breath, I made a beeline for him, ignoring the players who arched their brows at me as I passed. Holden helped Clay rack the bar just as I approached, and he’d no sooner sat up on the bench before I was wrapping my hand around his wrist and tugging him off it.