Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Noel. Witkerson. Your school’s QB 1. Where is he? I know he sleeps here.”
“Oh.” She was flustered, her cheeks getting red. “Savannah’s room is upstairs on the right, but…”
Yeah. Yeah. Don’t go up there. They’re sleeping. She didn’t know I didn’t give a shit.
I stalked up the stairs, lined up there were two bedrooms and I saw the bathroom door open. I went to the right and I didn’t give ’em an option. I was hoping they weren’t going at it—but I’d seen that shit before, so no big deal—because I flung the door open.
The girl screamed.
Witkerson jumped out of bed, wild and panicked, but saw it was me and he swore, grabbing for a pillow to cover his nuts. He remembered we both spent most of our lives in football locker rooms and dropped the pillow. Crawling back in bed, he lay back down. “Tell me this is fucking important, man. You’re interrupting my sleep time and my time with my girl.”
“She had a stalker.”
“What?!” the girl squawked, bolting upright.
She had a shirt on. Thank God. I didn’t want to see her girls. Any normal day before today, I might’ve looked if they were presented to me because fuck, I’m a guy…but not this day.
“It’s why she came down here. A stalker.”
The QB 1 sat up, suddenly all serious and yeah, he better be.
I clipped my head at him. “You’re here. You’re here when I can’t be. That piece of shit is dead, but there might be others. Her name, her face, it’s getting out there. And she’s mine. I ain’t keeping quiet about that anymore. She’s going to get more attention, more focus, and that brings haters. Bitch catty women and dirty perv assholes. Sick fucks, too. She and I haven’t talked, she doesn’t know the lengths I’m going to, but I’m going to them. If she stays here, and if she chooses, I’ll be here most nights, but I’m going to try to get her to my house. But if she stays, you’re on duty. Got it?”
“Wait.” The girl was looking between us.
The QB nodded. “Got it.”
“What is going on here?”
“Good. I’ll have a guy parked out front all day. He’s her ride. She ain’t walking anywhere alone today and tonight. There’ll be a car of her own here by end of the day.” I bit out and turned for the door. “I got a game, then I’ll be back to either sleep here or collect her for my place.”
The girlfriend jumped up in bed, but I had turned already. Caught the movement out of the corner of my eyes, glimpsed something white on her legs and figured she had pants on, too. Again. Not caring. This was today, not yesterday, not a month ago. Things were different today. Everything was different. I was staking my claim and I wasn’t going away. Hell to the fuck no.
I pounded the doorframe. “See you later. Remember what I said…watch her.”
And because there was an unwritten guy code and my job was to pick on the younger bucks, I pounded on the other door. “Don’t forget to pull out, Harrington!”
There was a scream in there, too, and then from him, “Shut up!” He groaned. “I was fucking sleeping, douche.”
I pounded the door a second time, laughing, then I was down the stairs and out the front door. I had a block to walk to my Jeep and a game to get ready for.
Chapter Forty-One
STILL STONE
I was jacked. I was hyped. I was ready to tear heads off bodies.
Morpheus was currently camped out on Dusty’s street. He was given orders to grow roots if he needed, and if she walked somewhere and refused the ride, he was supposed to be her personal shadow. And I had a call in to my manager. A brand new Honda HR-V would be parked in her spot by tonight, and the keys were getting hand delivered to her door. I texted with her and found out her plans were to study at the house. Perfect. She said her roommates weren’t having a party, so it’d just be the girls, their guys, and my girl all watching my game. I told her to wait for me that night. I was coming for her.
Her response:
Dusty Girl: Ready and waiting.
That made me laugh, but onto the game. I had a job to do.
We were in the locker room, music blaring in our headphones. Russ, his Flute song, was blaring in my ears, and I was there. I was on the field. I was running, dodging, losing the other motherfuckers. The ball was mine. It was coming right for me.
It was another extension of my body, just no one else knew.
That was my job. I’d teach them. I’d school the fuckers. They’d know by the end of the game, each time I ran into the end zone and not once, twice, three times. Four. Five. I’d keep going all day long, all night long. I could score in my sleep and pity to the fools who didn’t believe in me. They’d be schooled real quick.