Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
When I wake, I’m alone in Kelsey's room. I can smell freshly brewed coffee coming from the kitchen and hear soft music playing. There’s a bit of light peeking through her blinds, but it’s muted. I listen hard for the distinct sound rain makes when hitting windows, and groan. I roll onto my back and stare at the white ceiling, and then onto my side, because the view is much better. I love the art on her walls—the paintings her grandmother created. And while Kelsey’s room is white, it’s soft and homey. I feel safe here.
I’d give anything for this to be a Saturday or Sunday, where we could stay in bed all day together, and not a Monday where she has to go to work. I have the rest of today to figure out my shit before I’m called into Coach’s office. Tomorrow isn’t going to be fun. Once he rips my ass, Peyton will do the same, although her way is in the evilest way possible. She never tells us we suck. She makes us watch game film, and when we commit an error, she pauses it and then glares at us. That pint-sized devil is mean. I can’t imagine the dinner conversation after she’s had meetings with Noah. But then again, he’s married to her and I have no doubt he can sweet talk his way out of her villainous looks.
As much as I don’t want to get out of bed, I do, and make my way into the other room, wearing just my boxers. “Morning,” I say, rubbing my face and hair, and then finally my chest.
“Good morning. There’s coffee in the pot,” Kelsey says as she looks me over. I can’t tell if she’s angry with me or not.
I return to the living room with the pot and refill her cup. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thanks.”
After replacing the coffee pot in the kitchen, I walk back to the living room and sit facing her on the small coffee table. “About last night.”
Kelsey laughs, and while normally I’d be okay with hearing this sound come from her, I’m not right now. I’m vulnerable, sitting here in my boxers.
“I’m sorry,” she says, but continues to giggle. “That’s a movie . . . about sex and romance.”
“Well, I’m pretty good at one of those things.” I waggle my eyebrows.
“Definitely,” she says without elaborating. Yep, I get it, my romance skills need a little work. I could easily use the “I’m a football player” excuse, but the truth is, I don’t romance well. It’s a learned art, which there are no teachers for. It’s not like us guys sit around in the locker room talking about how to romance our women. Shit, maybe I need to hang out with Noah more, or Julius. He had to woo the shit out of Autumn after he almost fucked that relationship up.
“Should I ask you to tell which one I’m good at?”
Kelsey blushes and the sight of her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink at my suggestiveness goes right to my groin. She must expect this reaction from me because her eyes dart toward my lap and then back to my face.
“Come sit on my lap,” I say, in a throaty tone that’s meant to be sexy.
Kelsey rises and saunters over to me. My hands reach out and rest on her hips, guiding her to me. As soon as she brushes against my growing hard-on, my eyes close and I groan. “Fuck, I want to be inside of you.”
“We shouldn’t.”
Because of work?
Because of the shit going on?
My hands move up her back and I pull her to me for a deep kiss. She needs to feel how sorry I am for everything. “I’m sorry,” I say again as my lips ghost over hers. “Tell me how to fix it.”
Kelsey pulls away and looks at me with unshed tears in her eyes. “I’m going to be fine. Everything caught me off guard.”
She’s going to be fine.
“What about us?”
“Is there an us?” she asks.
I start to nod before she even finishes her question. “I want there to be. God, Kels, I’m head over heels for you and sick to my stomach people think this type of treatment’s okay. It’s not, but I also don’t know how to fix it.” I leave out the part where I asked Maggie to tell her friends to chill out. “I don’t want some local news fodder to come between us.” Short of begging her to stay with me, I don’t know what else to do.
“I don’t either.”
I brush her hair off her shoulders. “Tell me what I can do.”
“This is new territory for me. I’ve never dated anyone famous before.”
I scoff so loudly, she startles. “I’m not famous, honey. I’m the center of a football team that just so happened to win the Super Bowl last year. Hell, until then, I don’t think anyone knew my name. They referred to me as the guy who passed Noah Westbury the ball.”