Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
“I really wish I’d brought a different shirt,” I thought out loud. “This one has me all tied up.”
Mac caught me by total surprise when he offered, “Do you want mine?” as he grabbed the hem of his shirt and whipped the cotton off over his head.
My eyes and jaw popped open at the same time as I stared at his naked torso. It was rude, but impossible to stop. His body was incredible. Mounds of muscle were carved into his stomach, while a splash of dark hair on his chest added a touch of softness.
His arms were swollen with strength, barely containing the veins pushed up against his skin. Two deep lines were cut into his pelvis, disappearing behind the fabric of his shorts. Holy mother of Muscle Milk.
“You’re huge,” I squeaked out as all common sense fled from my body. Why the hell did I say that?
“I guess it would be too big on you,” Mac agreed, looking at the shirt in his hands as he thankfully disregarded my comment. “Swimming in a shirt wouldn’t make it any easier than being restricted by one.”
Did he put his shirt back on and save me from slobbering all over myself? No. He tossed the fabric against the wall, and stood there in all his god-like glory, not realizing he was about to give me a heart attack.
“Actually, why don’t you just take yours off too? That way you can move easily.”
Yeah, Avery, why don’t you take off your shirt so you can be half naked with the hottest man in the universe while he shows you how to move your body? I tried my best to come up with a good excuse, but my mind was too occupied with imagining what was under those shorts.
Besides, wouldn't giving an excuse make it more obvious that I was attracted to him? And wouldn't that make my declination that much more confusing? Having free movement was important in fighting.
Before my brain was on board, my fingers were plucking the buttons on my chest. I kept my eyes on Troy’s delicious form as I popped the last button free and pushed the lightweight cotton off of my arms. Cool air kissed my skin and caused it to pebble, tightening my nipples to sharp points.
Our bodies were very different. Mac was tall, broad, and stacked with muscle. I was short and slim with zero tone. The only dips in my skin were the visible spaces between my ribs. So why was he staring at me like I was the steak, and not just the bone? I had to be mistaken.
But it sure didn't feel like it; not with the way his eyes darkened and slowly grazed across my chest. His tongue traced across his lips as he admired my stomach before looking hungrily into my eyes. No one had ever looked at me like that.
My heart raced as he approached, moving slowly but deliberately. He was making his intentions clear, but giving me space to move away. But I couldn’t; my body was frozen with both intrigue and panic.
Troy stepped close enough that I could feel his breath on my forehead as he towered over me, looking down with tender heat in his gaze. “You are so beautiful, Avery.” My blood warmed, but my hands tingled as if they were cold as he inched his face closer to mine.
His lips puckered, but just before they could press against mine, I turned my head, and he barely brushed against my cheek. Mac took a respectful step back. He appeared hurt and confused, but not angry. His voice was quiet when he asked, “Why are you pushing me away, Shortstack? Did I do something wrong?”
My heart squeezed at the nickname, and with the need to explain. My own voice cracked when I replied honestly, “You don’t want me.”
“That’s bullshit.” Mac dropped his eyes and mine followed his glance, until they landed on his shorts; or rather, the thick bulge behind them.
The room spun. My vision blurred. My knees went weak. The only sounds I could hear were the erratic thump of my heart and Troy’s distant call of my name, until even those disappeared.
Troy
Avery swayed on his feet before his knees totally gave way. I caught him by the waist and pulled him onto my lap as I sat on the floor. It wasn’t meant to be a forward or sexual move; I just wanted to support him. And thankfully, my stiffy got the message that I was freaking the freak out, so it disappeared.
“Avery,” I repeated, gently tapping his ultra-pale cheek, but I got no answer. I didn’t know what was happening. I checked his glucose monitor on his hip, but it was quiet, so I didn’t think his blood sugar was the problem.
I gingerly opened one of his eyes with my fingers, and found that it was unfocused and slightly rolled back. Fuck. I’d seen more than one guy knocked out from a fight who looked nearly identical to this. Though that wasn’t the case with Avery, it did give me an idea.