Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
He slips out.
I brace my hands against the cold stone counter, staring at myself in the mirror—the same way I’d done the last time he went down on me, feeling an overwhelming sense of deja vu.
Lips puffy. Hair mussed.
Skin flushed.
Even the side of my neck has beard burn—and he’d shaved for our date—the delicious way he smelled turned me on the second I climbed into his truck at the beginning of the evening.
I take a deep breath before I walk back through the door, stiffening my spine—no sense in walking out there as if I’d done anything wrong. There were two of us in this bathroom, and I wasn’t the one who busted in uninvited for a little hanky-panky.
Of course Drake would look like the picture of innocence when I arrive back at the table.
He rises from his seat, kissing me on the cheek.
“Hey babe, everything okay? You were gone a really long time.” He has a twinkle in his eye, the devil. He kisses me on the neck, whispering in my ear, “Your pussy tastes like dessert.”
Oh lord.
Like clockwork, the food arrives as I sit, steamy pasta and delicious sauce, bread placed in the center so I can sop up the vinegar and olive oil, and Drake’s steak is covered in a pile of mushrooms.
Everything is delicious.
“So, when does your season start.”
“In two weeks, we start training. I’ve been in the gym, like, that part never ends, you know? You can’t get lazy or you lose it.”
“That makes sense.”
“When do you graduate?” he asks, cutting into his meat, loading his fork.
“I’m hoping to graduate spring semester next year. I’m ready to be done.” I pause, not sure of the question I’m about to ask. “What about you, when do you graduate?”
Do football players graduate if they go through the draft? I have no idea.
“If I get drafted, I won’t.”
“Doesn’t that scare you? Not having a degree?”
He shrugs, nonchalant. “You have to think of it like…well. If I go in the first two rounds, I’ll be guaranteed a shit ton of money. Which I plan to invest and not piss away on cars and jewelry and women.” He laughs. “So I’m in good shape even without a degree. And who says you need a degree to be successful? The whole thing is a racket.”
I nod. “True.”
“No for real. Do you have any idea how much money the schools make on college sports? A fuck ton. Do you think they’d pass that on to the students so they can save on tuition? Hell no. Most universities increase tuition instead of lowering it. Such bullshit.”
Wow. “Sounds like you feel a certain kind of way about it.”
Drake sets down his fork. “I had a few friends who didn’t get scholarships to play football—or any other sport. And they couldn’t afford tuition, so they’re workin’ when they deserve to be here.”
“But isn’t football like having a job? Is it even any fun?”
That makes him laugh. “Fun isn’t the word I’d use, but sure. We’ll go with that.”
“Then what word would you use?”
He thinks for a second, eating more steak. He take a drink of his cocktail even though the ice has mostly melted and is watered down.
Blech.
“I’d say it’s…intense. Brutal.”
Brutal.
“I don’t think I’ve done anything brutal in my life. What makes you get up every day to do it?”
“Besides passion?” He chews his meal. “Routine. Commitment. Loyalty to the team, who are like brothers?”
“What made you choose Wisconsin?”
“My dad, my brothers. I wouldn’t call it a choice. It was just somethin’ I knew I was going to do.”
“It chose you?” I laugh.
“Exactly.” He steals a piece of bread and dips it in oil, then sticks it in his mouth. “What about you? How did you end up here?”
“My parents hadn’t wanted me going more than five hours from home, and this is exactly five hours from home.”
“Well, aren’t you a good daughter for listenin’ to what they want?”
I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not and choose to ignore his tone. “They’re paying tuition, so yeah, they had a say in where I went.”
“And now you’re almost done.”
I nod. “And now I’m almost done…”
“How long would you say your longest relationship was?”
Gosh, that’s a hard question. “A few months? No idea, it’s been a while and none of my boyfriends were serious boyfriends.” My tip of my finger rims the wineglass in front of me as I regard him from across the table. “I find it hard to believe you’ve never had a girlfriend.”
“Why? I haven’t been available. I barely have time to take a shit.”
“And you do now?”
He stares blankly at me. “Are you sayin’ you want to be my girlfriend?”
A nervous bubble of laughter escapes my lips, and I cover my mouth. “No, that is not what I’m saying. I was only making a statement.” But that leads me to ask, “Are you saying you don’t want a girlfriend?”