Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
The Sexiest Man Alive: hahahahahahaahahaha. Sorry. I wasn’t done.
Goddamn, I hated him…I thought.
Me: Letting you blow me gave me the flu. I might get hit by a bus if we hook up again. Evidently, we messed with the universe. The last thing we need is to do that again.
But I did owe him and I did want to make him come his brains out, if for no other reason than to show him how good I was at it.
Me: I get off work at six on Sunday.
The Sexiest Man Alive: It’s a date.
Me: After that, we’re done. Tit for fucking tat or whatever.
The Sexiest Man Alive: Agreed. What’s a couple of blowjobs between enemies?
Me: I’m getting off now.
The Sexiest Man Alive: You’re coming right now?
He was such an idiot.
Me: Getting off the phone. I’m starting to feel like shit again.
It was clear, though, that the rest and the medicine he’d brought over were helping.
The Sexiest Man Alive: You need anything else?
This was unnerving. I couldn’t figure out what was going on or if I liked it.
Me: Stop being nice to me.
The Sexiest Man Alive: After my blowjob!
I exited out of my texts and tossed my phone to the other side of the bed. I wouldn’t smile… I wouldn’t.
The front door opened and closed, my brother’s voice and a few others’ coming from the living room. He’d known I was sick since yesterday. He hadn’t checked on me, hadn’t offered to run to the store and pick shit up for me. I wasn’t mad. I didn’t need anyone’s help anyway, yet I couldn’t help wondering why Ty had, why he’d cared, and how I felt about that.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ty
Braxton and I didn’t text the next day. A couple of times I thought about checking in on him or just making some smart-ass comment to get on his nerves, but I didn’t. I’d already done…whatever the fuck that had been the other day when I sat at his house all day to make sure he didn’t die. Clearly, his brother hadn’t given a shit.
Between that, swapping numbers, and basically being hard all week just thinking about him getting on his knees for me, it was already bordering on obsessive territory. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I actually liked him. I just craved using his mouth, and to do that, he couldn’t die of the flu. There was a method to my madness.
And also, it might have been partly because the medical field had always interested me—something I ignored most of the time.
Today was Saturday, and our first game of the season. The field was packed with nearly every FU student…except for Brax. I’d even seen Peyton, Cobey, and some of the football guys there, repping their FU pride.
I reveled in moments like this, in this game. Ever since I first started playing, I knew I wanted to be a middy so I could get in on both the offensive and defensive action. There were three of us, and we were the only ones playing the whole field rather than sticking to one side.
We all took position, the cheering and screaming making my heart beat faster. While I had no real interest in anything computer-related or spending my life working with them, I did share a love of lacrosse with my dad. I felt alive when I played and invincible when I won, my whole body pulsing with uncontrollable energy.
It could also be because of the attention I got. I couldn’t lie, I was an attention slut and didn’t see anything wrong with it. I was sure Brax had his thoughts on that.
I watched through my helmet as we won the face-off, and everything else slipped into the quiet, dark place in my mind—Dad, whom I hated, but I wouldn’t let him take this away from me; Mom; my career choice. Hell, even Brax.
The next four quarters, the only thing that mattered was defending the net and scoring, which we did a lot of, winning the game easily because we were fucking awesome like that.
“We should throw a party at the house tonight!” Ford shouted over the voices of everyone who’d crowded around to congratulate us.
I opened my mouth to say yeah, but what came out was, “Let’s hit up Shenanigans! We don’t have the stuff for a party at home anyway.”
“Bet,” Watty jumped into the conversation, those around us already in agreement and spreading the word to each other. I mean, it made sense we’d go there. Oscar often gave half-priced drinks to the team on nights we won. Plus, I hadn’t been lying about not having beer at the house. It had absolutely nothing to do with what would be a grumpy-as-hell Brax when we arrived. Nope, nothing at all.
We got home and fought over the two showers, Collins and I winning. After washing up, I put on my favorite jeans that I knew made my ass look fantastic, along with a button-up, long-sleeved shirt, which I rolled up to my elbows. I kept the top three buttons open, styled my hair… Fuck, I looked really good.