Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
We haven’t said a word to each other since he slipped out of my bedroom window on Monday night. I knew things wouldn’t go back to normal so easily, but I didn’t expect my body to react to him every time he’s around. I’ve always wanted him, always knew how it felt to be in his arms, but now that we’re older, the way he held me was different, felt different.
The way he kissed me, the way his hunger burned in his dark eyes. Things have shifted. We’re not little kids playing dress-up anymore. It’s real now, and I just hope our relationship can get back to where it was always supposed to go.
My gaze flicks to the clock on my living room wall as I fidget with my phone on the armrest of the couch, flipping it over before flipping it right back.
I’m not going to his game. Not in a million years. Buuuuuut hypothetically, if I were to leave now, I’d be there with just enough time to get the best seats in the grandstand. Besides, if I did go, it would only be to show support for the school, which is really just the appropriate thing to do, right? It would have absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I’ve dreamed of being able to cheer Noah on from the sidelines like I used to. And it certainly has nothing to do with the overwhelming need to watch him race up and down the field with a sheer layer of sweat coating his tan skin, or watching the way his strong muscles flex as he launches the ball clear across the field.
God, no. It definitely has nothing to do with that.
But like I said—not in a million years. I’m going to park my ass right here all night with a bowl of popcorn and watch a movie. Perhaps I’ll watch a thriller, something to get my heart racing and my mind off the sweaty football player who will no doubt have the crowd chanting his name.
Ughhhh. I’m in so much trouble here.
Kissing Noah Ryan was the biggest mistake of my life. He’s destroyed me, and not in the tore my heart out and trampled all over it for three long years kind of way. No, he’s made me want something I can’t have. He made me crave him in a way I never have before, and that is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced.
God, I want him to kiss me again. I need it like my next breath.
Nope. No. I can’t think like that. I need to knock these traitorous thoughts out of my head. I need to calm myself. Perhaps a little meditation is in the cards for tonight, not that I have any idea how to do that. But what could it hurt? I’ll give it a try.
After pulling my legs up and crossing them on the couch, I try to force my feet up to rest on top of my knees before taking slow, deep breaths just like they do in the movies. Closing my eyes, I hold my hands out to my sides and try to clear my mind. I imagine the way each intrusive thought falls away, leaving my head fresh and clear. I slowly count to ten and back down again while focusing on my breathing. When I get back to zero, I open my eyes only to scream like a freaking banshee, finding Hazel standing right in front of me with a ridiculous grin on her face.
“WHAT IN THE EVER-LOVING DONUTS ARE YOU DOING?” I screech, my heart racing out of my chest.
“You like?” she questions, indicating down her body before doing a spin, making my jaw fall right to the floor as I take in the Mambas’ football jersey with the name RYAN across the back, so similar to the ones I have stashed in a box, hidden deep within my closet, never to see the light of day again.
“Where the hell did you get that?”
“Where do you think?” Hazel says, her grin widening. “Noah came by yesterday after school and left it for me.”
A pang of jealousy blasts through me, poisoning my veins and leaving me feeling heavy, and I realize that this is the second time I’ve been jealous of Hazel and Noah’s friendship in less than a week. I’ve got to get a grip. “Okaaaay,” I say slowly, trying to give myself a second to push the ugly feelings away. “And why are you wearing it?”
“Because you’re taking me to Noah’s game.”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “That’s not going to happen.”
“He said you’d say that,” she tells me, her eyes sparkling with silent laughter.
“Oh really?” I question. “Dare I ask what else he said?”
She raises her chin, as smug as anything. “He said you were too chicken to show up to his game and that you’d sit right here on this couch watching some stupid movie you’re not even interested in like a stubborn ass all night.”