Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 116132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Becca stepped forward, and I put my hand up to grab her arm. "We'll be sure to remember that, Tara," I answered with a fake smile, trying to salvage the moment even though I wanted nothing more than to stoop to her level.
"We'll see you guys later," I finished before anyone else could get a word in. I pulled Becca away from the beer pong tables and prayed that the guys would follow after us. I didn't want the seniors to ruin Becca's chance with Jace. He’d been more than interested before they showed up, bib and all. Oh, that reminds me.
I reached over and pulled up the bib. “All right, you’re all dry now. You can take the bib off.”
She tore the plastic from around her neck and dropped it in a trash can. We were almost inside when I turned to check if Paul and Jace were following us. Nope. Tara and Sofie had already started chatting them up. What the hell?
"I seriously hate those two. They're not nice girls, Kinsley," Becca huffed, pulling open the back door.
"I know, they're bitches. Don't let them bother you. Let's go to the bathroom really quick and freshen up.” I threw an arm around her shoulder and gave her a side hug.
We pushed our way to the bathroom, and by the time we got there, Becca was hopping back and forth on her toes because she had to pee so badly. I let her go first, and she swore she’d wait for me outside after she finished. I was inside the bathroom for two minutes tops, but by the time I came out, she was gone.
"Damnit, Becca," I groaned, pushing my way through bodies, trying to spy her blonde hair. The party was starting to fill with people, much more so than when we first arrived. I had a slight panic attack thinking that she could have been shoved into one of the bedrooms, Taken-style, but then when I got to the living room I spied her talking with Jace in the far corner. Take that, Tara.
I stood there watching them for a second, trying to assess how drunk Becca was. I’d say she was about a five on the I-might-throw-up-on-your-shoes scale. Watch out, Jace. I shoved over to the side against the wall and looked around for the club soccer girls from earlier, but of course now that I was desperate, I couldn’t find them. So I did what any self-respecting person would do, I leaned my shoulder against the wall, pretending to check my phone. The music was loud and there were enough people around me that it sort of looked like I belonged. Says the lonely girl to herself.
I thought about wandering back out toward the beer pong tables, but then I felt a warm hand hit the small of my back in a way that made my breathing hitch. I turned to look over my shoulder and found Liam standing behind me wearing a confused scowl.
My heart screeched to a stop and my loins jumped for joy.
I assumed he wouldn’t be at the party since I hadn’t seen him earlier. But now he was standing right in front of me, in all of his glory, and I could smell his cologne and yes, his hand was still on my back so that he was basically holding me against him.
He bent down so I could hear him over the music. "What are you doing here?" he asked with a hard tone.
Okay. Not the best first line. Something like, you look beautiful, have my babies would have been a little bit better.
I crossed my arms over my chest. "I was invited."
He stood back up to his full height and nodded as his eyes roamed the room behind me. What was he looking for?
Liam was intimidating. He captivated a room simply with his presence, and had he not chosen a career in soccer, I could have seen him in a suit and tie, commanding a corporation. His air of confidence was absolute and nonnegotiable.
He sported an afternoon’s worth of stubble that blended well with his sexy brows and brooding grey eyes. He seemed like the type that kept people at arm's length, maybe out of arrogance or maybe from personal choice— either way, I wanted to know him. I wanted to possess him so that those eyes were narrowed and focused solely on me.
Oh, wait. Coach. Coach. Coach.
He’s my coach, not my lover.
That reminder felt like having a bucket of ice water poured over my head.
"Are we allowed to talk or is that against the rules?" I asked with a note of attitude. Not enough that he could call me on it, but enough for the edge of his mouth to curve up.
"It depends on what we talk about, I guess," he answered, finally returning his gaze to me. I felt goose bumps rise down my arms. I knew he wasn’t happy to see me, but I couldn’t figure out why.