Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I tugged his bottom lip between my teeth and sucked his tongue, moaning greedily as I clutched at the front of his T-shirt.
Smitty set his hand over mine and broke the kiss with a gasp, resting his forehead on mine. “Damn, we’re good at that.”
I nodded. There was no point in denying it or feeling guilty, though I probably would later.
For now, I was going to let it go.
“Smitty…”
“Okay, okay.” He set the bowls in the sink and held up his hand like a white flag. “Listen…I have one word for you. Foosball.”
“I—what?”
“You heard me. The owners left a sweet foosball table in the basement. It would’ve taken me a while to find it if the goth girl barista hadn’t given me a tip.”
“Mazie?”
“Yeah, I guess she grew up with the Calmezzos’ kids, and they used to have a nice game room downstairs. It’s in good condition, but I obviously can’t play by myself, so…what do you think?”
“I haven’t played foosball since Jake was a teenager.”
He rolled his eyes. “That was what…three years ago? Trust me, this is not a life skill you lose without practice.”
“All right. But I’m bringing the wine.” I sighed, grabbing the bottle and trying not to chuckle at his triumphant fist pump.
The basement had indeed once been a party center in this house. It was almost easy to tell from the height of the old power outlets in the wood-paneled walls where the video game console had gone and which section was used for exercise equipment or basic storage. The space was empty now. Except for a foosball table.
Smitty cracked his knuckles and narrowed his gaze. “Blue or red?”
“Uh…red, I guess.” I grasped the handles on my end of the table. “I’m ready.”
He twisted the knobs and— “One point for me. In competitions, you play to eleven. At this rate, we’ll be there in three minutes or less.”
I glowered. “I wasn’t ready. Redo.”
“You said ready,” he reminded me.
“Yeah, but I didn’t know you were aiming for the jugular.”
Smitty cast a cocky look my way. “I am never not aiming for the jugular.”
I huffed derisively. “Is this foosball smack talk?”
“You know it,” he singsonged.
I unbuttoned my cuffs and rolled my shirt sleeves up. “All right. Let’s do this.”
The next fifteen minutes was an animated back-and-forth with ridiculous taunts and jibes. Smitty threw his whole body into each twist of a pole, swaying left and then right. He was light on his feet, playful one second and borderline vicious the next.
He scored his fifth point in a row and raised his arms triumphantly. “Wooooohoooo!”
I stepped away from the table, setting my hands on my hips. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an obnoxious winner?”
“Me? Obnoxious?” Smitty gaped incredulously before yanking his T-shirt over his head, waving it like a banner as he did a victory lap around the basement.
It was so over-the-top that it was funny. His second lap turned into a third, complete with jumping jacks and high kicks, and yes…it was hilarious. My amused snicker morphed into a belly laugh. I wiped tears from the corner of my eyes, bracing one hand on the table so I didn’t keel over on lap four.
“Oh, my God, cool it.” I snorted.
Smitty stopped in front of me. He tilted his head and grinned…a little cocky, a little manic, and a lot sexy. “Foosball is fun, huh?”
“Maybe, but I think it was more fun for you than me.”
He nodded and glanced away briefly. When our eyes met again, the energy in the room shifted, sizzling with an electric current. I swallowed hard as humor faded, replaced by something a thousand times more potent.
Holy shit, I wanted him.
Who was I kidding? I’d wanted him for months. And here he was, tattooed, bare chested, muscles glistening, and his cock thick behind the thin barrier of his sweats. Smitty Paluchek was a fucking dream come true. I licked my lips and shamelessly studied the planes of his toned abs.
“You’re killin’ me, Bry,” he rasped. “You know that? I’m trying to be good, but I want you so bad I—”
I lunged for him.
I wrapped my hand around his nape and crashed my mouth over his. He didn’t miss a beat. Smitty pulled me close, angling his head to deepen the connection as he swept his tongue alongside mine.
We made out in a feverish haze, licking, sucking, and nipping. If there was a reason I wasn’t supposed to want him, I couldn’t remember what it was. This felt too good to be wrong. And the obscene bulge in his sweats made me brazen with desire. I hadn’t touched a man since this man. I needed this.
I hooked my thumbs under the elastic, biting his swollen lip as I broke the kiss. “Is this okay?”
Smitty shoved his sweats and boxer briefs over his ass in response. His rigid cock bobbed between us, begging for attention. I didn’t hesitate. I curled my fingers at his base and stroked him.