Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
A flood of heat washes through me, and my lady parts tingle. “That’s ridiculous.” I hate how shaky my voice sounds.
He shrugs, still not looking. Like he’s not sure he should’ve admitted it.
“I’m just saying. Tyler’s lucky he doesn’t exist.”
A puff of laughter escapes my lips. “You are one crazy son of a bitch, Bo.”
“That is true,” he says, like he’s proud of it.
We ride in silence for a moment, and then I remember to ask, “How was your game?”
“We won.”
“And they let you play? I thought you have to be at school on the day of a meet or game in order to participate.”
“Coach busted my balls pretty hard, but he let me play. He knows what went down with Winslow.” He slides a glance over my way, and guilt makes my stomach tighten again.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s the first time I’ve said it. Or if I said it before, this is the first time I mean it. I never liked Winslow—he scared the crap out of me, and I don’t actually think he was that nice of a guy. But I am starting to feel something for Bo. And he seemed to know from the beginning this wouldn’t end well for his brother. He tried to get me to stay away.
I ignored him.
And while I can’t believe his getting caught is actually my fault—I mean, Winslow is an adult and made his own decisions—I do feel bad that Bo lost his brother over this.
Just another casualty in my shit show.
Another reason for me to shake Bo out of my hair for good before he gets hurt even more.
“Did Cave Hills play their Homecoming game today? Oh hey—am I taking the Homecoming Queen?”
“No, the game was last night, and they won’t announce it until the dance.”
“And you really weren’t going to go?”
I grip the door handle, thinking about why things like Homecoming royalty don’t mean anything to me. “No.”
Bo shoots another one of those searching glances my way. “Because you’re in some kind of trouble.”
It’s a statement, not a question. And once again, I feel exposed.
“Maybe this shit just doesn’t matter to me.”
“Maybe.” His tone suggests how unlikely that answer is.
We get to the dance, and I pay for us to get in, mainly because I doubt Bo has much money, and I still have a little bit I saved from the sale of the Porsche.
Bo walks in like he owns the place, which works, because that’s the way I usually carry myself, too. I’m not used to sharing the limelight with my date, though. He greets Teri and Sam like they’re long-lost friends, shakes hands with their dates—both nice but slightly gangly guys from the cross-country team.
He threads his fingers through mine and leads me through the crowd. Everyone turns to watch us. We’re both tall and good-looking and carry ourselves like we’re the shit.
Aw, screw it. I decide to go with the ruse. It’s the best way not to let Bo get under my skin. I pull him straight out to the dance floor and lambada my body right up against his.
He lets out an animalistic growl and bands an arm around my waist.
Oh God. I love it—way too much. His body is solid muscle, and he knows how to move. He insinuates his thigh between mine, pulling me against him, so I grind down on it.
Dang. We’ve been here five minutes, and I’m already primed for sex.
How freaking cliche would it be if I lost my virginity on prom night? I mean Homecoming, but same difference—a school dance.
Bo
I’m high on the scent of Sloane’s arousal.
She’s sending all the signals, but I’m pretty sure it’s a ruse. Beating me at my own game.
I rock my hips to the music, holding her body close to mine, trying to figure out if her panties are damp where she’s grinding on my leg.
I want to fuck her senseless.
That part isn’t new.
The part I’m really fighting right now is the desire to kiss her. I’m trying to figure out what she would do. Whether I play it off as more torture, meant to embarrass her in front of her school, to punish her for her lies, or whether I kiss her for real.
The way I want to.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, my debate is interrupted by the call for homecoming royalty to take the stage.
When they call Sloane’s name, I cup the back of her head and pull her mouth up to mine. “Make me proud, princess.”
It’s punishment, and it doesn’t taste nearly as sweet as the claiming I was imagining.
In fact, it tastes a little bitter, especially the way she shoves away from me and doesn’t look back. She sashays to the stage and stands up there with the other senior class nominees. The superior way she holds herself on stage tells me she can’t wait to get off it.