Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“Yep. I did my homework on you, Maloney. You didn’t think I’d sign on without checking your references, did you?”
“I…yes.”
He set his sandwich on his plate and popped a potato chip into his mouth. “Tsk, tsk. The school directory has your bio since you’re a teaching assistant. I googled you on a whim and was seriously impressed. That article was cited and cross-referenced like hundreds of times. I got curious and kept up the search.”
I spooned up another helping of soup. “And?”
“Truthfully, most of it was over my head. That’s why I didn’t mention it sooner. I’m nowhere near as smart as you, but based on what the experts on social media say, your work is significant.”
“I—thank you. I’m proud of that piece.” My smile dimmed as I admitted, “Sometimes I worry I’ll never be able to replicate it.”
“You won’t.” He took another huge bite and spoke around a mouthful of turkey on rye. “You’ll do something better.”
“I hope so. I don’t like to think I peaked at twenty-two.”
“Welcome to my world.” Jett brushed crumbs from his fingers and dabbed his lips with a napkin. “At twenty-two, I’m just learning to adjust my expectations.”
“How so?”
“I might not play pro, and I have to figure out how to be okay with it. I could work for my dad, but just the thought of it feels like a black cloud. I could coach, I could teach, I could get my master’s. Those are good things. I want to be open-minded, but that’s not something I’m very good at, so…wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck. You’re going to do wonderful things, Jett Erickson. I have no doubt about it.”
He beamed. “You too, Maloney. So…what do you think of this place? Could you live here?”
Fat drops of rain peppered the window, marring my view of students rushing by and a couple walking a dalmatian they sheltered under a ginormous umbrella. The streets were clean, quaint, and bustling with energy.
“I think so.”
“Cool. See? You’re open-minded. That means you’re already halfway there.” He pushed his plate aside and gestured to the dessert being delivered to the table next to us. “I’m still hungry. Let’s fuck up an ice cream sundae. What do you say?”
Well, usually I might have said that ice cream wasn’t an ideal treat on a cold and rainy afternoon. Today I said, “Why not?”
We leaned over our hot fudge sundae, clanking our spoons in a quest to get to the chocolatey goodness stuck on the bottom of the dish as we debated ideal toppings—fudge, rainbow sprinkles, peanuts—and our thoughts on self-serve yogurt stores…thumbs-up. When the howling wind rattled the window, I suggested we switch to warmer topics.
Jett talked about sailing on Lake St. Clair in summer, roasting marshmallows on the embers of the barbecue, and the time he’d jumped off a roof into a pool filled with water balloons and sprained his ankle. I gasped in horror and shared a few of my favorite summer memories, grudgingly recalling the time I’d planted ripe bananas in the ground in the hopes of growing a banana plant. A perfect row of seven yellow pieces of fruit covered in soil and watered daily.
“You watered them too?”
“I was six.”
He snickered. “That’s cute. Did you wear glasses then too?”
“Yes.”
“I love that. I can picture you now watering bananas, your glasses slipping off your nose and that look you get when you’re super serious.” He pulled a face, his gaze warm and affectionate.
“I don’t look like that.”
“You do, and it’s adorable.”
“I’m not adorable,” I huffed, licking chocolate from my spoon.
“Sure you are, but you’re hot too. Whatever you’re doing with that spoon has to stop, though. I’ve got a chubby now.”
I licked the spoon again. “Do you?”
Jett flashed a roguish grin that spelled trouble in any language. “Let’s get out of here, Maloney.”
We speed-walked to the hotel, our heads bent in an attempt to avoid the worst of the wind and rain. It didn’t work. We peeled wet khakis and jeans off along with the rest of our clothing and turned on the shower, jockeying for position under the warm spray.
Playful groping in between washing up escalated quickly—his tongue tickling my tonsils, his cock pulsing against my upper thigh, his fingers in my hole.
We dried off and stumbled toward the king-sized bed.
Jett climbed behind me, tongue teasing my entrance, lubed fingers, and then…he was inside me. I gripped the headboard as he moved. He held my hips still and, per his words, “drilled me.”
His speech went something like:
“You feel so good. I love drilling your sweet hole. You love it too, don’t you? Tell me to fuck you. Tell me how you like it.”
It was challenging enough to stay upright. I couldn’t manage words too. I grunted in acquiescence, but Jett was persistent. “Tell me, tell me.”
“I love it,” I growled. “Fuck me, fuck me. Yes, yes, yes!”