Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
"I almost killed you," I remind him.
He shrugs, running his hands along my sides. "Worth the risk."
I try not to melt. I fail spectacularly, but I try.
"Why didn't you say something sooner?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. He's scared, too. Trent doesn't do relationships. He never has. And this has the potential to complicate both of our lives in all kinds of unexpected ways.
"You ever seen yourself in a mirror when you're working?" he teases. "You have Resting Don't-Fuck-with-Me Face. I was ninety percent sure you hated me until last week."
I make a noise somewhere between a scoff and a snort. "I do not." And then I frown. "What changed last week?"
"You do," he insists, grinning like an idiot. "But I like that about you." He looks up, serious again. "I also like you. And you changed last week. You gave me this look after the game, and I don't fucking know. I just knew that you were proud of me in a way you weren't with anyone else on the team. I fucking loved that feeling, Sunshine."
I stare at him, my body tingling in a way that's new and exciting.
I want to believe he means what he's saying. God, I do. But another part of me—the one that's fully aware that he's one of the sports world's Most Eligible—whispers that this is a fluke, a fever dream brought on by Benadryl, trauma, and maybe even low blood sugar.
"Are you still high on hospital drugs?" I blurt.
He snorts. "Want to wait until they wear off and ask me again?"
I consider it. "Maybe."
He softens. "Let me pretend that you're mine, just for tonight. Let me hold you in my bed. If you still hate the idea of us in the morning, we can pretend it was just the drugs and it never happened. I'll fucking hate every second of pretending, but if it's what makes you happy, I'll find a way to live with it. Just…give me one night to hold you, Dani."
There's a plea in his eyes. He's as scared as I am. Maybe that's what convinces me. Or maybe it's the fact that I want this so badly I can't say no. I'll regret it for the rest of my life if I do. Maybe he is still high and will regret it in the morning. If so, I can deal with it then. But for right now? I want this more than I've ever wanted anything.
I don't know what happens next. I don't know if this is the beginning of a disaster or the start of something worth risking my career for.
All I know is that, right now, I'm exactly where I want to be. And I think maybe he is too.
And maybe, just maybe, that's enough.
I sigh, leaning my head on his shoulder. "Fine. But if you snore in my ear, I'm calling Sandra and telling her you're hoarding carbs."
He laughs, squeezing me tight. "Deal."
Chapter Four
Trent
The best part about waking up with Dani—besides the fact that she's not a drug hallucination—is that she's cuddly as fuck. She's sprawled across my body, her mouth partially open, drooling on my chest like it's her favorite goddamn pillow.
My dick is thrilled with this. He's already wide awake, pressing up against her thigh like it's his job.
The rest of me comes online about two seconds later. The first thing I notice—aside from her, I mean—is that I don't feel half bad. I'm not even itchy. The second thing I notice is how absurdly bright it is in here. Sunlight slants through the half-open blinds like it's trying to blind me. And then I notice how completely I'm wrapped around her, like a goddamn overgrown koala.
For the record, I am not mad about it.
She's breathing slow and deep, her hair flowing across my chest, and her thigh pinning my dick against my leg in a way that would be fucking torturous if it wasn't also perfect.
Her top—my old college hockey tee, which I don't remember lending her—has ridden up enough to reveal the curve of her hip. And Jesus Christ, there's nothing underneath except pale, freckled skin and a hint of lacy pink panties.
I consider all the ways I could wake her up…most of them probably illegal in at least seven states. I settle for digging my fingers into her perfect ass just to see what she'll do.
She mumbles something into my chest that sounds like she might be summoning demons and tries to wriggle free. Fuck that noise. She's right where I want her.
I tighten my grip, keeping her locked in place.
I never want to let her go.
Is that an option? I file the question away for later, when I can fully consider the ramifications of keeping her permanently tied to my bed.
She finally blinks her eyes open, squinting at me like she just realized she's not actually alone in this bed. She tries to push up on her elbows, but I just haul her closer, until her nose is an inch from mine.