Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
In a single day, everything changed, and there’s no way to go back.
ALLISON
SIX YEARS LATER
From the moment I laid eyes on Dean, I knew he’d be trouble.
I didn’t anticipate this, though.
I didn’t expect to let it get this far.
I didn’t want him to be a casualty of my obsession.
Someone to my right clears their throat and I look down the row of people. A woman looks back at me; she’s older with graying hair, wearing a thick sweater with a cowl neck that’s practically swallowing the frail woman. She holds my gaze, narrowing her eyes and pressing her lips together into a flat line.
I know what she’s thinking. What they’re all thinking, and it makes me want to throw up.
She asked for it.
They have no idea.
No one does.
Not even Dean, as he awaits his fate.
They can judge me because I deserve it.
If I could go back, I would.
I close my eyes and try to hold back the tears, the pain. Every moment that led us here is another flaw in my armor. Picking away at my defenses as the events flash before my eyes.
When I open them, through the veil of tears scattered on my lashes, I see Dean looking back at me.
I’m so fucking selfish, and that’s what pushed me over the edge.
I knew Dean would be trouble. A crimp in my plans perhaps, but I didn’t think I’d fall in love.
I justified using him. I craved his touch so much that I pulled him into my web.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth and Dean’s expression slips.
They’re right when they say I asked for it.
I didn’t just ask for it, though.
No, no.
I fucking prayed for it.
Two months earlier
Fourteen boxes.
Packing and unpacking fourteen boxes takes a toll on the body. My shoulders are sore; my core feels like it’s on fire.
But I’m here.
I actually went through with it and applied to this school, got in, rented a house and now I’m here.
I hear them first as I round the building that houses all the equipment for the fields. The bleachers come into sight first, followed by the men I came to see.
My hips sway a little more than before, my lips tilting up into a half smile even though my heart races. I’m so much different from the girl I was back then. Unrecognizable.
I glance at each one, taking them in as sweat glistens on their backs and chests. Most of the rugby players only have on a pair of gym shorts, ranging from blue to black to red. Their laughter drifts across the field as they huddle around the small area where all their gear is laid out.
Some of the guys play on the field of perfectly trimmed grass. Seven of them, to be exact. The field is nestled between two old brick buildings that can house hundreds of students, if not more.
Is this what college life feels like? The smell of a late summer breeze paired with jittery nerves clamber up my throat. Well, maybe the second part is just because it’s me and I’m here, scoping out the intramural rugby team for the university.
Most of these guys don’t take it seriously. Which is why there’s no one here, no scouts or fans. A couple students sit in the grass off to the right of the bleachers, but they aren’t paying attention. This rugby team isn’t for show. It’s just a reason to get out some aggression; judging by each of the guys’ history, there’s a lot of aggression here.
I knew they’d be here, practicing and putting all their goods on display.
A small hum slips from me into the late August heat as I spear my hand through my hair and let the wind push it out of my face and off my shoulders.
It doesn’t take long for one of them to notice me walking a little closer than I should.
The field backs up to woods behind the buildings and the only reason I’d be walking out here on this side of the field is for them. And now they know it.
The guy closest to me tilts up his chin as he asks, “What’s going on?”
The rest of them quiet down when I walk up to the bleachers and take a seat, letting my bag fall into the grass as I rest against the metal. I’m in jeans, so I spread my legs just a bit as I lean forward, my body language suggestive. Yeah, nothing like the girl I used to be.
“I just came to see the game,” I say sweetly and let my eyes drift from the tall blond with broad shoulders, to the darker brunette with a full sleeve tattoo down his left arm.
“No game today, sweetheart,” a man at the far end of the group tells me, but I don’t turn to look that way.
“There’s always a game,” I say. “I’m Allison,” I add, flirtation evident in my voice.