Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“No, Jacob’s filming a commercial that day.”
Luca fist-pumps. “It’s fate!”
Damn him. He’s flashing his dimples now. “Is the guest list for Satan’s housewarming party family only?”
“Nope. A bunch of Roman’s new teammates are coming, some with plus-ones, so you’d fit right in. I mean, don’t wear Buckeyes gear or anything. You wouldn’t fit in if you did that. You’d get a ration of shit. But otherwise, I promise you’ll feel right at home.”
I bite my lip. “Does your brother often send private jets for you to come to his little parties?”
“This is a first. Roman’s generous with his money when it comes to family vacations and stuff like that. He just took all of us to Hawaii for my cousin Marco’s wedding, for example. But he’s never once sent a private plane for me or anyone else, as far as I know. I’m guessing he thinks his new girlfriend is wifey material, so he’s sparing no expense to introduce her to everyone all at once, before the regular season kicks off and everyone scatters.”
“Do you like Roman’s new girlfriend?”
“She’s awesome. I haven’t met her in person yet, but we’ve chatted several times on FaceTime, and she’s super sweet.” He pokes my arm. “Unlike you.”
I dryly flip him off, and Luca grins broadly like I’ve just kissed him square on the mouth.
“So stubborn,” he mutters, still smiling.
“You want to see stubborn, look in the mirror.”
“It’s my job to be stubborn, though.”
“Yeah, and it’s my calling.”
He chuckles. “So, do we have a deal, Miss Stubborn? If I get those three sacks tomorrow, you’ll rip your clothes off and jump my bones and come with me on a quick trip to LA?”
I’m severely annoyed with myself for wanting to say yes to this nonsense. But in my defense, what are the chances he’ll pull off his end of the bargain?
“Fine. Yes.” As Luca whoops, I add, “Now get back to your room and get some good sleep. You’ll need to be extremely well rested to get a single sack tomorrow, let alone three.”
His dark eyes are blazing like a pyre. “Yes, Coach.” With a noticeable spring in his step, Luca bounds toward the sliding glass door, apparently intending to exit the same way he entered.
“Luca, no! Use the door, you maniac, so you won’t break your neck.”
Luca looks genuinely perplexed. “But you made me promise not to—”
“That was before I found out you’re willing to recklessly endanger life and limb as a freaking loophole.”
With a cackle of glee, Luca turns in the other direction and practically floats across the room. “Nighty night, mathlete.”
“Goodnight, Montague. Sweet dreams.”
He stops at the door and rakes his dark eyes over me in a way that feels insanely lascivious. “All my dreams will be extra sweet because they’ll be sex dreams about you.”
“Go.”
With another whoop, Luca opens the door, peeks to make sure the coast is clear, and heads out, leaving me standing alone in my room with hard nipples, a certain kind of pulsing between my legs, and the near-desperate hope that Number Ninety-Five will somehow pull off the impossible in tomorrow’s game and get three sacks.
CHAPTER 23
Chelsea
WE’RE HALFWAY THROUGH the first quarter of the game now, and Luca still hasn’t gone in, despite our defense already taking the field twice.
To put it mildly, he’s not taking it well. Indeed, every time I’ve looked over at Luca on the bench, he’s looked like he’s about to explode from anticipation.
Our offensive unit is on the field again now, led by one of our rookie QB hopefuls, and I wish so badly I could be sitting over there next to Luca instead of standing here on the sideline squashed between the defensive coordinator and cocky, full-of-himself Jacob Moriarty, who’s not even suited up to play. Admittedly, Luca can be cocky sometimes, too. But the difference is he’s got the charm and heart to back it up, so his cockiness is endearing. With Jacob, it’s nothing but annoying.
The bright spot of the day, at least, is that the defensive coordinator has asked me to stand next to him today and feed him data and stats in real time. That’s a pretty exciting development, since it’s exactly the sort of thing I’m hoping to do in an official capacity one day. But even so, I’d still rather be sitting next to Luca so I can prepare him to crush it when his moment to run onto the field finally arrives.
“Nice speed-rip,” Moriarty mutters to me, commenting on the action on the field. He keeps doing that. Chatting with me. Acting like we’re buds. But there’s zero chemistry between us, even as friends, so I’m getting sick of his commentary.
“Bull rush is coming next,” he adds, when I don’t reply to his first comment.
“If he’s smart.”
The ball is snapped and our rookie quarterback hangs back in the pocket, looking for his target. Just like Moriarty predicted, the outside linebacker for the Admirals comes with a bull rush next. But what’s this? Our little rookie somehow gets away and throws a dart in the nick of time, and it’s miraculously caught by the fingertips by our rookie wide receiver—a cutie-pie everyone adores who’s still on the bubble but making a great case for himself today.