She’s running from her demons. He’s committed to winning her over. Can he catch her in time, or will she be out of his grasp before he can blink?
Chuckling to myself on her choice of song, I knocked on the door. Waited a few seconds, nothing. This time I banged my entire fist in an effort to rattle the wood on its hinges. Still nothing.
“Roo…” I opened her door, letting myself in, and stopped dead at the sight in front of me. Kelsey was in the middle of the room, her hair piled on the top of her head like some fiery tornado, a glass filled to the brim with red wine in her hand. And she was dancing like a mad woman.
She donned a white tank top that exposed the sides of her breasts and entirely-too-large grey sweatpants that pooled over her feet, making her look like a dwarf. She was utterly adorable and fucking mouthwateringly sexy.
At the creek of the door she turned, her naturally red lips splitting in a megawatt smile.
I could tell from her dancing and the slight blush of her cheeks that she was tipsy. It made her even cuter.
“Hi yourself. What’re you doing there?” I couldn’t help her infectious smile from spreading across my face too.
She shook her hips wildly as the song changed to something faster. Pitbull maybe. But I was never good with music. “I had a long, hard day. Kickass, but fucking hard! So I’m dancing.”
Kelsey makes this more evident by raising the wine glass to her lips, taking a huge swig, and then raising it above her head and twirling in circles.
I drop my baseball bag on her floor and toe my sneakers off. Then I join her in the middle of the floor, and begin to move.
She gives a happy shout and moves closer to me, joining her free hand with mine and swinging both of our arms.
“I had my fingers up a zebra’s ass today. Well technically, it was a whole fist!” She announces this like it’s the most normal thing in the world while I pull quickly out of her grasp. Kelsey giggles at my repulsion.
“Oh my god, bro! Don’t worry I had gloves on. But I did have to juggle her placenta in there…”
“Kels, stop. I am going to throw up.”
She did that sexy little giggle again and raised the glass to her lips. As she took it away and swallowed, she then raised it to mine. I let her pour some into my mouth, watching her cinnamon eyes over the brim. I knew the instant desire sparked in them, and I could feel myself harden in the mesh shorts I wore.
They say those who can’t do, teach. Well, Carrie has no hand-eye coordination, and her idea of romance is a Netflix marathon complete with Thai food. So, she writes sports romance novels instead.
Beginning her writing career as a journalist, Carrie wrote about real-life crime and scandal before turning to the fantasy world of fiction. She lives with her husband in an apartment they are constantly outgrowing.