All In: Playing to Win (Gambling With Love Book 5) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Lane Hart
The ridiculously sexy man looks like a modern day Viking warrior, and my first thought is that I'd like to be pillaged by him. Sad but true.
Mr. Star Quarterback is unfortunately even more gorgeous than the last time I saw him in person. His normally blonde hair is wet, making it look darker. All his muscular skin that's showing is shiny, and his clothing is dripping with sweat. The normally unpleasant moisture has never looked so deliciously good on anyone before.
I take a quick second to admire his tight fitting gray team tee stretched across his massive chest that tapers into his narrow waist before I get to his long legs covered by loose fitting, black workout pants. Zack was big in college, but now he's…yummy size.
Apparently he's also become an ego-centric prick over the years, one who thinks his time is more important than anyone else’s. Or maybe he's always been this way, but I just never made it past his devastating good looks to notice.
"Hey, how's it going? You got some shit for me to sign?" he asks, his eyes darting around and over to the items laid out on the table like he's in a hurry. Ha! What an asshole!
"Mr. Bradford, it's so nice of you to finally make an appearance. You obviously had more important things to do that required me to sit here waiting an extra two hours for you to grace me with your almighty presence. I'm sure that your workout absolutely couldn't wait until later." Wow, I didn't know I had such a bitchy attitude in me. This man managed to bring out the worst.
He just stands there, blinking his milk chocolate eyes down at me like I just shocked the shit out of him. Crap, if I piss him off and don't get these items signed then our fundraiser is screwed. As much as I hate to admit it, last year his items brought in the same amount of money as all the other players combined.
I take a deep breath to get my hormones under control and tone down my snippiness. Before I can insincerely apologize, his high and mighty speaks again.
"Sorry, I, ah, had a lot on my mind, and lost track of time," he says in that deep, sexy baritone of his, making him sound almost genuine and believable. Just hearing him speak a few words nearly wipes away my anger, but I have no intention of letting him off so easy.
"Well then, let's get down to it so you can move on to more important things in your busy day," I respond.
"Yes, let's...get down to it," he says, making the comment sound more sensual than is appropriate. Then the tall, good looking bastard actually smiles down at me in amusement. I have to look quickly away from his Hershey eyes before I swoon. I really don't want the cocky man to see he's already made me blush.
"You're so damn cute and tiny, like a...oh, I know," he says with a snap of his fingers. "Like a miniature Barbie!"
My heart skips several beats. Maybe I actually imagined those very bizarre words coming from his perfect mouth.
"And you look familiar. Have we…met before?" he asks, raking his gaze up and down my body. It's obvious from his pause that the word "met" could easily have been substituted with "fucked."
My breath catches and I don't immediately respond. I wait those few seconds, willing him to remember me. To remember us and that amazing kiss, proving that it was more than a random, spontaneous, heat of the moment occurrence. That it had meant... something to him, damn it!
When there's no recognition my shoulders slump in disappointment. If he doesn't remember then I'm certainly not going to embarrass myself by trying to help him recall our moment. "No, this is the first time I've had the pleasure of waiting two hours to meet you," I lie, although technically, we've never exchanged names, just tongues. "Here's the marker, and everything is laid out. Your name and jersey number should be fine on each," I tell him exasperatedly, not looking at him as I hold out the marker in his general direction.
"Do you know my jersey number?" he asks, not taking the
Mr. Star Quarterback is unfortunately even more gorgeous than the last time I saw him in person. His normally blonde hair is wet, making it look darker. All his muscular skin that's showing is shiny, and his clothing is dripping with sweat. The normally unpleasant moisture has never looked so deliciously good on anyone before.
I take a quick second to admire his tight fitting gray team tee stretched across his massive chest that tapers into his narrow waist before I get to his long legs covered by loose fitting, black workout pants. Zack was big in college, but now he's…yummy size.
Apparently he's also become an ego-centric prick over the years, one who thinks his time is more important than anyone else’s. Or maybe he's always been this way, but I just never made it past his devastating good looks to notice.
"Hey, how's it going? You got some shit for me to sign?" he asks, his eyes darting around and over to the items laid out on the table like he's in a hurry. Ha! What an asshole!
"Mr. Bradford, it's so nice of you to finally make an appearance. You obviously had more important things to do that required me to sit here waiting an extra two hours for you to grace me with your almighty presence. I'm sure that your workout absolutely couldn't wait until later." Wow, I didn't know I had such a bitchy attitude in me. This man managed to bring out the worst.
He just stands there, blinking his milk chocolate eyes down at me like I just shocked the shit out of him. Crap, if I piss him off and don't get these items signed then our fundraiser is screwed. As much as I hate to admit it, last year his items brought in the same amount of money as all the other players combined.
I take a deep breath to get my hormones under control and tone down my snippiness. Before I can insincerely apologize, his high and mighty speaks again.
"Sorry, I, ah, had a lot on my mind, and lost track of time," he says in that deep, sexy baritone of his, making him sound almost genuine and believable. Just hearing him speak a few words nearly wipes away my anger, but I have no intention of letting him off so easy.
"Well then, let's get down to it so you can move on to more important things in your busy day," I respond.
"Yes, let's...get down to it," he says, making the comment sound more sensual than is appropriate. Then the tall, good looking bastard actually smiles down at me in amusement. I have to look quickly away from his Hershey eyes before I swoon. I really don't want the cocky man to see he's already made me blush.
"You're so damn cute and tiny, like a...oh, I know," he says with a snap of his fingers. "Like a miniature Barbie!"
My heart skips several beats. Maybe I actually imagined those very bizarre words coming from his perfect mouth.
"And you look familiar. Have we…met before?" he asks, raking his gaze up and down my body. It's obvious from his pause that the word "met" could easily have been substituted with "fucked."
My breath catches and I don't immediately respond. I wait those few seconds, willing him to remember me. To remember us and that amazing kiss, proving that it was more than a random, spontaneous, heat of the moment occurrence. That it had meant... something to him, damn it!
When there's no recognition my shoulders slump in disappointment. If he doesn't remember then I'm certainly not going to embarrass myself by trying to help him recall our moment. "No, this is the first time I've had the pleasure of waiting two hours to meet you," I lie, although technically, we've never exchanged names, just tongues. "Here's the marker, and everything is laid out. Your name and jersey number should be fine on each," I tell him exasperatedly, not looking at him as I hold out the marker in his general direction.
"Do you know my jersey number?" he asks, not taking the
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