Page 21 of Most Likely to Score
“You said you love cherries . . .”
“Oh my God,” she murmurs, lowering her eyes.
“Wait. You’re not gluten-free, are you?”
She snaps up her gaze. “No way.”
I hand her a fork from the bag. “Want a bite?”
“Will you share it with me?”
“I don’t usually indulge in sweets. Training regimen and all.”
“More for me, then,” she says with a glint in her eyes.
“But maybe I’ll allow myself one small bite.”
She digs into the pie, takes a bite, and murmurs her appreciation. Her eyes sparkle. “Jones,” she whispers, like we have a secret, “this is amazing.”
She’s complimenting the pie, but I’ll take it. Oh yes, will I ever take it. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Here,” she says, forking a chunk of pastry and filling.
I open my mouth, waiting for her. She freezes, then does that thing again where she nibbles on the corner of her lips, before she extends the fork to my mouth. Keeping my eyes on her, I close my lips on the pie, savoring the crust and the sweet, juicy flavor of the cherries.
I don’t break eye contact. I watch her the whole time, mostly because she can’t seem to stop looking at me. She never looks at me for this long. She never looks at me like she can’t stop.
I like her eyes on me.
I like it so fucking much.
When I’m done, she takes the fork away, and her hand seems to fall languidly at her side.
“Yes, I do love cherries,” I say. “So very much.”
12
JILLIAN
Katie was wrong.
My ovaries are so fine.
They can handle this photo shoot, no problem.
Really, what’s so hard to take about a six-foot-five, two-hundred-fifty-eight-pound guy with toned, strong muscles everywhere on his frame hugging a mixed-breed Australian shepherd puppy?
And for the record, I only know his height and weight because I’ve memorized those stats for every single player on the team. They’re handy when reporters ask, and they do.
But I’ve added a few more details for this guy. Beautiful veins in his forearms. A lopsided grin. A happy trail. I slam on the brakes. I shouldn’t be admiring his body, even though now would be a good time to do so since he’s wearing those casually sexy swim trunks.
On the beach.
With the sun beating down on said muscles.
With waves cresting in the background.
And . . .oh my stars.
