Play Maker(79)

I leaned out farther.

“Fuck, this is gonna feel goooooood.”

And then it hit me—first his white T-shirt, square in the face, before landing atop the Henley—and second, the realization that he was messing with me.

I scrambled back into the closet.

That * knows I’m here. He’s playing a game.

It was chicken—just like we used to play in my backyard pool, only with even less clothing. Well, if he thought I was going to give myself up just because he threatened to get naked, he could think again. I could do this all day.

I peeked out again.

Oh. My. God.

My mouth fell open. There he was—shirtless, jeans undone, posing in front of the mirror. Flexing his biceps. His pecs. His abs.

Every curve and line was perfection—the muscular thighs, the round ass, the narrow waist, the sculpted arms. Not that I was surprised. He’d quit modeling months ago, but he still worked out every day like it was his job. Then there were the gifts he was given—the things he didn’t even have to work for. The brain-melting blue eyes, the unforgivable symmetry of his features, the angle of his jaw, the flawless skin.

After dropping a kiss onto each of his biceps—for f*ck’s sake, seriously?—he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, then left it there while the other slid down his rippled abdomen and into the front of his underwear.

My breath caught.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. Would he really go that far?

I was sweating, my entire body on edge. At least my hiccups were gone.

But what should I do? Give myself up?

A good person would, said my conscience.

Was I a good person?

You’re a drunk peeping Tom. All signs point to no.

So then I might as well see it through, right? After all, I’d made it this far. If I gave up now, he’d have something on me.And he’d have the upper hand. So maybe I’d call his bluff—see how far he’d actually go.

Great, now you’re a perv as well as a snoop.

Maybe I was, because when he moved behind the half-open bathroom door and turned the water on, I crawled out a little bit farther to try for a better look. Could I catch his reflection in the mirror? Or see him through the crack?

Suddenly his jeans came sailing out, landing with a dull thump right in front of me.

And then his blue boxer briefs.

But I had no time to freak out, because the door opened wide and Quinn appeared, holding his hands over his crotch like a f*cking fig leaf.

I gasped.

“So,” he said, those blue eyes dancing. “Now what?”

Oh my f*cking god.

The game of chicken…suddenly involved a cock.



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Acknowledgments


Thank you so much to everyone who influenced the writing of Play Maker! I had so much fun going back to my love of sports (and more importantly sporty men) with this one, and I have so many people to thank who have helped me along the way.

Firstly, I want to thank the readers. Being a part of this community enriches my life every day and I am so grateful to you for allowing me to keep following my dreams and to keep doing what I love! Your support is invaluable to me.

Thank you to my fellow authors who inspire me not only to better myself as an author, but as a strong, independent woman as well. Carrie, Roxy, Eve, Lila, Kayti, Lizzie, Melanie, and Helena... you women are truly incredible and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for making me feel so at home in this world of indie authors!

Endless thanks to all of the bloggers who have taken the time to read and review Play Maker - I know your schedules are crazy and I appreciate your feedback so much. Shout-outs to Bookalicious Book Babes, Red Cheeks Reads, Literary Gossip, and Give Me Books for everything you've done for me!

Lastly, a huge thank you goes to Mama who supports me in everything I do and believes in me unconditionally. "She believed she could, so she did." I love you always!

xo, Katie.