Football players are assholes. I know; I'm related to their king. My older, and annoyingly overprotective, brother Jake is the star quarterback at Santa Cruz High School. I love him but hate living in his shadow. Everyone worshiping the air he breat...
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"Hi, baby," a low, cocky voice called. The same voice came through my phone carried from behind. It had also whispered in my ear. His voice.
Know that pinched nerve sensation from turning your neck too fast? I did that when Mystery Jerk announced his presence. A sharp stab erupted below my ear, throbbing the right side of my neck and wrenching my shoulder up to my ears. It rendered me immobile and wrenched in tension.
"Oww." I cupped the beats in my neck. Nerves fluttered through me, turning my voice into a breathy whisper, "Umm."
Black sandals - yep, the same ones I puked on - appeared in my downcast line of vision. His toes were only coated in sand. Long legs with muscular thighs came next. His toned, tapered waistline twisted as he strutted up with the flexed toned arms, proud chest, and chiseled shoulder muscles that came with...
No no no no. He was a football player. This was worse, so much worse. He-
His face took my breath away. One look and I didn't stand a chance. Thank goodness I was sitting. I didn't have the words to describe the high-pitched sound that strangled itself in my throat. The clearest, brightest, ocean-blue eyes gleamed down at me. They turned the waves crashing behind me into pond scum. His sharp, narrow jawline, high cheekbones, and pale lips sat on a face carved by fucking angels. And he was a freaking giant. He crossed his arms, etching the tendons in his tanned forearms with shadows. At the top of this mountain of gorgeous features, his short blonde hair fluttered in the breeze.
Oh, my Gawd. He... he's...
"Wow." Harper tugged my arm. "Adonis came back. Or, never left. I think he's flexing, or you could bounce a quarter off his-"
"Not helpful," I whispered.
My brain fuzzed into absolute mush. I stood, but my feet were glued to the spot. He moved in a slow-motion movie entrance, haloed by a backdrop of yellow Boardwalk lights. Strain pricked my eyes as I stretched them as wide as possible. He grew taller with each step, and my head tipped back from the height difference. His cool, confident aura hung in the airspace between us, stealing my breath.
Not Mr. Hotdog Hip-Thruster. How had I missed seeing... him!?
He was the most attractive person I'd ever seen. No wonder he oozed overconfidence. My brain screamed pretty privilege, but the rest of me gaped like Harper at a rack of designer sunglasses. None of what I saw forgave his attitude, but his personality made more sense.
The longer I stared over his muscular, Adonis-like physique and handsome face, the more dread filled me as if my limbs were sandbags. Fuck, why had Harper put that reference in my head? What could he possibly want with me?
I ran my tongue over my dry lips and avoided the weighted gaze of his beautiful blue eyes. When six inches separated us, my knees weakened. I swallowed the dryness in the back of my throat and stared at my trembling hands.
