Page 22 of Draft Pick

It took a minute before I was coherent, but I became aware of Starlie laughing and coughing simultaneously, bracing herself with her hand on the opposite wall with a choked, "It--came—out—my—nose!" I nearly died, too.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," I laughed, embarrassed, but Starlie was nearly hysterical as she laughed, rinsing her face under the spray and wiping away the evidence of our 'fun.' "I usually try to give fair warning, but…um, it happened so quick I didn't have a chance."

She turned to face me, her eyes lit up with her laughter, "I'm going to take it as a compliment," she decided, and I couldn't help myself — the woman was a goddamn angel — kissing her long and hard.

Was there something special between us? Hell, I didn't know enough about that kind of thing to know for sure. My dad always warned me about getting attached to any girl when chasing the dream, so I never kept girlfriends around for too long.

When Danielle mentioned I'd dated her friend — what was her name, Kenzie? — I couldn't even pull her face from my memory. Dropping one and moving onto another had been easy enough because none had held my interest for long.

But none of them had been like Starlie.

Unwelcome, my dad's voice intruded on my thoughts as I washed Starlie's back, my gaze drifting to that luscious ass and back to the curve of her waist and the peek of side boob as she rinsed off.

Starlie flashed me a bright smile that nearly stole my breath. "Are you going to stare all day or get washed up? If we don't hurry, we'll miss out on all the fresh beignets."

"Fancy coffeeshop," I said, impressed, though I was more interested in the view right here than the finest French pastry in the world. "Maybe I was too hasty…what if?—"

"No, no take-backsies," she cut in with a stern look. "You offered and I accepted. Done deal. Now, get a move on, Alexander or if there's only one beignet left, I'll eat it in front of you without sharing a single crumb."

"Harsh," I replied with a grin, “but I respect the hard line."

"I knew you would," she shot back with a cheeky smile, but her gaze dipped south for the briefest second, and I saw she was just as easily swayed as me, the little hypocrite. I loved it. We were like two drug addicts hungering for the next fix, only the drug was our bodies.

Even as my gaze feasted on Starlie, I suddenly understood what my dad had been trying to teach me all those years — Starlie was the pothole I never saw coming. One minute, I was driving eighty miles an hour down the freeway, dodging cars right and left, and the next, I was rolling ass over teakettle, twisted metal flying in every direction.

Everyone knew the devastating aftermath, but no one talked about the few seconds before that epic crash. The rush of adrenalin, the smug certainty that nothing could go wrong, you were living life to the fullest — young, dumb, and full of cum, as the saying went.

Yeah, that was me.

A crash was coming. I could feel it. Hell, I could see it in the distance.

But I wasn't going to stop.

I was drunk on the adrenalin, and no one would tell me what to do.

All I wanted to do was Starlie.

Eventually, I'd get over it, and things would return to normal, I told myself. Even Starlie's allure would fade at some point because I was focused on getting to the NFL. Even though I hated what the dream had done to me and my dad's relationship, I hadn't lost sight of the true priority.

Reality was a bitch, and I wasn't in a hurry to open the door to what was coming.

Today was about Starlie and me, combing the beach for lost treasures.

And fucking until we couldn't walk straight anymore.

At the very least, we'd eventually part with great memories.

Until then, let's get it on like Donkey Kong — and find some hidden treasure.

"He went beach-combing with you—andyou didn't have to beg or anything?" Sloane asked, flabbergasted and a little wary as I shared my Sunday with her when we met for a quick bite after work.

Sloane and I worked at the same restaurant; she was the hostess, and I was a waitress at Funky Fusion, a tourist-trap place near the campus that always drew a good enough crowd to make for decent tips. At the end of our shift, we slid into a booth and shared an order of coconut shrimp. Wednesdays were quiet, but summers were always a toss-up because it was tourist season.

"He was the one who suggested it," I told her around a hot bite. "I never even brought it up."

"Weird."

"It's not weird. Some people like metal detecting," I protested, still privately smiling from ear to ear whenever I thought of my Sunday with Cason. The only sour note was that it was Wednesday, and I had not heard from him since.

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