Do Over: A Second Chance Sports Romance: Winthrop Wolves Book 1 by Zoey Shores

Author:Zoey Shores [Shores, Zoey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-12-09T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: LUKE

I hardly got any sleep once I got to my room last night. What the fuck was I thinking?

Ever since seeing Heidi on the sideline gave me the strength to lead us to victory last week, my mind has been consumed with her. I decided we needed another shot together. I was hoping to gradually get closer to her over the next couple weeks while she covers the team, hope that old feelings blossom between us …

Shit, I was planning on at least asking her out to coffee before trying to make out with her on a dance floor. I don’t see Heidi as just another hookup, and I don’t want her to think that’s what I want from her.

That’s not what I want from anyone anymore. But I developed a well-deserved reputation last year as a man-whore. Shit, I’ll admit it. No sense in denying it. I had more than enough meaningless sex to last a lifetime, and that’s a lifestyle I’m ready to leave in the past.

But as far as Heidi knows, that’s who I am now. And the way I acted last night – dragging her out to the middle of a crowded club, pulling her close, and leaning in for a kiss without hardly exchanging a dozen words between us … well, that probably didn’t do much to belie my well-known reputation.

I’d already had four stiff drinks that night, and having Heidi in front of me, our bodies so close that I could feel her warmth, and her as beautiful as ever, more beautiful … I lost my head. My heart – and my cock – demanded a taste of her lips.

Things seemed to be going well between us before that, too. On the bus during the trip down here, she seemed open and warm. I could feel the electricity between us at the bar. It’s clear the bond between us that developed so many years ago hadn’t been severed, even by the years that intervened.

On the bus back to Winthrop, she gives me a frosty reception. It’s all one-word answers and quick, split-second glances in my direction, broken the moment our eyes make contact. She’s busy typing on her keyboard, looking at her notes, nibbling on her pen – fuck, when I look back to the seat behind me and across the aisle, the one she occupies, and see her musing that pen against her soft, lush, inviting lips …

I’m sure writing an article like hers does take a lot of concentration, especially when she’s not exactly too familiar with sports reporting and the ins and outs of the game. But it’s also clear she’s trying not to engage with me. Is she angry? Worried? Scared to get too close?

I have to understand her hesitancy. She doesn’t know how much the Luke Tanner of today is or isn’t like the Luke Tanner of sophomore year of high school. I know she doesn’t want to be just another hookup for the school football hero. I just need to show her that’s not what I want either.

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