Spinning Out(The Blackhawk Boy #1)(62)

It's a good day to be stuck at home.

Chris wipes down the table a final time before sinking into the chair  next to mine and Mia's. "I heard they lifted your on-campus suspension.  Does that mean you get to play next year?"

Mia tilts her face up to mine, and I press a kiss to her grinning lips  before I answer. "I'm finishing my house-arrest sentence. My lawyer  thought he could get it reduced, given the circumstances, but I broke  the law, and I'm going to finish it. But BHU has said I can return to  classes in the fall, and I'll be able to do that within the terms of my  house arrest. And when my sentence is over, I'll be back on the field."

On the other side of us, Mason pulls off his sunglasses and grins. "Hot damn."

I shrug. "I'm not saying I'll start. There'll be some stiff competition this year."

"You'll start," Mia says, rolling her eyes. "You'll totally start."

It's so good to be here-with Mia and my best friends and waking up to  days where football matters again. I tighten my arms around her and bury  my nose in her hair.

"Would you two get a room already?" Keegan grumbles.

"Shut up," Bailey says. "They're fucking adorable. And at least  someone's getting some." She tosses a pseudo-irritated glance in Mason's  direction.

Mason lifts his palms. "You know my terms."

Keegan blanches and scrapes a hand over his face. "I don't understand  you, Mase. She's hawt. Like H-A-W-T hawt." He grins at Bailey. "If you  need someone to keep your bed warm, I have no terms and no conditions."

"And no chance," Bailey says, and we all laugh.

Chris looks at his watch and groans. "I have to head, guys. I've gotta catch my plane."

"Tell your mom we said happy wedding," Mia says.                       
       
           



       

Mason smirks. "Gonna hook up with a bridesmaid?"

"At my mom's wedding?" He gives an exaggerated shudder. "The bridesmaids  are my aunt Cindy and my soon-to-be stepsister, so thanks, but I'll  pass."

"The stepsister's the one who's coming back with you?" I ask Chris. "She's staying with you and Mason for the summer, right?"

"I hope she's hot," Keegan says, and Bailey elbows him in the side.

"She's a hot mess is all I know," Chris says. He points at Keegan. "And  the whole reason Mom asked me to have her stay with me is to keep her  out of trouble-got it?"

"Y'all are no fun," Keegan mutters.

"Have a safe trip, Chris." Mia steps out of my arms to hug him. "We'll see you next week."

Everyone says their goodbyes, and after I throw a few pointed looks at  Bailey, Mason, and Keegan, they get the hint and leave as well.

"Finally alone," I whisper in Mia's ear when they're gone. "Want to go upstairs and get naked?"

She presses a finger to her lips and pretends to think about it. "Hmm. I was thinking about washing my hair tonight."

I tickle her, and she jumps away from me and runs inside and toward the stairs.

"You'd better run," I call after her. I chase her up and catch her at  the top, collapsing on top of her where the light from the second-story  foyer window casts a warm glow.

She rolls under me and grins. "I guess you caught me. I'm all yours."

"Finally," I whisper.

I lower my mouth to hers and slide a hand up her shirt. She moans under  me, and I close my eyes and feel the heat of the sun on my back, the  softness of Mia under me, and I take the moment and all that will follow  for the gift they are.





Thank you for reading Spinning Out, the first book in The Blackhawk Boys  series. If you'd like to receive an email when I release a new book,  please sign up for my newsletter: http://eepurl.com/qymaH

If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. Continue  reading for the first two chapters of The Blackhawk Boys, book two,  Rushing In. Thank you for reading. It's an honor!





Before I met Dad's girlfriend, Becky Dupree, for the first time, my mom  described her as "loose and easy-the kind of woman who likes cheap  tequila and kinky sex with strange men."

Naturally, I decided Becky was going to be my new best friend. By the  time I figured out Becky was nothing like my mom had described, she'd  already won me over with her big heart and bigger hair. She's a native  of Champagne, Texas, after all, and from what I can tell, half the  middle-aged women in this city didn't get the memo that the early  nineties died and took their Aqua Net with them.

My new stepmother-to-be might not like cheap tequila, as Mom promised,  but she does like good coffee, which is why, even though I'm running a  little late for our dress-shopping date, I'm stopping at the Common  Grind before meeting with her. Personally, I don't like coffee. That  term is too casual and speaks nothing of my true devotion to the sacred  brew. I require coffee. At this point, I may be more roasted bean than  flesh and blood. And in the likely chance that this old-fashioned  Texan's idea of the "perfect" bridesmaid's dress for me includes sequins  or a big pink bow on my butt, I'd like something warm and comforting to  get me through it.

I take a breath and push through the doors of the coffee shop where I  worked last summer, my mind on my mocha and my mocha on my mind.

A blast of air conditioning smacks me in the face, and I lift my chin  and take long strides to the counter, where I give my order to a  greasy-haired guy I've never seen before.

"Two mocha lattes, coming right up." He takes my money, and I keep my eyes cast down, afraid to see who else is working today.

Unfortunately, the whole "see no evil" strategy isn't effective.

"I heard you were spending the summer in Indiana," someone says behind the espresso machine.

I force myself to meet the gaze of my former coworker. "Hi, Jewel."

"Did you run out of guys to fuck in Champagne?"

My gut churns with something as sour as spoiled milk and hot as lava. I  don't like the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when I'm in this  town. The feeling I had when I was fourteen and my dad stopped looking  me in the eye. The feeling I had when I was stupid enough to end last  summer with a bang. I went to a party, drank too much, and exercised my  consistently poor judgment.

I didn't think I was the kind of girl to sleep with a friend's crush,  but though I remember very little of that night, my brain has supplied  me with enough mental snippets that I know enough to regret. Typical  Easy Gee-Gee.                       
       
           



       

The next morning, all the girls I worked with at the coffee shop treated  me as if I were a walking STD, and it was like I was fourteen all over  again. I thought Jewel would have forgiven me by now, but obviously I  was wrong.

"Oh!" The greasy-haired guy at the register claps his hands then points  at me. "You're Gee-Gee Lee! Damn!" He looks at his watch. "I have a  break in ten minutes if you wanna head out back." He grabs his crotch.  "You know what I'm talkin' about?"

Hot lava surges into my throat again. Burning. My reputation precedes me. Fucking wonderful.

"Not a chance," I mutter, but there's no sting in my words because my  voice has gone small, and I hate that, hate it as much as this feeling  in my gut that I lost myself last summer, that I slipped back into old  habits, that I got drunk and let myself once again believe the lie that  I'm only as good as the number of men who want me, the number of dicks I  get hard. I hate that this town makes me feel like I'm the slut they  decided I was when I was fourteen.

"Two mochas, was it?" Jewel asks before spitting into two cups. She  snickers, and the sound makes my chest ache. She and I were never close,  but by the end of last summer, I considered her my friend.

What I did with Isaac ended that.

I turn around, my quest for caffeine abandoned, and head for the door,  moving fast enough that I can pretend I don't hear her mutter ugly  words. "Easy Gee-Gee."

I'm not that girl anymore. I'm not that girl anymore. But I'm not sure of anything.



"Oh, honey!" Becky throws her hands over her mouth as I step out of my dressing room. "Oh, you just look so classy, sweetheart."

I bite back hysterical laughter. "Classy" is not a word people use to  describe me, and to be fair, it's not a characteristic I've ever strived  for. But from Becky, and after my encounter with Jewel at the coffee  shop, it's the best kind of compliment. I like it more than I want to.

"You do look nice, dear," my father says, his thumbs tucked into his  pockets. My dad's a big guy, a former police officer who keeps his back  to the wall and always stands with his legs spread wide, looking as if  he's bracing for a fight.