Athletics , livre ebook

4 Horsemen Publications, Inc. - Ali Whippe

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25 pages

English

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Take a peek under the skirt of higher education! Bree Johnson was only looking for some help studying.

She didn't expect to find her best tutors on the football team, and she definitely didn't expect the players to have such motivational methods, especially when it comes to cramming.

Now it's Bree's turn to become the perfect student if she wants complete satisfaction. The Athletics Department at Abraxus Tasker College has high standards in all areas of performance!

Sujets

Adulte

Romance érotique

BD Erotique

contemporary

Erotica

Romance

Fiction

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Publié par	4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.
Date de parution	26 octobre 2020
Nombre de lectures	5
EAN13	9781644500828
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0250€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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4 Horsemen Publicat ions, Inc.

A thletics
Copyright © 2020 Ali Whippe. All rights r eserved.

4 Horsemen Publicatio ns, Inc.
1497 Main St. S uite 169
Dunedin, FL 34698
4horsemenpublicat ions.com
info@4horsemenpublicat ions.com
Cover & Typesetting by Battle Goddess Pro ductions
All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain per mission.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used ficti tiously.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-644 50-082-8
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-644 50-083-5

Dedication
For all the boys o n the team

1
B ree Johnson stands outside the glass door of the Tutoring Center, lips pursed as she contemplates the darkness within. She checks her watch: 6:48pm. She re-reads the posted hours on the door: Mon-Thurs 10am-8pm; Fri-Sat 10am-4pm; S un Closed.
She leans into the glass, cupping her hands around her eyes to peer in, but she can see nothing beyond the light glow of some computer monitors. The overhead lights are off, and no one mov es within.
“Dammit!” she curses. “Isn’t it Wednesday?” She looks down at her watch again, tapping the button on the side so it switches from the time to the date.
“Wait—why is it closed?” a voice says from behind her. “I thought they were open until 8 tonight.”
“Me too,” Bree commiserates, turning to face the newcomer—and all thoughts of studying flee her mind. He is big, like football player big, with broad shoulders and thick legs, a shock of brown hair framing an open, easygoing expression. “Isn’t it Wednesday?” she squeaks, trying to ignore the flush of desire that pools in her middle. She has always been a sucker for the boys on the team back home.
“I thought so,” he says, scanning the hours as she had done. He steps around her, careful of his size, moving slowly like one who is accustomed to the world being too small for him. He leans in as she had, cupping one hand around his eyes to see through the dark glass, then shrugs. “Maybe Miss Chapman got sick?”
Bree lifts her shoulders in return. “I guess, but she could have put up a note or something.” She turns away, thoughts of studying and the test on Friday swamping her brain again. “Fuck,” she curses. “I really needed someone to run through flashcards with me.”
“Flashcards?” the guy repeats. “You need like a study partner?”
She turns back to look at him, taking in the XTC Stallion t-shirt tight across his chest, the simple black gym shorts ending at his knees, the white tube socks and black Adidas slides. “I don’t know,” she replies. “What do you know a bout A&P?”
He cocks his head, “Depends. You mean ‘A&P,’ the short story by John Updike or A&P like Anatomy and Physiology, t he class?”
She stares at him, shock obvious on her face. She didn’t expect him to be built like that and actually smart. There is a good chance he is smarter than she is! She took Comp 2 the previous year, so she remembers the short story. “I remember the girls in bathing suits from ‘A&P,’” she offers. “How could I forget?”
“Why? You like girls in bathi ng suits?”
She smirks. “Duh. Who doesn’t?” She smiles warmly at him. “But I remember because I had the hottest professor who read it out loud to us in class. He had the best voice,” she adds.
The guy nods. “It’s a good story, but you’re not here to write a paper tonight, are you?”
Bree shakes her head. “No, I have an A&P test on Friday, like the class about the body.” She looks down at the floor, suddenly wishing she is wearing something cuter than her pink sweatpants and white tank top, though the black bra showing through is a nice touch she hopes he ap preciates.
He nods in understanding, “I took that last semester. It would have been brutal if Coach hadn’t made us study constantly. I don’t think I’ll ever forget about the integumentary system.” He raises an eyebrow at her suggestively. “I kept forgetting what it was, and Coach made me run laps until I could remember.” He chuckles. “Very long night.” He pauses, then adds, “Very e ffective.”
Bree gives him a confused look. “Int egu-what?”
“Integumentary,” he says again, the word rolling off his tongue. “You know,” he says, reaching out to touch her han d. “Skin.”
“Oh,” she breathes, letting him hold her hand for a long moment. “Right.” She stares at him, brain trying to focus on anything, and then she blurts, “What are you here for?”
He shrugs. “I wanted to pick up a review sheet that Vince left for me,” he says, “but I guess I can get it tomorrow. Not like I’m going to work on chemistry tonight anyway. I just wanted to have it f or later.”
“Vince?” she asks. “Is that you r friend?”
“One of the guys on the team,” he tells her. “He’s the wide receiver.”
“Is that an innuendo for something?” she asks, hoping he isn’t gay. She doesn’t think so, but it’s always better to ask. She takes in that big body again, hope blooming in her belly. Maybe she can get something out of tonight after all.
He chuckles. “Oh no,” he says, flashing her a charming smile. “Vince is as hetero as they come. Me too, though I can admit when a man is handsome as fuck.”
Bree smiles back at him, very aware of his hand on hers. “I also enjoy handsome men,” she says, an offer in her voice, but then she remembers her test, and other thoughts leave her mind. Her shoulders slump. “What am I going to do about that stupid test? I’m so screwed.”
“Well, I could help, if you wanted,” he offers.
“Really?” she asks, excitement and something else building in her chest. “With the test or the screwing?” The words spill out, and sh e blushes.
“Both, if you like,” he offers.
“But you hardly know me,” she objects. It isn’t the first time she hooked up with someone she just met, but she doesn’t want him to know that r ight away.
“No, but I’d like to get to know you.” He reaches out his other hand as if to shake. “I’m Josh, cornerback for the XTC S tallions.”
Bree nods like she knows what that means. She has spent a fair amount of time listening to football players talk about the sport, but she has spent most of it admiring their bodies, so position names never really matter much. She thinks he is probably a defensive player, judging by his size, and probably does something about guarding the corners of the field. She shakes his offered hand, her other still holding him, “I’m Bree, A&P noob and foot ball fan.”
“Tell you what,” he suggests, leaning in, “I can help you with those fl ashcards.”
“Really?” she asks, this time her voice skeptical. “I have a feeling we might get distracted. And I really can’t fuck thi s one up.”
He nods, face open and sincere, though flirtatious as well. “I solemnly swear I will help you learn those flashcards tonight. Scout’s honor.” He holds up his fingers like a Boy Scout. “What part ar e you on?”
“The skeleton,” she groans. “I have to label all of t he bones.”
He nods, lifting up both of her hands, fingers pressing on the tips of hers, “Phalanges,” he identifies, then slides his fingers up a little, “Metatarsals.” He reaches her palm, gently squeezing the bones there, “Tarsals.”
“You do know your anatomy,” Bree breathes, turned on and hopeful at the