Page 58 of Right Man, Right Time
Ollie:Slutty it is!
* * *
Silas:I’m here.
Ollie:Tucking my tits in. Give me a second.
Tucking her tits in? What the hell does that even mean? Do I want to know?
Probably not.
I lean my head against the headrest and let out a large sigh.
I’m fucking exhausted. Practice was brutal this week. Not sure if Coach was trying to prove something or if he’s not pleased about our performance, but I’m wiped out.
My legs are sore. My back is on fire. And after a heavy round of lifting, I feel like my upper body can barely move.
The last thing I want to do is skate around some more, but I know everyone will expect me to show up and bring Ollie. Pacey told me how excited Winnie is to meet her, which just adds to the pressure of it all.
And then there’s Ollie and what might come out of her mouth. I decided to have a friendly chat on our way to the arena about what we say and don’t say.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Ollie walking toward me, so I open the door for her from inside the car. It pops open, and she fully comes into view . . .
Jesus fuck, is she hot.
“What do you think?” she asks as she twirls in place, showing off her perfect ass and toned legs.
“Uh . . . good,” I say as my eyes float down to the low-cut crop top sweater she’s wearing. It shows off an abundance of cleavage while also offering a view of her toned stomach. Her leggings sparkle in the sunlight, and she paired them with fluffy white leg warmers that match her sweater or what little sweater she has. And then there’s her long, bouncy, and voluminous chestnut hair with the ends curled and curtain bangs framing her gorgeous face. Her green eyes stand out against the dark of her mascara, and her glossed, shiny lips pull my attention for a second longer than I care to admit.
“Just good?” she asks, then lifts her breasts. “I have cleavage in a crop top sweater. Do you know the kind of bra I had to wear to make this happen?”
“Something made of magic?” I ask as I stare at her round tits.
“Exactly, so I would appreciate a little more appreciation.”
Mouth dry, my eyes move from her stomach, back up to her tits—tits I wouldn’t mind fucking exploring—and up to her face, where I catch a smirk. “You look fucking hot,” I say.
“That’s much better,” she replies as she slips into my car and sets her mini backpack on her lap before buckling up. “So you approve of the outfit, then?”
“Yes,” I say, putting the car in drive and taking off.
“Then why do you seem all frowny?”
“Tired as fuck,” I say. “Sore. Hungry. Just irritable.”
“Oh, fun for me, especially since you’re supposed to teach me how to skate today.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be grumpy when we get there.”
“Ah, so the grumpiness is just for me to experience.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Not like I need to impress you or anything. I already have a signed napkin stating you’re mine.”
“Something you should be grateful for.”
“Trust me, in that sweater, I’m very fucking grateful.”
I catch her smile and then turn to look out the window, clearly satisfied with that answer.
