Read Online So Different by Ruthie Robinson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ruthie Robinson
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for the Austin Flat Track Roller Derby. It’d been two weeks since he’d seen her skate.
He wanted to see her again. She’d lingered with him—her skin moist from exertion, smiling her snarky, self assured smile, her nose stud sparkling against her skin, her eyes full of mischief and challenge, the way she’d felt in his arms, her soft body next to his. It really had been a while, he thought as his mind moved to something other than the things he would do to and for her.
He found himself thinking back to the derby often, the way Mariah’s body poured into her outfit; the way she played, the fire that he caught in her.
He looked at the computer, clicked on the calendar, and found the next bout. It was scheduled to take place in two weeks, the last Saturday in March. He clicked the button that took him to a list of the teams. There were four.
Okay, so she’d become a preoccupation, and yes, it was a purely a physical reaction to her on skates, in those clothes, bumping into the other women, falling down, getting back up, pushing, shoving. There was something sexy about her toughness. He was a male, so shoot him if his reasons weren’t romantic or long-lasting.
He knew she was single courtesy of his dad the matchmaker. She was as different from Jamie, or from any other woman he’d dated, for that matter, as night from day, and that held another appeal. Her most promising attribute, next to her body in those clothes, was that she posed a very limited threat to him. She would only be a change of pace at best.
He found her team and clicked on it. She stood in the front, bent over in a nice pose. God, she had great breasts. The team stood next to a car, leaning into the camera.
He clicked on the individual picture of her. Nice, he thought again. She was in a white corset, her breasts lifted, waist cinched, a short plaid skirt, and thigh-high white stockings held up by garters. They were beautiful against the brown of her skin. Her hair was blonde and spiky at the time the picture was taken. His pulse hummed; he so loved blondes. She was all attitude, with her arms crossed at her chest as she stared into the camera. Cocky was the set of her mouth and challenge could be found in the tilt of her head and the look in her eyes. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and sat back in his chair. What a kick it was to realize he’d misjudged her so completely and that she’d gone along with it, toying with him, exposing another layer to her.
He’d read her profile on the site. Mariah Sullivan—derby name—Mariah Scary. She was a jammer for the Brass Knuckles, a team with no discernable uniting theme, at least on the surface; ten women, seven white, two African-Americans, and one Asian.
He went back to the game schedule. Her team would play the Prissy Missies next. He found the spot to purchase tickets, clicked on it, and added his credit card info. No way was he asking his pops to borrow his tickets. He was involved too much as it was; he was also glad that he had the privacy and freedom of his own apartment, too. If he could talk Mariah into it, he would really like to make use of said freedom, reminding him of the old days before he became so preoccupied with marriage and his plans for his life. See where that had gotten him. It was time to go off the reservation, so to speak, and explore what the natives had to offer.
Maggie rapped on his door and made her way to his desk and around to his chair to peer over his shoulder.
Maggie didn’t surprise him anymore. She was the mole, the loyal and faithful employee of his dad’s, another mother. She’d told him on his first day that it was her job to keep tabs, make sure he wasn’t sitting in his dad’s old desk watching porn; she’d have to report that to his father.
“Going to see Mariah?” she asked.
“No, not that it’s any of your business. Just representing the office. We are a sponsor, you know,” he said.
“I know, but that’s not why you’re
He wanted to see her again. She’d lingered with him—her skin moist from exertion, smiling her snarky, self assured smile, her nose stud sparkling against her skin, her eyes full of mischief and challenge, the way she’d felt in his arms, her soft body next to his. It really had been a while, he thought as his mind moved to something other than the things he would do to and for her.
He found himself thinking back to the derby often, the way Mariah’s body poured into her outfit; the way she played, the fire that he caught in her.
He looked at the computer, clicked on the calendar, and found the next bout. It was scheduled to take place in two weeks, the last Saturday in March. He clicked the button that took him to a list of the teams. There were four.
Okay, so she’d become a preoccupation, and yes, it was a purely a physical reaction to her on skates, in those clothes, bumping into the other women, falling down, getting back up, pushing, shoving. There was something sexy about her toughness. He was a male, so shoot him if his reasons weren’t romantic or long-lasting.
He knew she was single courtesy of his dad the matchmaker. She was as different from Jamie, or from any other woman he’d dated, for that matter, as night from day, and that held another appeal. Her most promising attribute, next to her body in those clothes, was that she posed a very limited threat to him. She would only be a change of pace at best.
He found her team and clicked on it. She stood in the front, bent over in a nice pose. God, she had great breasts. The team stood next to a car, leaning into the camera.
He clicked on the individual picture of her. Nice, he thought again. She was in a white corset, her breasts lifted, waist cinched, a short plaid skirt, and thigh-high white stockings held up by garters. They were beautiful against the brown of her skin. Her hair was blonde and spiky at the time the picture was taken. His pulse hummed; he so loved blondes. She was all attitude, with her arms crossed at her chest as she stared into the camera. Cocky was the set of her mouth and challenge could be found in the tilt of her head and the look in her eyes. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and sat back in his chair. What a kick it was to realize he’d misjudged her so completely and that she’d gone along with it, toying with him, exposing another layer to her.
He’d read her profile on the site. Mariah Sullivan—derby name—Mariah Scary. She was a jammer for the Brass Knuckles, a team with no discernable uniting theme, at least on the surface; ten women, seven white, two African-Americans, and one Asian.
He went back to the game schedule. Her team would play the Prissy Missies next. He found the spot to purchase tickets, clicked on it, and added his credit card info. No way was he asking his pops to borrow his tickets. He was involved too much as it was; he was also glad that he had the privacy and freedom of his own apartment, too. If he could talk Mariah into it, he would really like to make use of said freedom, reminding him of the old days before he became so preoccupied with marriage and his plans for his life. See where that had gotten him. It was time to go off the reservation, so to speak, and explore what the natives had to offer.
Maggie rapped on his door and made her way to his desk and around to his chair to peer over his shoulder.
Maggie didn’t surprise him anymore. She was the mole, the loyal and faithful employee of his dad’s, another mother. She’d told him on his first day that it was her job to keep tabs, make sure he wasn’t sitting in his dad’s old desk watching porn; she’d have to report that to his father.
“Going to see Mariah?” she asked.
“No, not that it’s any of your business. Just representing the office. We are a sponsor, you know,” he said.
“I know, but that’s not why you’re
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