Read Online The Jock by Jasmine Leveaux - Free Book Online

wished on every shooting star she could find since childhood that she
would one day mean a hell of a lot more to Sam than a little sister, or an easy
lay.
    If
Grandmama Verlene had found out about last night's insane moment of passion,
she would have inclined her elegant head and said, "make a man work for
it, sugar. The harder he has to work to lay claim to you, the more he'll want
you in the end."
    Granddad
Willy would harrumph and disagree. He'd insist that the best way to be claimed
by a man like Sam was to do the claiming yourself. "When I was a young
gun, your Grandmama came at me like gangbusters," he would insist,
"made me flee in terror from the fear of impending matrimony 'til I was too
tuckered out to run anymore."
    Harry
would smile and say simply, "it's your life, Sis. I'm behind you no matter
what."
    Candy
would say, "no shit? Jesus, Gwen! Why didn't you fuck him?"
    Gwenyth
wasn't at all certain she wanted to listen to anyone's sage advice, or even her
big brother's lack thereof. So for the next few days, she closeted herself away
from family and friends, trying her hardest to figure out what she was going to
do.
    She
spent her days in the park, taking pictures of children playing and ducks
squawking. She watched idly as lovers jogged side by side around the grassy
slopes, seeing to it that their amour remained trendily in shape. This was Hyde
Park after all. Fitness and superficial looks were all that mattered in this
tiny, prosperous section of Tampa. Growing up, she herself was the only pudgy
female in a hundred yards radius she could ever remember encountering.
    While
Gwenyth was busy getting her thoughts and feelings in check, Sam was busy
fuming. He had called her apartment four times and left four messages on her
answering service. The first message had been sweet, with his insisting that he
couldn't wait to see her again and would she please call him back when she got
home.
    The
second message was less sweet, more preemptory than anything, but it was still
Sam at his—almost—nicest. The third and fourth messages were downright
belligerent. "Where the hell are you, Gwenyth Marie! Call me, damn
it!" Click. And then, "I'm gettin' seriously pissed off, Gwen. I'm
going to come over there if I don't hear from you in the next ten
minutes!" Click.
    So
now Gwenyth sat in a reclining chair near the telephone, biting her lip and
wavering back and forth on whether or not she should call Sam back.
    Verlene
would say that Sam's attitude was a good sign. Gwenyth, on the other hand,
wasn't at all positive she had what it took to stand her ground with an angry,
virile man like Sam Trevianni. Nope. Playing the coward and leaving town was
more in tune with her state of mind.
    But
what exactly was she trying to run from? Here Sam was back in Tampa—and he
wanted her. It was exactly what Gwen had wanted all of her life. Wasn't it?
    She
shook her head morosely. No, not like this. Not just for sex. She'd always
wanted more. She had prayed for so much more. Gwenyth wanted Sam to love her,
to bein love with her.
    Oh
God! If
she wasn't so upset, she'd laugh at her own childish, naive thoughts. Yeah
right! Like that would happen in this lifetime! Like Sam didn't have a
million other women all vying for the same elusive thing from him.
    Gwenyth
sighed in frustration as she raked her fingers through her mane of tawny hair.
Dealing with her dreams of what could be back when she didn't
stand a chance with Sam was a hell of a lot less complicated than it was now
when she did have an opportunity to make them real.
    Should
she seize the moment and enjoy what time they'd have together? Or should she
back out totally, knowing full well that if she slept with Sam she'd be in love
with him all over again?
    A
loud shattering sound followed by a fast-moving object hurling through the
front window, broke Gwenyth out of her quiet contemplation. She yelped and
jumped to her feet. Her heart pounding wildly, she moved toward the shards of
broken