Dirty Saint: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Read Free Page B

across America every single Saturday. “Yeah, I kind of picked up on that.” He crouches down and picks up the book, looking at the title. “Mark Twain fan?”
    “Obviously,” I spit back at him.
    He raises his eyebrows. “Alright.”
    “I’d like my book back, please,” I say sternly, holding out my hand.
    “You hate me. What I can’t figure out is why ?”
    I gape at him. “How can I hate you? I don’t even know you.”
    “And I really, really don’t even know you. And you won’t give me your name, either, so that’s making this even more difficult.” He stands up and paces around the room, staring up at the bookshelves. “Though I guess Shakespeare had it right. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
    “You know Shakespeare?” I ask him. I silently scold myself for that. My plan is to avoid Saint. Not to keep talking to him.
    “I’m not just some stupid jock after all,” he says. He bites his lip and smiles at me. “I’m going to guess your name.” He pauses, staring at me hard. I cross my arms over my chest as his eyes dart south. “Ruth. No. Alexa. No. Hmmm…”
    The harder he stares, the more I blush. I look away from him, hoping he hasn’t noticed the effect he’s having on me.
    “I’m not telling you my name,” I say.
    “Why not? You go to Fullerton, right?”
    I hesitate. “That’s not really any of your business, either, I don’t think.”
    He walks closer to my chair and I stand up, dropping the blanket and pulling at the hem of my skirt as if thirty more inches of body-concealing fabric is suddenly going to appear there. “I make you nervous.”
    It isn’t a question.
    “I really shouldn’t even be here,” I say. But I’m frozen in place.
    Saint walks closer and closer to me. Soon, he’s only a foot away from me. I can smell his cologne. I can see his rippling muscles underneath his tight, black t-shirt. The hint of a tattoo peeks out from under his sleeve and I can’t help but stare. He sees where I’m looking and rolls his shirt up. “It’s a cross,” he says. “For God, you know.”
    I shake my head. “I don’t really need to know-“
    “Because it’s against the honor code? Right. So is saying fuck .” He takes a step closer to me; I’m glued to the floor. “So is being at this party.” Another step forward. “And so is this,” he’s inches away, and my heart is thudding so loudly it could substitute for a drum in the marching band tomorrow at half time. His lips brush against mine so softly I wonder if they really connected. Then he kisses my left cheek. Then my right cheek.
    I feel like I can’t breathe.
    He steps back and holds the paperback out to me. “You should take this with you,” he says.
    “That’s stealing,” I stutter.
    “You need to loosen up a little. Delilah,” he replies, walking out of the room.
    “That’s not my name!” I yell after him, clutching the book to my chest.
    But he doesn’t respond or even turn around.
    I know who Delilah is. She’s no biblical role model, that’s for certain.

CHAPTER SIX
    SAINT
    I walk into the locker room bright and early. No one’s in here yet.
    I take a hot shower even though I bathed last night. I can’t get Delilah out of my mind. No woman has ever played hard to get with me. Ever. She’s the first.
    I stay in the steaming water so long my fingers turn to raisins. I shut off the tap when I hear the voices of my teammates echo through the locker room.
    “Saint!” Rick calls out to me, pulling open the shower curtain. “Naked again, I see. I’m assuming that’s how you were last night. I couldn’t find you, man!”
    I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist, my hair dripping. “Yeah, I turned in early.”
    “And left me to fend for myself. You broke Man Code.”
    I shove him out of the way with a smile. “I’m sure you found a way to spend the night someplace cozy and red-headed.”
    Rick smiles at me. “Yeah, something like that.”
    “Well, if it isn’t