Beautiful Player by Christina Lauren Read Free Book Online Page B

one of your nongirlfriends will get her hymen regenerated, and she’ll give her new virginity to you, Will.”
    She leaned down, put her lips around her straw, and sucked, her gray eyes locked on mine. And with that lingering, playful look, I felt my cock harden slightly. Releasing the straw, she whispered, “To you . And will you appreciate what a gift that is? What a sacrifice?”
    Her eyes danced and then she tilted her head back and burst out laughing. Holy fuck, I liked this girl. I liked her a lot.
    Leaning forward on my elbows, I cleared my throat. “Ziggy, listen up because this is important. I’m about to impart some wisdom.”
    She sat up, her eyes narrowing conspiratorially.
    “Rule one we’ve already covered: don’t ever call someone before the sun is up.”
    Her lips twitched into a guilty little smile. “Right. Got that one.”
    “And rule two,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “Don’t ever discuss hymen regeneration over lunch. Or . . . like, ever.”
    She dissolved into giggles and then moved out of the way when the waitress brought her food. “Don’t be so quick to mock it. That’s a billion-dollar idea, moneyman. If that comes across your desk soon, you’ll thank me for the heads-up.”
    She dug into her salad, taking an enormous bite, and I tried not to study her. She wasn’t like any of the girls Iknew. She was pretty—actually, she was beautiful—but she wasn’t poised or contained. She was silly, and confident, and so much her own person it almost made the rest of the world seem monochromatic. I had no idea if she even took herself seriously, but she certainly didn’t expect me to.
    “What’s your favorite book?” I asked, the question bubbling up out of nowhere.
    She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and I blinked down to my sandwich, picking at the tiny pieces of crispy meat at the edges.
    “This is going to sound cliché.”
    “I sincerely doubt that, but hit me.”
    She leaned forward, and whispered, “A Brief History of Time.”
    “Hawking?”
    “Of course,” she said, almost offended.
    “That’s not cliché. Cliché would be if you said Wuthering Heights or Little Women .”
    “Because I’m a woman? If I asked you, and you said Hawking, would you be cliché?”
    I considered this. I imagined saying that book was my favorite, and getting a few Dude, of course ’s from my grad school friends. “Probably.”
    “So that’s bull, for it to be cliché for you and not me just because I have a vagina. But anyway,” she said, shrugging and popping a small bite of lettuce into her mouth, “I read it when I was twelve, and—”
    “Twelve?”
    “Yeah, and it just blew me away. Not so much what he said—because I don’t think I understood everything then—but more that he thought that way. That there were people out there who spent their lives trying to figure these things out. It opened up a whole world for me.” Suddenly she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and smiled a little guiltily when she opened them again. “I’m talking your ear off.”
    “Yes, but lately you’re always talking my ear off.”
    With a little wink, she leaned forward to whisper, “But maybe you kind of love it?”
    Unbidden, my mind flooded with the fantasy of her neck arched, her mouth open in a hoarse plea while I licked a line from the hollow of her throat to her jaw. I imagined her nails digging into my shoulders, the sharp sting of pain . . . and blinked, standing and pushing my chair back so quickly that it hit the chair behind me. I apologized to the man seated there, apologized to Ziggy, and practically sprinted to the restroom.
    Locking the door behind me, I wheeled around on my reflection. “What the actual fuck was that, Sumner?” I bent to splash a handful of cold water over my face.
    Bracing my hands on the sink, I met my own eyes in the mirror again. “It was just an image. It wasn’t anything. She’s a sweet kid. She’s pretty. But, one: she’s