False Start (Red Zone Rivals, #5)

by Kandi Steiner

He was insanely tall, at least six-foot-seven, but built like a tank. His waist was lean somehow, but his shoulders broad, his arms thick and corded with muscle that strained against the fabric of his shirt. He wore a pair of light-gray joggers that stretched over thick thighs, thighs I didn’t have to study long to know were just as muscular as his arms. He also didn’t have to turn around for me to know he likely had an ass to match. His hair was hidden under a beanie, but I imagined it matched the brown of the stubble lining his jaw. That wasn’t oops I forgot to shave stubble, either. It was purposeful, neatly trimmed, the kind of stubble that drove a woman mad if she thought about what it would feel like brushing her neck. My neck heated with that thought, one I hadn’t had in years, a feeling I thought was dead stirring to life deep in my gut. The man was dripping in sex appeal, from his casual attire to his hot sports car. And though I wanted to be immune to it, I wasn’t.