I wish I knew how to keep some emotional distance between us. Which is definitely in my best interest because the mixed signals haven’t stopped. I can’t decide if he’s just not in to me, or he can’t make up his mind. Neither of which do me any good. And between the sweet gestures and the heartfelt talks, he makes it impossible not to fall for him. After last night I am one thoughtful action away from hitting ground zero in L.O.V.E.
The cable box flashes 2:59. It’s creeping me out to be in this massive bed alone so I go in search of him. At the end of the empty, dark, never ending hallway, I hear the sound of splashing water and head for the patio. Across the living room, I spot him through the open sliding doors. The water churns and foams as he swims the length of the pool, each stroke faster than the last. It looks like someone is working out some serious aggression.
Barefoot, I shuffle outside onto the patio at the same time he hits the edge. “Reagan.” My voice is raspy from lack of use, but he hears me all the same because he comes up sucking in huge gulps of air and looks over his shoulder.
I expect to find frustration on his face. Maybe a teasing smirk? That I would understand––it’s practically his signature. Even exhaustion would make sense. What I don’t expect to find is lust, unmistakable, undisguised lust on his face. For me.
His hot stare slowly travels from my toes to my face. Almost instantly I’m engulfed in heat. An aching emptiness develops between my thighs. And my nipples perk up. It’s been so long I almost forgot I had nipples. I literally go from barely awake to fully turned on in less than a second…from a single glance. God help me. What would happen if he actually touched me?
“Did you…uh, sleep?” I don’t know what else to say. Tension is running inexplicably sky high between us and it’s making me nervous and curious as to what the heck happened while I was asleep. Did a flip get tripped in his head? And what tripped it because I was firmly in the friend zone a few hours ago.
That’s when he jumps out of the pool and faces me.
And he’s naked…naked. Gloriously naked.
I can’t even pretend that I’m not staring at his penis. I am incapable of speech let alone artifice of any kind so I go right on staring.
It’s beautiful, perfect. That’s not hyperbole. I’ve seen a couple, mostly on the Internet, and his is the best by far. Not too big. Not too small. Not too thin. I’m suddenly the Goldilocks of dick. It lies long and thick against his smooth, hairless sac. Sweet Jesus, he shaves.
While I’m staring appreciatively, it starts to grow, standing at attention while water slowly streaks down the rest of his tan, finely honed muscles. His body is unbelievable. At the risk of sounding clichéd as eff––a work of art. I want to spend days staring at it through the viewfinder of my camera, get lost between every curve and hard angle and never return.
He starts moving, coming for me like he means business. Meanwhile I’m frozen, incapable of doing anything other than watching him obliterate the distance between us in a few, long strides.
“No, I didn’t sleep,” he rasps. Eyelids heavy, chest heaving with deep breaths. “You expect me to sleep with your sweet round ass pressed up against my dick?”
Am I supposed to answer that?
Exhaling harshly, he tips his head back and gives the stars a passing glance before his focused attention returns to me. “No. No, I did not sleep,” he answers for me and he doesn’t sound too happy about it, either. His hot green gaze drops to my hard nipples, poking the cotton t-shirt, and his expression grows pained. “I thought I wasn’t your type?”
He’s serious? He actually believed me? I guess I’m a better actress than I thought I was.
“I-I uh…” stutters out of me.
Inching closer, he takes my face in his hands. The t-shirt I’m wearing, his t-shirt, gets soaked where my breasts touch his chest. His erection presses into my lower belly. And oh my God, if he just bends his knees a little I am going to go off like a rocket.
“You said I wasn’t your type. Did you mean it?”
That’s when things go from shocking and borderline amusing––to serious. There’s uncertainty in his quiet voice. The swagger is nowhere to be found. No arrogance in the way his lashes lower while he waits for me to answer. He’s baring himself to me. His beautiful naked body. The tender vulnerability in his open gaze. He’s placing himself at my mercy.
No. I don’t mean it. I’m sorry I ever said it. And I’ve never wanted anyone more. The words circle round my head, hang on my lips. And I do. I want him so much. I’ll take as much as he can give for as long as he wants me. Because I’d rather have a little bit of him than nothing at all.
“Heeyyy. Am I interrupting something?” a male voice queries from somewhere behind us.
Our heads jerk in unison to find Dallas standing a few feet away in the living room. His eyes––black and blue and swollen. His lip cut. His arm in a sling.
“What the fuck?” Reagan mutters. “Where have you been?”
“Jail.”
Chapter 23
Alice
“That’s pretty cool,” Simon says as he and Morgan watch the first cut of the video I’m going to submit for the James Cameron internship on my iPad, the deadline only three weeks away.
On screen, we watch the boys moving in slow motion. Dallas coming out of the water vertically to slam the ball into the back of the net, the water spray trailing the ball creating a perfect arc. All that raw emotion and unbridled energy working in synch. Factor in the animated faces of the players around him and it’s pretty awesome if I do say so myself.
The transitions between video and still shots aren’t as seamless as I want them to be yet. For that, I need to use a professional editing machine like the one Simon said he has access to.
“Three weeks, people. Do not wait till the last minute. I will not be taking any submissions past the stroke of midnight on the twenty-first. So don’t come to me with excuses of your grandmother losing a kidney in a freak motorcycle accident and you being the only matching donor in the world. True story––someone tried that one on me once,” professor Marshall barks.
The lecture hall breaks out in laughter.
“The transitions are a little choppy,” I whisper. “I’d really appreciate it if I could get some time on the Avid machine…if the offer still stands.”
Simon’s dark eyes slide from my iPad to meet mine, his face a blank canvas. I can’t get a read on him which, in and of itself, is a little strange.
“Uh, yeah. Let me check with my buddy, see when he’s got time available.” There’s a hollowness to his voice that engages my suspicion mode. Maybe he doesn’t know how to decline?
My attention swings to Morgan. “What do you think?”
“Semi-naked men isn’t a subject that interests me, but the camera work is phenomenal.”
I can’t help but smile at her honesty. “How’s yours coming along?” Morgan told me she’s submitting a short on the Manga culture in Tokyo. She lived there in high school while her dad was stationed there as a diplomat.
“Great. I’m done and submitting it tomorrow.”
“I know you’re supposed to be the enemy but I’m wishing you luck anyway. If I don’t get it, I hope one of you two will.”
“Same,” Morgan states and blows a bubble with her gum.
Simon remains oddly silent. I glance up to find him staring back with a peculiar look on his face. He leans across his desk, into Morgan’s personal space, and she sits back to avoid him. A chuckle rises up from my chest.
She’s disliked him from the get-go and I can’t figure out where it stems from.
“Are you busy this Saturday?” he says, expression guarded.
The amusement drops off my face. Even Morgan’s eyes widen. That’s why I couldn’t get a read on him. He was working up to ask me out again. He’s nervous and here I am conjuring nefarious motives.
We never did make it to the Scorsese retrospective all those weeks ago. Between midterms and putting together our submissions, we both got busy. I had completely forgotten about it. Apparently, Simon hadn’t.
“Uh…no.” That should not have sounded like a question. It should’ve come out as a firm declaration, fired back without hesitation. I might have flubbed this.
After Dallas showed up on Thanksgiving night, all the heat smoldering between me and Reagan turned into a clammy chill. I haven’t spoken to him in the three days since. Only a few sporadic texts between practices. The team’s been busy preparing for the championship tournament starting next weekend so that’s understandable. What isn’t, however, is how we left things.
Somewhere between Barstow and Las Vegas, Dallas dislocated his shoulder by driving his Porsche into a ditch. And that was the least of it. He was charged with reckless driving, evading arrest, and his license has been suspended. All in all, he had a slightly more messed up Thanksgiving than me and Rea.
By the time he’d finished filling us in on the details of the arrest, a palpable awkwardness had settled between us. I don’t know what I expected but I didn’t expect it to get uncomfortable, for him to drive me back to the dorm in complete silence. So am I available? Yeah, I am.
“I mean, I am––available, that is.”
Simon smiles. “Do you like Thai? There’s a great Thai restaurant in Westwood…maybe we can catch a movie after?”
God, nervous men are so adorable. Looking into Simon’s open gaze, I say, “I’d love to.”
Because zebras have no business crushing on Thoroughbreds.
“Bailey, you coming over?” Dallas says, speaking into Reagan’s phone.
I can hear the rest of the guys on the team carrying on in the background, everyone celebrating the big win. A lucky goal by Rea in the last minute of the fourth quarter saved their season. Regardless, a win is a win. They beat Long Beach State fourteen to thirteen in the opening round and advance to the semifinals of the NCAA championship tournament next weekend.