And I draw up short at the entrance to the facility because Tripp Sterling is there.
He’s deadlifting an enormous amount of weight in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but a pair of loose, black sweatpants and those oversized headphones he was wearing the first time I saw him. His brows are drawn together in deep concentration, his broad chest, back, and arms in an unholy trinity of flexing that twists my tummy into a knot.
I step back and hide myself partially behind the door frame, observing as two friends approach Tripp, slapping him on his sweaty back when his set is over.
“You’re putting us to shame, man,” a young man with golden blond curls says. “But I guess you’ve got to put in the work to retain the captainship this year.”
“Yeah,” the second guy, a man with deep brown skin who is currently flexing in the mirror, agrees. “Yale lacrosse is fucking cutthroat. Someone is always angling to take your job.”
Yale.
Tripp Sterling goes to Yale.
My dream school, which rejected me.
“If someone makes a better captain than me, they’re welcome to it,” Tripp says absently, crouching down to grip the bars and begin his next set.
“Ah, come on, bro. You know you’ve got that spot locked down.” More backslapping. “Our fearless leader!”
Tripp flashes them a grateful smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Right.”
I can’t put off entering the gym any longer. Oh God. I force my jelly legs to start moving, but I keep to the wall, scurrying behind influencers and gym bros, beelining for the towel discard area that has begun piling up. Grabbing an armful of white, sweaty terrycloth, I turn on a heel and break for the hidden laundry room on the other side of the wall.
But not before I make eye contact with Tripp in the mirror.
He ceases all movement, his chest heaving, a thick lump moving up and down in his strong throat. His friends follow his line of sight with raised eyebrows, punching each other when they see who Tripp is looking at.
I don’t wait around to hear what they’re going to say about me, though. Or how Tripp will respond.
I simply close myself in the laundry room and lean back against the door.
Trying not to think about how his fingers felt tucked inside me.
FOUR
Tripp
Shit,I can’t fucking breathe.
My heart is going a mile a minute.
I only saw Vida for four seconds and it’s like a bomb has been thrown into the still pond of my existence. She was incredibly sexy in the near-darkness of my room yesterday, but in the light, she ishunger-inducing. Mouthwatering. Innocent in a way that shouldn’t get me so hot, but it does.
When I woke up this morning and immediately had to beat off to the memory of her tight cunt, I knew I was in trouble. I swore to myself that the off-limits maid would remain exactly that—off limits. A huge no-no.
One look at her in that uniform, though, and I’m stiff as a board.
It’s not just her body. It’s the memory of her voice. The intelligence in her eyes.
The quiet self-possession.
Despite my better judgment, I am so intrigued, it’s painful.
Don’t you dare, man. For one, she’s a virgin, and I am far from it. I’ve had girls propositioning me since I was fifteen. Granted, I do not take advantage of the unlimited sex as often as I could, because it just feels…empty. But I’ve allowed myself to indulge often enough that compared to this girl, I’m probably a fucking lothario.
The second reason I should stay away from Vida? She’s an employee of this place and I am a guest. An influential one—and an investor, at that. Making a move on her would be a flex of imbalanced power. My fellow privileged friends would not hesitate to use their wealth to get a girl into bed, but I refuse.
Especially with her.
