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“Maybe next time, assuming I’m not benched for Toby Sullivan,” I huff out in a jaded laugh. I sneer for a brief second, ashamed of letting my bruised ego show in front of her.
“Toby Sullivan is an idiot. In the classroom, and on the field. EvenIknow he’s shit at football,” she says, still making her way closer to me. When I realize she doesn’t intend to stop, I rub my hands along my thighs and chew at the inside of my cheek while my dick swells underneath my joggers, which I wish were a bit thicker.
I nod as she approaches and push my tongue behind my teeth as my smile gives me away.
“He is fucking shit at football,” I say, as if that’s what I care about right now. I scratch at my chin as my gaze dips down to where the flare of her Welles skirt tickles her upper thighs. She’s wearing those dark navy socks that stop just above her knee with her white canvas shoes, and her Welles sweatshirt is definitely not the kind they sell at the school bookstore. It’s cut in half, high enough to expose her belly button and the silver ring piercing it.
“How does the country club feel about that little piece of hardware,” I say, glancing up briefly before zeroing back in on her tummy. She’s close enough to touch, and my fingers itch to reach forward and grab her hips.
“They don’t see it. There’s a lot of things I keep hidden from other people,” she says, stepping between my knees and removing any of the doubts I had a few seconds ago.
Her hands land on my shoulders and I give in, moving mine to her hips. She smells like cotton candy, and specks of blue and orange glitter cover her body. I bite my lip as I stare at that damn belly button ring, my mouth watering with the strongest fucking desire to lick it. I scan up to the cut edge of her sweatshirt and swallow hard knowing if I were to lift it even the slightest bit I’d find what I think might be the most perfect tits ever made. Morgan steps in closer and my cock flexes when she reaches down and lifts my chin. There is no way she doesn’t see the effect she is having on me, but I don’t give a shit. She is literally the only thing on my mind right now, and I can’t even remember why I was pissed off about winning a football game five minutes ago.
Her hair is pulled up high on her head, the ponytail curled into caramel waves, and her eyes are this bright green that are nearly impossible to look away from. She bites her candy pink lip and offers me a coy smile, which gives me the courage to run my hands down her skirt to the bare skin of her thighs. She shifts her weight and takes in a quick breath as my palms trail up her legs and follow the curves of her ass until the tips of my fingers reach the small lace triangle of her thong.
Fuck, do I want to see that.
“So, what kinds of things do you hide . . . under there?” I glance to her skirt then back up to her eyes and her smile grows a tiny bit. I’m so hard I might bust through the seam of my pants.
“Why don’t you look for yourself?” Morgan drags her knee then inner thigh over my leg until my hand is forced to slip away and make room for her to rest her foot on the bench next to me.
I glance up, my eyes heavy with the desire to rake over her most intimate parts just before I taste them. I can’t believe this is fucking happening. Morgan’s hands slide up my neck until she’s stroking my jaw with her cool thumbs. She bends down enough to bring our mouths together and I suck in her bottom lip so hard it nearly snaps as it leaves my mouth.
“You taste fucking amazing,” I say, giving in and pressing my lips to her bare stomach before glancing up and smirking. Both of my hands inch their way around her hips again, my thumbs flirting with the thread on her skin. So delicate. So easy to tear away.
Our moment comes to an abrupt halt with the sound of the locker room door creaking open then slamming closed. The heavy clomp of shoes grows closer in a breath. My hands fall to my sides as I twist to straddle the bench, putting my back to Morgan who has moved to flatten her back against the locker. There’s nowhere for her to go, and thank God I didn’t rip her clothes off, making what someone is about to see blatantly obvious.
“Oh, hey.”
Fucking hell, it’s Toby.
My head bobs up and I swing my legs around, acting as if I just finished tying my laces.
“Hey, Toby. Man, great game today,” I say, acting as if there is nothing wrong with Morgan waiting for me inside the men’s locker room, only feet away from me, her skin flushed.
I hold out a fist, grateful that my dick deflated the moment panic set in. Toby leans toward me and pounds it but shifts his focus to Morgan for a beat, a knowing smirk playing at his smug mouth.
“Thanks. You, too. You, uh . . . need help getting dressed or something?” His smile slips into something more sinister as his eyes shift between Morgan and me, and I push down the urge to punch him in the center of his face.
“That’s what I said! He was taking forever,” Morgan says, crossing her ankles and folding her arms over her midriff as she feigns irritation. “He lost a bet, and he owes me a very expensive lunch.”
Toby chews at the inside of his mouth, his superior expression lingering as he studies her, then me.
“Yep. I promised her three touchdowns, but I only got two,” I say, a superior tinge to my tone. If we’re going to make shit up to throw Toby off what was really going on, I may as well point out that I scored more than he did.
“Ah, well . . . maybe you should get her to count mine in your favor too. I closed the deal for you,” Toby responds. Prick played me right back.
“Nope. I said him and him alone. Next time, maybe,” Morgan says, pushing away from the lockers and wrapping one of her curls around her finger. “I’ll meet you outside.”
I nod and utter, “Okay.”
Morgan makes her escape, but my chest still burns with nervous poison, maybe even more now that Toby and I are alone. No way he bought any of that bullshit.
While Toby heads to his locker and pops it open, I gather my bag, glad it was already packed and that my locker was closed. I get to my feet and am about to tell him to enjoy his Saturday when he cuts me off before I utter a word.
“You should be careful there, Fuentes. With that?” He glances toward the exit, where Morgan just left.
“Yeah, okay,” I say, unable to stop the roll of my eyes. I salute him and keep the Saturday well wishes to myself. But before I round the corner to head down the hallway to freedom, he dishes out one last piece of advice.
