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I hold in a laugh as she rolls her eyes. She’s fucking adorable. I would give anything to wrap my arms around her and pull her back into this bed and continue kissing other places on her body.
But my dad will make life hell for the both of us. He has few rules, but not having a coed sleepover is definitely one of them. It’s a non-negotiable, and maybe the only rule he said out loud when we were moving into this place. He was half-joking when he said it because the cheerleaders were practicing their pyramid out in the quad as we were hauling boxes in.
“Hey, no sleepovers,” he said, pointing at me.
“Yeah, right.” That was my response.
That was six weeks ago as fall cheer camp was underway and my dad was setting up one-on-ones with players to introduce himself as the new coach. Six weeks—that’s how long I lasted.
Once Morgan is put together, her hair pulled back in some magic tie she pulled out of her bag, I make my way to my bedroom door. I stop with her behind me, pressing my ear against the slim space between the door and the jamb. The hallway is quiet, and the water is still running. I’ve come to know our shower, and there is a small window of perfectly hot water, so this is our chance.
“Let’s go,” I mouth to her. We both crack giddy smiles that break through our nerves, and it somehow calms my pulse. I think we both feel breaking this rule was worth it.
I crack open my door and apply pressure to the hinge to keep it from squeaking until it’s wide enough for both of us to slip out. Our hands automatically find one another, our fingers weaving into a naturally comfortable position, and we squeeze tight as we tiptoe out of my room, down the hallway, and out our apartment door until we burst into a giggling fit in the middle the campus lawn.
“Shit! It’s cold!” I high step, realizing only now that I am barefoot and still in a T-shirt. It’s maybe forty-five degrees out and the sun isn’t set to rise for another three hours.
“You better get back inside before you freeze,” Morgan teases. She sways back and forth, her bag dangling from her arm. Bits of wet grass cling to her boots.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, my laughter quieting. My eyes settle on hers and I take her hand again, pulling it to my mouth and kissing the inside of her wrist.
“Thanks for picking me up at the train,” she mutters, her voice soft and shy.
“Mmm, kinda my pleasure,” I say, smiling against her wrist and dropping her hand to free my palms to cup her face.
“It was my pleasure too,” she hums. My thumbs sweep along her cheeks, the space under her eyes still puffy with sleep.
“You’re really pretty this way,” I say.
She tucks her face into my right hand and brings her own hand up to hide half of her face.
“Stop. I look terrible. I’m sure of it.”
I move her hand away and return to cupping her face, holding her focus on me so she hears me loud and clear.
“You could never look terrible. But like this? You are beautiful.”
This is the version of her nobody gets to see, and it’s the version that is the most honest and real. She has no idea how little help she needs to be perfect.
“Well . . .” A tiny breath leaves her nose as her lashes blink away the attention. For a girl who has spent half her life collecting viewers, my singular attention seems too much for her, which only makes me want to stare on longer.
“I’m gonna take you out tonight. After practice. Give me your phone,” I say, glancing at her bag where I know she’s buried her device.
She licks her lips, studying me, maybe dissecting my actions a little, and definitely flirting. God, I love flirting with her.
I let my fingers run down the sides of her jaw to the black turtleneck sweater hugging her neck. I tug at the folds and she lets out an airy laugh.
“Fine.” She gives in, twisting to reach into her bag and hand me her phone. I type in my number and send a text to myself so I have hers as well.
“There, now I don’t have to troll you on social media simply to talk to you,” I say, dropping her phone back in her purse. “I’ll message you as soon as practice is done, and I’ll just need fifteen to shower and stuff.”
“What if it takes me longer than that?” She juts out a hip and I take the opportunity to palm it and run my gaze along the curve of her profile.
“You don’t need to change a thing. In fact, you better dress casual for what I’ve got planned. I’m talking sneakers and a sweatshirt.” I’m going to get her away from this place, to somewhere from my world. She doesn’t need to pretend to be anything other than who she naturally is.
“And . . . nothing else?” She leans her head to the side with a coy expression, and of course now that she suggests it . . .
“I would not complain if that’s how you showed up.” My lip ticks up on one side, almost daring her to go for it. Kissing her for hours was amazing. So was running my palms up her thighs and around her ass in the locker room. And fuck! Now I want to do all sorts of dirty things to her.
