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He gave her a lurid wink, leaning forward to thread those long, sexy fingers back through the chain links where they’d lingered upon her bold entrance. His voice was pure Southern sex as he all but oozed, “Silly girl, the sooner we wrap up here, the sooner I get you back to my place and unwrap you there.”
“Damn, boy, but don’t you have a way with words.”
She held the camera up until his smirking face was in frame, to say nothing of the sculpted, sexy, sweaty rest of him. “Damn, girl, if you like my words…” He wriggled his fingers temptingly, making the fence rattle playfully as her camera fired off one sexy picture after the other, as if her battery might die at any moment. “Just wait till you feel these babies all over your naked little ass...”
Tatum squirmed and wriggled beneath her dress, knowing just how wet those words would have made her panties. If she was wearing any, that is…
Chapter Twelve
Shane
“Nice place you have here...”
Tatum stood just inside the doorway, looking radiant in the sunlight drifting in through the sliding glass doors across the shotgun-skinny living room. “Quit teasin’, girl,” he growled playfully, standing in the small but tidy kitchen.
“I’m not. This … this is nothing like any dorm room I’ve ever seen before.”
“No? It’s the only one I’ve ever seen, so…” He swung open the fridge, eager to raid Boomer’s illicit beer stash, bought using his older brother’s fake ID. The two beers he grabbed clinked in his fingers, the only sound in the quiet dorm room.
“Guess you athletes really do rate, after all.”
Shane inched closer to her, heart pounding through his sweaty t-shirt. “I don’t go in for all that,” he insisted, handing her one of the beers.
She took it with a widening smile. “You should. You earned it. Not every guy can play college ball, Shane. It’s a real accomplishment, that. Own it.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Not every gal can be a big-time college reporter, Tatum.”
She blushed, pushing her glasses up her nose in a one-two punch of nervous displays. He wondered, idly, where else she was blushing. Wondered, too, what that blush might feel like, the heat and desire searing his fingertips the closer he drew near to her ripe, blushing sex. “The only thing I’m proud of about this job, Shane, is being here with you. Right here. Right now.”
“And after?”
She cocked her head curiously. “After what?”
His smile was sly and slick. “After we help each other with our little problems? After the story breaks? After we don’t have an official reason to be around each other anymore, what then?”
She lifted her beer to her lips. Ripe and plump and full lips, just begging to be kissed and so much more. “Not sure,” she murmured, about to take a sip.
“Uh-huh…” He stopped her with an almost urgent grunt.
“What?”
He gave her a friendly grin. “Toast first, duh.”
She chuckled nervously, a rush of chuffing air. “Duh. Here’s to new friends, I guess?”
“Friends with benefits?” He took a sip, as if to confirm the negotiation without actually negotiating.
She did, too, swallowing hard as they stood half inside the small foyer and kitchen, close enough to smell her distinct perfume, and more than that, the telltale fragrance of ripe, rich feminine desire he knew so well from all those late-night fumbles with his girl back home. “I’d like to be your friend, Shane.”
“Too late, girl. You already were the minute I met you.”
She smiled, setting down her beer on the nearby kitchen counter. He noticed. Frowned. “You don’t like it? I know it’s cheap, but…”
She shrugged, shoulders bare save for the soft, maroon straps of her clingy dress. “I just don’t need it. I’m drunk enough, just standing here waiting for you to make your move.”
He gulped, nearly spitting out his beer. “Sorry, I just … I’m nervous, is all.”
“You don’t think I am?”
