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I shouldn’t care if some chick didn’t find my emoji thread funny, but I was expecting a response and I got nothing.
So I’m pushing out some extra reps, giving myself a little alone time to be pissed at the fact that I’m liking lil’ mouse more and more with each text exchange, and I really shouldn’t.
She’s fire.
Which is why I haven’t tried to seek her out and see her in person. Keeping it all via the phone works great… except for the fact that my body is craving contact with her, and I can’t let it do that.
I can’t even jerk off when I think about how damn sexy she looked in the bar. My mind is a cruel tormentor, and I’ve imagined kissing her in a hundred different places, peeling off her clothes and running my tongue over the plains of her skin, and?—
Dammit!
I adjust my pants, growling at my tenting gym shorts and forcing out another seven reps on the leg extension machine. My thighs are burning by the time I’m done. I should wrap this up. Coach gets pissed if we push too hard and don’t listen to our bodies. Too many players get injured that way, and I?—
The gym door pops open, and a huffing little mouse stalks into the room. She looks livid, her pretty face bunched into a dark scowl. My eyes quickly trail her body, loving the cargo pants and tight little tank she’s wearing. No hoop earrings, no heels. Just a messy ponytail and clothes that screamMikayla.
She huffs, fisting her hands, then jerking still when she spots me staring at her. Her eyes bulge, her lips parting as her gaze travels down my body. She legit licks her lips before catching herself and trying to hide the move with a gruff frown.
I glance down at my bare chest glistening with a fine sheen of sweat and can’t help smirking. “Hey.”
She tuts and spins away from me, pacing to the mirrors and back. She’s muttering something under her breath as she dumps her bag by the leg press and turns back to glare at me.
O-kay.
“What did I do?”
“Nothing,” she snaps.
I reach for my phone to check that I didn’t accidentally send her some offensive emoji, but… none that I can tell.
Glancing up, I watch her pace to the chest press and then over to the free weights before I can’t take it anymore.
“Seriously, would you just spill?”
“It’s not you. I’m fine!”
“Yeah, you seem fine.” I give her a deadpan stare to match my tone. That only scores me another lethal glare. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” She kind of laughs out the word, looking at me like I’m stupid.
I nod, reminding myself why I don’t do girlfriends and drama.
Although, Mikayla’s not your typical girl. Whatever is riling her must be pretty big. And I want to help.
Standing up from the machine, I wander over to her, blocking her path when she tries to pace past me.
She growls, and I can’t help a soft snicker. She’s like a grumpy-ass chihuahua—all snarly and snappy, but if she tried to bite me, I wouldn’t even feel it.
Hmmm. Bite me.
I think about her hungry gaze from moments before and feel a semi forming. No, wait, I’m going hard as rock.
Swiveling my body away from her, I rake my fingers through my hair, desperate for any kind of distraction.
Help her blow off steam.
Images of our naked bodies thrusting together flash through my mind.
Another way, jackass!
