Still up for that FaceTime?
My thumb hovers over the screen as Coach’s advice pulses through me like a second heartbeat.Stop hiding.
Me
Yeah. Give me five minutes to put on a shirt.
Jackson
Don’t bother on my account
29
JACKSON
I’m sprawled across my bed in boxers and an old Berkeley Shore Football T-shirt, going over my notes from class and reliving every second of this afternoon’s solo exploration. Every time I shift positions, I’m hyperaware of that slight soreness.
Ryan’s at the observatory for his nightly date with the cosmos, which means I have the room to myself for at least three more hours. Normally, I’d take advantage of the privacy for my regularly scheduled Drew-focused self-care session, but after earlier…I don’t think my body could handle another round that intense.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and Drew’s name lights up the screen with a FaceTime request. My heart rate triples. I take a deep breath and swipe to answer, propping the phone against my textbook so he can’t see I’m not wearing pants.
“Hey,” I say, and immediately want to die because my voice comes out rough and fucked-out.
Drew’s face fills the screen. He’s clearly in a hotel room with the generic beige walls and ugly paisley bedspread visible behindhim. His hair is still damp from his post-game shower, and he’s shirtless.Because I told him not to bother on my account?
“There’s my fake boyfriend.” He grins, and I clench my thighs together, because even through a phone screen, that smile does things to me. “Miss me?”
“You’ve been gone for twelve hours,” I point out, trying for casual and failing spectacularly.
“Twelve very long hours.” He shifts on the bed, and I catch a glimpse of his bare legs.Christ, is he not wearing pants either?“You okay? You look…” He tilts his head, studying me through the screen. “Flushed.”
Because I spent my afternoon thinking about you while fingering myself, my brain supplies. “It’s hot in here,” I lie. “Ryan always cranks the heat before he leaves.”
“Take your shirt off then,” Drew suggests with a wink that’s more flirty than fake boyfriends require.
“I’m good.” I shift against my pillows, trying to find a position that doesn’t make me acutely aware of my ass. “How’s the hotel?”
Drew runs a hand through his damp hair, making it stick up in ways that shouldn’t be attractive but are. “Coach visited me. We talked about the game and…other stuff.”
Other stuff?My mind conjures up many things, none of them PG. I’ve seen Coach Donovan plenty of times, and that guy could totally become the nextPeople’s Sexiest Man Alive.How Alex came from that man—not literally, but genetically—I have no fucking clue. If it weren’t for the red hair and hazel eyes, I’d never know the two were related.
Drew’s confident smirk falters, replaced by a hesitant expression I’ve rarely seen on him. “So, um. There’s this thing happening.”
“What kind of thing?” I ask, grateful for the distraction from my body’s persistent reminders of this afternoon.
“Another charity thing.” He’s not meeting my eyes, which immediately sets off alarm bells. Drew Larney doesn’t do shy. “Oliver told us about it on the bus.”
“Okay…” I prompt when he doesn’t continue.
“It’s for the cancer ward.”
“Drew, just tell me.”
He takes a deep breath. “We have to perform a ‘sensual art performance,’ whatever the hell that means. The Ice Queen will be announcing the details soon. And I want you to be my partner again.”
I gulp audibly before croaking out, “Me?”
“Bingo-bango.” Drew points his finger at me through the screen, and suddenly, I’m thinking of where that finger could go.
