I freeze but never break contact. “Who?”
“I don’t know. But your father might. His name was on the acceptance letter and the financial statement.”
I frown. “Why?”
She shrugs. “That’s what I have to figure out. But I wasn’t just using you.”
I stare at her for a beat, watching her chest rise and fall. Her breathing is steady, but her shoulders have tensed again.
“What if I wanted you to?” The words are out before I realize what I’m saying.
“What?”
“We’ll have multiple study sessions.” I pause, waiting for her to interject but she never does. I inch dangerously close now, her signature scent filling my lungs. “I’ll keep helping you.”
She peers up at me with a hitch in her breath. “Though you felt like I was using you?”
I shrug and slowly bring my lips closer to her ear.
“We can use each other,” I whisper. “Let me touch you again. Let me make you come.”
A moan escapes me. I expect her to push me away, tell me to go to hell, but she never does. Instead, she stares at me, mouth agape, eyes searching mine for seriousness.
“Just let me taste you.” It comes out desperate now, my voiceraw and guttural like I’ve been starving and she’s the only one who can feed me.
It’s the truth. I haven’t so much as looked at another girl since touching her.
Her lips part, but no words come out. She just breathes one shaky, shallow breath after the other. Her pupils dilate, her eyes flicking from my eyes to my mouth and back up again.
I bring my mouth closer to hers, all while continuing to stare into her eyes. If the way she presses into me is any indication, she wants this just as much as I do. My eyes fall to her neck and I nuzzle my nose against that hickey, my cock already straining against my pants.
“Alex,” she mutters against my ear.
I groan at the sound of her voice saying my name and have to grip the machine behind her to keep from losing myself. My breath quickens, pulse racing. Sam palms my throat, her small hand applying just enough pressure to force my eyes to hers. Then suddenly she pushes me away.
“You’ll beg before I ever let you touch me again.” There’s annoyance in her tone now. “I don’t fuck for favors.”
Then she shoulders past me, bumping me hard enough to send me stumbling backward. She shoots daggers at me, and she stomps over to the supply closet for detergent.
“Fuck,” I utter under my breath. Trying to reach out for her only to miss her by a hair. “That’s not what I—”
“Save it, Alex. Please take your shower so I can get the hell out of here.”
I drop my hand at my side, staring at her back a little longer. When she turns in my direction again, I try to read her expression, try to get her to look at me, but it’s useless. Her features are stone now, eyes glued ahead of her as if I don’t even exist.
“Sam,” I try again, only to go ignored as she unscrews the cap and pours laundry soap into the slot.
She doesn’t respond, her walls already up. I pivot and exit the laundry room back into the main portion of the locker room. Stripping the rest of my gear along the way, I turn the corner and step into the shower stalls. The showers are empty, but the air is still damp.
Snatching a towel from the clean rack, I hang it on the nearest hook and step into the first stall. The sound of the shower rings scrapes across the metal bar when I yank the curtain closed. I smack the knob upward and the water sputters to life.
Dipping under the stream, I let the hot droplets beat down on me. Thank God for great water pressure. It seems this is the only tension release I’ll be getting. It wasn’t my intention to offend her, and I clearly misread the moment.
Fuck. Now she probably hates my guts more than she already does. She’s probably filed me away in the category ofaudacious asshole. Yet another thing I screwed up.
My father was right. Coach was right.I am a fuck-up.
Maybe it’s time to stop fighting that label and embrace it. It’ll sure as hell make shit easier. I’d no longer need to force myself into the mold my father created for me. I’ve been so busy trying to find a version that doesn’t exist instead of just being me… every disgruntled fiber.
