If I were the one chewing gum, I’d probably choke on it. This is the stuff of college lax bro dreams. The stuff movies are made of. The sort of thing I never even allowed to cross my mind when I was at Mass State, already toggling between survival mode and parent mode.
I think of Genny’s message.I hope you finally have fun doing something on your own.
Before I can ruminate too hard, I answer as if out of some instinct I thought I had never learned in college. ‘I’m in.’
Jordan tosses me the ball, and I catch it. ‘Free space. Shoes and socks.’
We each shuck off our shoes and throw our socks to the side, bare feet in the grass. The defined muscles of Jordan’s back work against her tight pink racerback tank top as she points to a spot aligned with the centre of the goal. Her eyes dance with all kinds of tricks. ‘You first.’
It takes all the restraint I have not to run right up to that spot and chuck it. I line myself up, ball in the head of my stick, and set my sights right for dead centre. Slight wind back, and—
The net swishes. Dead centre it is. I cock my head Jordan’s way. My palms are sweaty on my stick, and it’s definitely not the workout. Something in my chest does a somersault at the thought of what comes next. We’ve seen pretty much everything there is to see of one another at this point, but hell if there isn’t an extra layer of tension to this.
Jordan reaches down to the hem of her tank top and pulls it over her head easily, tossing it to the side to reveal a strappy black sports bra. I can make out every ridge and valley of the muscles of her back, her shoulders, her abs. There are more tattoos than the two I noticed before. Other than the hummingbird and the queen, there’s a cursive script running down her spine, a constellation on the inside of her left bicep. She’s a work of art.
‘Ready?’
She stands at the net, ball in hand, and takes her mark at the same place I shot from. Our eyes meet. The kind of desire that hangs between us, that air thick with need, it’s unlike anything I’ve felt before. Ever. It dares me to go all the way to the end and make sure that absolutely nothing separates my body from hers.
With a sharpthwack, the ball smacks the net perfectly.
I tug my shirt off and add it to the pile Jordan started. It’s not too toasty outside at the moment, night having fallen, but my whole body feels like it’s flushing when her eyes skim over me ever so casually, like this is second nature. We’re alternating shots, except she has that air of control about her. It’s hot. It’s a turn-on.
‘You want next?’ She crouches down to grab the ball. Her tiny running shorts highlight the curve of her ass. I suck in abreath when she stands up, tosses it up and down, her grin jesting. Nice. Real tempting, Jordan.
I don’t totally register how I get over to the goal, but I pluck the ball right out of her hand, tuck it in the head of my stick. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’
She leans in. If she came forward just a smidge more, our bodies would touch. Her minty breath is a cool caress to my cheek. She lifts an arm and points to a spot out to the left of the makeshift field. ‘You and me both.’
I’ve made a lot of important shots in my lacrosse career, but this one might be up there. I clock my position, set my sights on the goal, reel back, and add a little extra oomph to the shot, whipping it even though I totally don’t need to. The ball hits square in the right corner.
I cross my arms and look to Jordan, who’s definitely got her eyes on me. If I’m being totally honest, it’s a welcome feeling. Especially when I detect the hunger in her gaze, which, let’s be real, is probably no different from mine.
She hooks a thumb around the waistband of her shorts with a smirk. I think the tension is going to burn my eyebrows off. There’s no point in hiding my raging hard-on when she tugs down and pulls her shorts over her perfect ass and thighs. They’re in the pile, and she stands before me in nothing but a sports bra and the world’s shortest Nike Pros. Every well-toned muscle of her body stands out under the floodlights. Her navel piercing glitters tauntingly as she leans down and picks up her great big Stanley tumbler from where it’s propped up against the goalpost.
‘Nike Pros are cheating,’ I blurt. Dude. No filter?
Jordan raises a snarky eyebrow, taking a swig from hertumbler. ‘Oh? Do you not like what you see, big time?’ Her eyes flit towards my very deceptively tented shorts and back up to my face. ‘’Cause it sure doesn’t seem like that’s the case.’
I choke on whatever words I was about to prepare next. An awkward laugh comes out instead. Real smooth.
‘And lest you still think I’m cheating,’ she hums, ‘this is my second-to-last layer. I play fair.’
‘Prove it.’
‘Score first. It’s my turn.’ She plucks up the ball with a little scrunch of her nose, sets up where I’d shot from, winds up, and puts it away: flawless. ‘Take ’em off, cowboy.’
I oblige gladly. My football shorts are in our pile of banished clothes within the next ten seconds. The black athletic boxer briefs I’m rocking are not getting along well with my stubborn erection. Jordan doesn’t seem to care. I memorize every second for which she drinks me in, my head to my toes.
Reverent, admiring. It still feels welcome.
Chapter Fourteen
New Favourite Words
Jordan
‘We’re playing a dangerous game now,’ says Rod.
