Page 124 of Arctic Titans of Northwood U: Volume 1

Some relief came in the form of calisthenics. But not much. We could plank side by side, which mercifully limited my view, but we still needed to rest at the same time. And Beckett’s idea of resting for a hot minute was to stretch. Wherever the guy saw a bar, he lifted his leg. He would bend over with a gymnast’s ease, stretching and doing splits on almost all surfaces.

Every break we made seemed to escalate things further. When he hopped up to hang from an overhead bar, his hoodie couldn’t cover him, and his abs were in plain sight. When we wrapped up our pushups, Beckett straightened and bent over to touch his toes. There was no escaping him.

I had never worked out with Beckett before. In fact, I’d only ever worked out with Sawyer and Riley, but even that had been rare. Our schedules and preferences often meant I had to work out by myself. And that was for the best because Beckett was more of a distraction than a reliable partner.

Things reached their crescendo close to the end of the session. We were taking turns with the T-bar row. While Beckett was having his turn, I was walking around the quiet, empty room. And because this had been the case for the past hour, I allowed myself to look at my enemy while he worked out.

Bending down and pulling back up, Beckett worked with heavy weights, his torso always tilted forward and his ass thrust out. We were both exhausted and sweaty. His sweatpants had pulled down a little, revealing a dark blue strip of fabric from his underwear. Blocky red letters spelled out some luxurious brand I’d only heard in commercials. He was facing away from me, so I slowed down and watched him.

There was no reason a despicable guy like Beckett Partridge should be blessed with those glutes. The roundness and the firmness were in a harmony that tickled all my instincts. Worse still, he wore clothes that emphasized just how firm his ass was.

I got lost in my thoughts while he grunted and worked. And when I lifted my gaze to the mirror he was facing, I found his eyes were locked to mine.

My cheeks burst into flames. He had watched me undress him with my eyes. He had witnessed my careless examination of the thirst trap that he was. Damn him. I half believed he’d been doing all this intentionally just to provoke me. Nobody was so meticulously sexy while working out. Where were the embarrassing growls? Where was the rank sweat? Where was a red face with blood-shot eyes to make him unappealing? To hell with Beckett Partridge and his perfect physique. It was a curse to have a nemesis who looked so good pouting as Beckett did.

And it was a curse always to have to remind myself just how nasty and rude this guy was in order to kill the sparks of attraction. “I think I’m done,” I said in a husky voice, eyes never leaving his. He turned to look at me instead of watching me in the mirror, then nodded.

We went back to the locker room and stripped to our underwear. “That was productive,” Beckett mused to himself. His boxer briefs were a paler shade of blue with a darker waistband and seams. He picked up a towel from his locker and tossed it over his sculpted chest. One hand rested on his chiseled abs and I wanted to roll my eyes. The truth was, the anger I felt was directed at myself. I had no reason to look, but I looked anyway.

A fine layer of perspiration glistened on his skin, yet he still smelled fucking delicious. Spicy, earthy, and with a slight note of citrus. It was infuriating that he should smell so good after an hour and a half of sweating in a gym.

I dragged my gaze across his body to meet his eyes. “Sure was. I’m dead.”

He sniffed. His hand moved over his abs like it was a habit he had no control over. Beckett was one of those guys who always touched themselves. His hands were constantly feeling something on his body. He would always tuck one under a T-shirt and scratch at his abs. Worse still, he had often absent-mindedly rested his hand on his crotch when sitting. All these little instances poured back into my head and I felt the blush creep into my face. I wished I wore more than just my black boxer briefs.

He chuckled softly and darkly.

“What?” I growled.

It was a mistake. He had been waiting for me to ask. He gave a guileless shrug, the corners of his lips ticking a little up. “Oh, nothing. I’m just flattered.” He let the silence strangle me for a few heartbeats. “Feast your eyes, Jones. Doesn’t bother me.” His cool gaze lingered on me for a moment, then he spun away and strolled into the shower. He let his hips swing alluringly, opened the door of one free shower stall, hooked his towel on the outside, and then provoked a fresh wave of murder fantasies when he pulled his underwear down to his ankles and stepped out of them.

This wasn’t the first time I saw Beckett’s naked ass. I’d never cared to notice it before, but he’d gone naked through the locker room countless times. We all had. But today, he was teasing me on a whole new level.

I hadn’t tolerated his remarks before and I had made that clear. This, however, was a new kind of diabolical. In proving how little he cared about my sexuality, Beckett tormented me in ways he couldn’t even imagine.

In truth, the joke was on him. I had effectively killed every trace of desire for Beckett Partridge within the first twenty-four hours of knowing him. On the day I had arrived at the team house, Beckett had been among the first guys I’d laid my eyes on. And I had thought he was breathtakingly handsome. The rude dismissal that met me had helped me sever every thought of Beckett’s good looks for two full years. And I could tap into that anger once again.

After all, I wasn’t interested in fucking straight brats with a superiority complex, no matter how soft the skin on their butts seemed and how tight they were. There was more to sex than the repetitive grinding. And Beckett had never deserved an ounce of effort on my part, even if he had been into me.

I spared myself further embarrassment by quickly showering and packing up before he was even out. But luck wasn’t on my side today any more than it had been this whole semester. Beckett strolled out with a towel around his waist and drops of water still on his shoulders and pecs before I could gather everything. Seeing his smug smirk reminded me of what I had wanted to sort out with him.

I tossed the duffel over my shoulder and focused on his face. “You should know that half the dissatisfaction on the team comes from your rigid rules. The guys are becoming bored of you acting like their aunt.”

The smirk melted away in place of the frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you should go back to how things used to be. Do some bonding time with the team. Hit the bar. Don’t count everyone’s cans or track who’s staying out late.” I lifted my chin in defiance of all the displeasure I expected from him.

He just pouted. “What do you know?” he said under his breath.

“I know this; if you treat people like adults, they’ll act like adults. Keep treating our teammates like a gang of lawless teenagers; they’ll never show you any better behavior.” I sighed. “For once, I’m not saying something to rub your nose in it, Partridge.”

He considered, a hand reaching to the back of his shoulder, scratching a little, then sliding over the middle of his wet torso. “In that case, thank you for your input.”

I scoffed. “Suit yourself, man.”

He made a step toward me. “I’ll think about it, alright? I see your point. I’m not sure I agree, but I see it. What more do you want?”

“Nothing,” I said flatly. I wanted nothing. “See you at practice.”