The Locker Room

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Not necessary.” She holds out the cookie and I have an inkling about something. I hope to fuck I’m wrong, because this girl is hot and sexual.

  No one gets that red over someone mentioning oral unless . . .

  I twist the cookie and when I see that I finally have the most cream, I don’t even take the time to celebrate, instead, my burning question falls straight from my lips. “Has anyone ever gone down on you?”

  She looks away.

  Fuck, I knew it.

  Cheeks blushed, ears red, body language completely turning off. I hit a nerve.

  “Answer the question, Ealson. I answered yours.”

  She pushes her thick hair behind her ear and stares at her cookie while answering. “No.”

  Jesus Christ, how is that possible?

  “Are you fucking serious? How long were you with your boyfriend?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It sure as hell does. Tell me, how long?”

  She pops the cookie in her mouth, dusts off her hands, and stands. She gives me a quick smile, a pat on the shoulder and says, “Thanks for the snacks. I’m going to go mingle.”

  I stand too. “Em, don’t leave. We don’t have to talk about him.”

  “Or we don’t have to talk at all. I’ll see you around, Knox.”

  Before I can stop her, she walks back into the party, leaving me on the fire escape with two beers and Oreos. Well fuck, that was short-lived. Real smooth, Gentry.

  Real fucking smooth. I finally bridge the gap she keeps between us, and ask about the obvious no-go topic: her boyfriend. But, what the fuck? Emory is passionate, funny, resourceful, sexy, and a damn good time—yes, out of the bedroom too. What boyfriend denies his girlfriend something that should be synonymous with fucking? What sort of ass did she date? That’s so fucked up, and I hate that I may have lost an opportunity to find out more about this girl. Because she deserves more. And I’m going to show her just that.

  Chapter Nine

  EMORY

  “Why is this chicken so good?” Lindsay asks, shoving a fried leg into her mouth and gnawing on it like it’s her last supper.

  “Because you’re drunk and will eat pretty much anything,” I answer, looking out the window of the very popular Kennedy Fried Chicken. It’s a drunk staple in Brentwood and not far from the baseball loft. It’s why it’s overly crowded with students who barely have their wits about them.

  “Aren’t you going to have any?” Lindsay asks, holding a piece of fried chicken out to me. Reluctantly, I take it and set it on the napkin in front of me, slowly picking away at the piece of meat. I’m not even close to being drunk, which is a shame because the feelings roaring through me could use a little alcohol to subdue them.

  I was doing so well, actually having fun with Knox. I love teasing him, and I can tell he likes it too by the small smirks he passes my way, but when he asked about Neil going down on me, it resurrected so many hateful and hurtful feelings all at once. I knew if I didn’t leave, I would have made a fool of myself, and I didn’t want to do that, not in front of Knox.

  In a rage-filled text conversation I had with Neil, after I gave him the old one-two blow to the nuts, he did more damage to my heart than he’d done to my eyes. He’d always said he wasn’t really into oral sex, and I’d simply shrugged my shoulders and figured it wasn’t that great anyway. He had, however, been all over me giving him blow jobs. He didn’t apologize for cheating on me. He didn’t even try to convince me it was the first time either. But then his final message came in, and that was the one that destroyed my heart.

  Neil: You were never enough for my needs. My tastes. She tastes fucking incredible. She makes me glad I never put my tongue in your cunt.

  There were no other text messages after that. I blocked his number wondering how I’d stayed with someone so cruel for as long as I did. I still can’t comprehend it, and it’s something I try not to think about because I don’t want to go down that deep hole of depression again. Therefore, I tell myself to push it to the back of my mind like every other healthy individual.

  “So, are you going to tell us?” Dottie asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

  I plaster on a smile for my friends and say, “Tell you what?”

  They exchange an annoyed look with each other and Lindsay says, “Uh, what happened with Knox on the fire escape? Did you kiss?”

  Such Nosey Nellies, but I can’t be mad, because there was a time in our lives where we told each other every last thing about our lives. I have to remember that.

  “Kiss? No.” I shake my head and then pull a piece of meat off my chicken. “We talked, played a little game of questions with Oreos, nothing too exciting.”

  “You didn’t kiss? How on earth is that possible?” Lindsay, the boy-crazy friend, says. “He’s so hot.”

  Ah, yes, the classic reason to kiss a guy, because he’s hot. Not because of his personality or anything.

  “Yes, you’ve mentioned that before. But I’m not ready to jump into another relationship. I just got out of a six-year one.”

  “Months ago,” Dottie adds with a friendly smile. “It was months ago when you ended things. You’re allowed to move on, Emory.”

  “I know. I’m just keeping things easy, that’s all. I want to focus on school. Focus on me. I’ve been part of a couple for so long that it’s nice to simply breathe, you know, not have to worry about another human for a change.”

  “I can understand that,” Dottie says while taking a sip of her soda. “But does Knox know that? I saw the look in his eyes when he spotted you, and it’s obvious he really likes you.”

  “He’ll get over it. There are plenty of girls on campus he can dabble in. Trust me, I’m just a small blip on his radar.”

  “Not true,” Lindsay says. “I’ve been going to the baseball loft ever since I was a freshman, and I’ve never seen Knox make a beeline for a girl like he did for you tonight.” And I’ve been with one guy so long I’ve probably lost my ability to see interest as genuine. But my girls won’t understand that. In some ways, I feel so much older from being in a long-term relationship. In other ways, naïve. Nevertheless, Knox Gentry is not on my radar.

  “Must have been my perfume, I heard it has pheromones or something like that in it.”

  Dottie rolls her eyes. “Keep telling yourself that, Emory.”

  * * *

  How does one choose what donut to get when there are at least twenty different flavors?

  I’m in black leggings, an oversized sweatshirt that continues to hang off my shoulder, and my hair is piled in a mess on top of my head. It’s my Sunday garb, and I have no shame in it. I have one mission today and that’s to get a world-famous Frankie Donut, some coffee, and then walk back to my dorm, which is a mile away, making it a two-mile journey altogether and a guilt-free day of taking down a donut.

  When I asked Lindsay and Dottie if they wanted to go with me, they rudely threw their pillows at their doors, pushing me away. I took that as a no.

  I’ve learned very quickly they’re not morning people. That’s fine. I plugged my earbuds in, turned on my Spotify walking playlist, and took the journey down the Brentwood Boardwalk that borders Lake Michigan. The morning breeze coming off the lake and the bright sun shining down on me was exactly what my soul needed.

  Now if only I could choose a donut.

  I’ve let at least three people pass me in line, not wanting to make a rushed decision. This is my first Frankie Donut, after all. It has to be perfect.

  I’ve narrowed it down to four. The blueberry streusel, the cherry lemonade, the old-fashioned with spice, and the cosmic chocolate cake donut. I refuse to buy all four, because two miles will only knock off so many calories.

  Ugh, decisions, decisions.

  My turn again, but I’m not ready, so I turn to the person behind me. “You can go in front of me.”

  But when I look up to find a very sweaty-looking Knox wearing a baseball cap and running gear, I’m a little stun
ned. He smiles at me, those white teeth gleaming against his tan face. “I’d rather watch you continue to be indecisive.”

  “Good Lord, how long have you been there?”

  “Long enough.” He nods at the case of donuts. “What are you thinking?”

  “It’s between four.” I bite my bottom lip in embarrassment.

  He takes a step toward the counter and says, “A water and four donuts please.” He nods for me to join him. “Which ones? We can taste test them together.”

  I’m about to tell him I’m good, but when he smirks and pleads with those sinfully charming eyes of his, I can’t help but give in. It’s a devilish smirk and a gleam in his eyes, born straight from Satan himself. Knox Gentry is a man who gets what he wants very often.

  I order the four donuts I was debating between, as well as a coffee, and pull out my money from my sports bra. When I go to pay, Knox pushes my money to the side and says, “I got it, Em.”

  I consider fighting him paying for my breakfast, but with the long line behind us, I decide to not cause a scene. I watch as the girl at the register passes glances over Knox, appreciating his physical form, taking in his broad chest and winning smile.

  Can’t even be mad at her, because I’m doing the same exact thing.

  Sweaty Knox is a sexy Knox.

  He hands me my coffee, and I fill it with sugar and cream and meet him by the door. He holds it open for me and nods toward a little bench that overlooks the picturesque lake. I follow him and take a seat, soaking in the fresh morning air. There is nothing better in my opinion than waking up early enough to still taste the brand-new morning.

  “Were you out running?” I ask, even though it’s kind of obvious.

  “Yeah, I try to get some miles in on the weekends, keep up my stamina. What about you?” Of course he does. Get some miles in . . . I get my miles in for donuts.

  “I’d like to say I was working out,” I say while dangling my feet off the bench seat, “but I basically walked to the donut shop and convinced myself that walking to and from my dorm would give me the go-ahead to take down some fried dough.”

  He chuckles. “I think that’s fair. You really live in the dorms?”

  He hands me a napkin and then pops open the donut box between us. An impromptu meetup. I can’t say it doesn’t put a smile on my face.

  “Yes, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, I just don’t know many juniors who still live in the dorms, that’s all.”

  “Oh, well, Lindsay and Dottie didn’t want to live in some skeezy place off campus, and since these were brand-new dorms, with all the amenities and a dining hall, seemed like a win-win. Don’t have to make food, we have maid service every Tuesday, and we don’t have to buy things like toilet paper.”

  “Damn.” He leans back on the bench and splits the first donut in half—cherry lemonade—and hands it to me. “I’ve gone about this living situation all wrong. I have my own roll of toilet paper in my room that I keep hidden and take in and out of the bathroom with me, because no one ever refills the roll. Toilet paper is sacred in the loft.”

  “You’re a smart man, Knox Gentry.”

  His brows lift in surprise. “Yeah, you think so?”

  “Don’t get too excited, you’re just smart enough in my eyes to carry around your own toilet paper.”

  He winks at me. “It’s the basic survival skills that are the most impressive.”

  He’s so ridiculous. Fun, and easygoing, the kind of guy I could see myself becoming great friends with because he’s super easy to talk to. I don’t feel nervous or like I’m stumbling over my words around him, as he makes it easy with his gorgeous smile and kind eyes.

  “What do you think of the donut? Good?”

  “I think it has the potential to be one of the best donuts I’ve ever had.”

  “Big statement, are you sure you want to put that out there in the universe?” he asks, licking his finger. I carefully watch as his tongue peeks out and cleans the icing off his finger. Okay, that’s oddly nice to watch.

  Peeling my eyes away, I study the cherry lemonade donut. “I’m pretty confident about it.”

  He lifts up the blueberry streusel and says, “Then allow me to blow your mind.” He breaks the donut in half just like the other one but instead of handing it over, he carefully raises it to the sky, letting the sun pay it homage, and then hands it over using both hands. “The holy grail of donuts. Enjoy.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” I snag the donut from him and take a bite.

  Oh.

  Damn.

  Blueberry yumminess, streusel perfection, fried doughy-ness. This is pure heaven.

  I try to hide the look on my face but he catches it and points, knowing all too well that he was right and there’s no use hiding it.

  Dropping my guard, I say, “Holy hell, this is so freaking good.”

  He smacks his thigh like a doof and then fist-pumps the air. “Yes. Told you, Em. Stick with me, babe, and I’ll show you all the good things about Brentwood.”

  I smile, liking the way babe so easily rolled off his tongue. The only thing Neil ever called me was Emory. Yes, that’s my name, but after six years of being together, you’d think he would have some sort of pet name for me.

  Nope.

  Knox is different though.

  Do I find Knox Gentry attractive? Of course, there is no way any woman on this planet would consider him anything but good-looking, and his outgoing personality just adds to the appeal. But can I see myself with this man? Not really, at least not right now. He seems too good to be true—perfect actually—especially for a girl who was burned by her last relationship. There has to be a flaw somewhere when it comes to him, and I’m simply not seeing it yet.

  “According to my roommates, you play shortstop, right?”

  “Yup.” He shoves the rest of his donut in his mouth and reaches for another but doesn’t hand me the other half. Instead he rests it in the box, noticing that I already have my hands full with my partially eaten halves.

  “Is it hard?”

  “Is what hard? Playing shortstop?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I haven’t watched many baseball games but the ones I’ve seen, the shortstop always seems to be running all over the place. How do you know where to go all the time?”

  “Second nature by now. I’ve been playing the position ever since I was seven. Over time, your body just reacts and knows where to go and when.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Love it,” he answers, his eyes lighting up. “I love being in control of the infield and outfield, letting everyone know where the ball needs to go in every situation. I love giving signs to my teammates, trying to fake out the other team. I love the unpredictability of the game, unsure if we’re going to turn a double play or if the pitcher is going to let a homerun fly. It’s a back-and-forth battle every game, and the only thing you can do in the battle is refer to your basic instincts and the training you’ve put your body through, hoping it’s been enough.”

  “Has it been enough?”

  “Most of the time, but we have our off days.”

  “When does your season start?” I ask, taking another bite of my donut and then sipping on my coffee. I admit, this is a pretty perfect morning with the fresh donuts, beautiful scenery—including the man next to me. I’m glad I took the walk.

  “We have some fall ball to test our freshmen and see where we have holes in our roster, but we won’t start our real season until February where we have pre-season games, and then we go balls to the wall after that until June. We’ll practice every day along with agility and weights and then individual practices with coaches.”

  “On top of your school schedule?”

  He nods and brushes his hands off on a napkin. “It’s intense, but you get used to it. We still have plenty of off time too, well, not plenty, but enough so we don’t go crazy.”

  “And here I thought my new internship was going to take up a lot of my studyi
ng time.”

  “New internship?” He gets excited and rests his arm on the back of the bench as he turns toward me. “What kind of internship?”

  “Just working in the library. I was excited about getting it, though. It will be great experience when I start applying for jobs.”

  “That’s awesome.” He leans over and tips my chin up with his finger. “Congrats, Em.”

  “Thank you,” I answer, feeling my cheeks heat up. “It’s not that big of a deal, but still exciting.”

  “Don’t downplay your accomplishment. It’s amazing, and you should be proud.”

  “Well . . . thank you.” God, he makes me feel so . . . free inside, it’s insane. Just being around him for twenty minutes I feel rejuvenated. I glance at the box of donuts and then at my watch. “I should start walking back, and I’m sure I’ve taken enough time from your run. Thank you for the donuts.”

  His face falls for a second, but he stands with me and picks up the box, handing it over to me. “Here, you take them. Running with donuts will be clumsy.”

  “Are you sure? You bought them.”

  “Yeah, for you.”

  I take the box in my hand and smile sheepishly at him. “Thank you. It was nice running into you.”

  “Yeah, remember that when I’m trying to sit next to you in class tomorrow. You can stop fighting it.”

  I take a few steps back. “Never.”

  He readjusts his hat and pulls earbuds from his shorts pocket. Before he puts them in, he says, “I wouldn’t expect anything else. Have a good day, Em.”

  “You too.” I give him a small wave that causes his smile to grow even wider.

  So handsome.

  With a quick wink, he sticks his earbuds in his ears and takes off running down the boardwalk, in the opposite direction I’m going. I take a moment to watch him, his strong backside, his muscly legs taking him down the boardwalk quickly, his broad shoulders shifting back and forth.

  Yup, he’s all kinds of perfect. Way too good to be true.

  On a sigh, I tuck my donuts into my side and start making my way back to the dorms. I’d like to say I’ll share these with Dottie and Lindsay, but Knox did say he bought them for me, so . . . I’ll be sure to break into them when I’m studying later. And in class tomorrow, I’ll report which ones I enjoyed from best to worst. It’s my duty, after all.