“Because of your ex-boyfriend?”
“Yeah, because of him.”
He moves his hand around my back, and the heat of his palm warms me. “You’ll never have to worry about that with me, Em. I promise. I may not have been in a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship before, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in monogamy. My word is my word.”
“Thank you,” I say, cupping his face.
I lean forward, staring at his lips. I’m about to press my mouth against his when he says, “Are we really going to have our first kiss in the dining hall with all these onlookers?”
I smile. “I’m game if you are.”
A wicked gleam lights up his eyes. “You know I am.” One of his hands slides up my thigh while the other cups the back of my head and lowers me to his lips.
Nervous—because Knox is only the second guy I’ve kissed—I try to be as loose as possible when his lips touch mine.
Soft with the perfect amount of pressure, our lips fuse together. The sounds of clanking silverware against plates and students chattering fade away, leaving only the thrumming of my rapidly beating heart to fill my ears.
Our lips part at the same time, wanting more, exploring. My tongue slips into his mouth while my fingers thread through his hair. A low groan rumbles from his chest as his grip on my thigh tightens. Our tongues work in tandem together, seeking more, reaching for more but never sloppy. Little flicks, tiny kisses, our mouths never extending too far. Gentle but new, the tension in our hands is a contradiction to the soft movements of our mouths. I’ve missed this. This softness. Intimacy. Honesty.
I could kiss this man all day. That’s how good he is. How patient and relaxed he is, almost like he’s letting me take charge, but I know deep down he’s not. He’s guiding me with his movements, slightly tilting my head, flicking his tongue over my lips, leaning into me. He uses his entire body when he kisses, and I can feel the power move from his spine to the tips of his fingers, letting me know just how much he wants me.
It’s perfect.
It’s—
“Yeah, Gentry. Get it, man,” some douche cheers off to the side.
On a deep breath, I pull away and tuck my head into his shoulder, embarrassed that I lost control in the dining hall.
Keeping my head tucked, I ask, “How many people are staring?”
He soothingly rubs my back and says, “Pretty much everybody.”
“Perfect.” I laugh.
“I’m not even mad about it, because now every dickhead in this building knows you’re mine.”
“And I just became enemy number one with all the girls here.”
“Nah, they’ll just talk behind your back,” he jokes.
“Great.” I lift away and keep my eyes trained on him. I draw my finger across his bottom lip and say, “You’re a really good kisser.”
“I practice on my hand every day.”
“Shut up.” I push his shoulder, causing him to laugh even more.
When his laughter dies down, he says, “You’re a damn good kisser too, Em. Too good.” He sneaks one more kiss in. “Fuck, I hate that I have to get going now.” With a sexy smile, he pats my backside and says, “Walk me out?”
“Of course. There’s no way I’m staying here with all the ravenous beasts waiting to spring on me.”
We gather his things, stuff them in his bag but not before signing the “rules”—so ridiculous—and then take off down the stairs and out the doors.
Once outside, he brings me to the side where he reaches into his pocket and hands me his phone. “It’s time I get that number, don’t you think?”
I glance at his phone but don’t take it. “I don’t know. If we’re keeping it casual, we can still just talk through student chat.”
“Over my dead body. Phone number, Ealson. Now.”
I cross my arms over my chest and jut out my hip. “Do you really think you’re going to get what you want by talking to me like that?”
He pulls on the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. “How are we going to do all the oral if I don’t have your phone number?”
“It’s called the element of surprise.” I lift up on my toes and press a quick kiss to his jaw and then pat him on the cheek. “Have fun at study hall.”
“You’re really not going to give me your number?”
I shake my head and start to walk away. “You have to earn that.”
“Uh . . . pretty sure I did over the last few weeks.”
“No, you just earned my affection. My number is an entirely different hurdle.” I twiddle my fingers and then turn toward my dorm, but not before I hear him groan.
I smile to myself the entire way back. Thankfully the fire drill is over, so I hit the shower right away, letting the hot water ease my tense muscles. I spend extra time shaving, making sure I reach every last inch of my body, and then I spend a decent amount of time lotioning. By the time I make my way into my room and check my phone, I have a text message from a strange number.
Brow furrowed, I open it up.
It’s Knox. Have I told you how much I like your friend Dottie? She’s a winner in my book. I’ll catch you later, Ealson. P.S. Can’t wait to play with your nipples. XOXO.
Shaking my head, I clutch my phone to my chest and then let out a low chuckle. I can’t be mad about it, because frankly, I’m happy.
Chapter Sixteen
KNOX
“How’s my baby?”
I scoot down on the leather couch of the locker room and prop my feet up on the coffee table while sports highlights play in the background. We have an hour and a half before practice and since I was already on campus, I decided to chill in the locker room until then.
Carson sits next to me, trolling on his phone and eating grapes, chomping away with no awareness of the sounds he’s making.
Disgusting.
“Hey Mom,” I say into the phone, grabbing Carson’s attention. He glances at me with a knowing smile.
My mom is very well known on the team. Not because she calls me all the time to check in, but because she’s THAT mom at the baseball games. You know, the one who shows up in ALL the college gear one can buy with a cooler, chair, foam finger, and pom-poms. She’s the one who gets the fans in the stands to start cheers and leads the wave. She’s the first to yell at an umpire for a missed call, and she’s the first one to slip orange slices into the dugout when she arrives. Yes, she still hands out orange slices. It was absolutely humiliating my freshman year, but now she’s like an unofficial team mascot.
The players love her.
Coach Disik tolerates her, which is surprising since he barely tolerates anyone.
And the other parents rely on her to check on their sons when they’re unable to make a game.
She’s also the unofficial photographer and even started a social media group for parents of the players so everyone can keep up on what’s going on with the team.
To say she’s involved is an understatement.
“How’s my big guy?” She also still acts like I’m ten, but I let it slide since she’s truly the best mom ever and one of my best friends.
Mama’s boy? Possibly, but guess what? This mama’s boy gets a cooler full of baked treats every time she visits the loft or comes to a game. So, no complaints.
“Good, I’m between classes and practice right now so I’m hanging with Carson in the locker room.”
“Oh, put me on speaker phone, I want to say hi.”
This wouldn’t be the first time. It’s rare I have a conversation with just my mom. Holt or Carson are usually popped into the conversation as well. I switch the phone to speaker and say, “Say hi, Mom.”
“Carson, hi, honey, how are you?”
Carson lights up like he always does when he talks to my mom. He lost his mom when he was young. It’s been him and his dad for most of his life, so he’s taken to my mom very easily.
“Hey Mama G.” It’s what everyone calls her. “I’m doing good, how are you?”
“Oh, I’m great, honey. Painstakingly bedazzling my spring hat. You know I like to make a new one every year.”
“Right on, I love your hats. Your fall one was as epic as usual.”
“Thank you. I spent a good month arranging all those jewels. But come springtime, this little devil will be ready.” She chuckles to herself. “So, are you two being good? Staying out of trouble.”
“Always, Mom,” I answer.
But Carson steps in and says, “Well, I’ve been staying out of trouble, but your son might be dabbling in a little trouble where the heart is concerned.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
I glare at him and mouth, “What the fuck?” just as my mom emits an excited squeal.
“Oh, is that true? Are you seeing someone, Knox?”
I sigh heavily and then punch Carson dead in the arm.
Like I said, I love my mom dearly, but the last thing I need right now is the Texas inquisition from her when I can barely call Emory mine.
“Fuck, man,” he whispers, rubbing where I hit him.
I drag my hand over my face and say, “I might be seeing someone.”
“Might be, or are?”
“It’s complicated,” Carson butts in. “They’re keeping it casual.”
“Oh, Knox.” There’s disappointment in her voice. “I thought I taught you better than that. Please don’t tell me she’s your sex friend.”
“It’s called a fuck buddy, Mom, and no. We’ve barely kissed.”
Well, kissed once. Barely might not be the right term because when we kissed, we fucking kissed, and it was one of the best kisses of my life. Her full lips had no problem running over mine, and her hands seemed to enjoy threading through my hair . . . in front of all the morning diners.
“But you have kissed?” My mom’s voice is far too excited.
“Yes.”
“But he’s been after her for a while, Mama G. Ever since the first day of classes, but she’s been tentative.”
“Why? You don’t have a bad reputation, do you?”
“No,” I answer, hating that Carson is here right now. “She had a really bad breakup before she moved out here. She’s a transfer from California, and she’s hesitant to jump into another relationship. Carson’s right. She’s been reluctant to spend time with me, so it’s been difficult. But this weekend I made some strides, and we’re casually exclusively seeing each other.”
“That sounds like an oxymoron,” my mom says. “Casually exclusive? What does that even mean?”
“It means we’re giving each other some breathing room, but we aren’t fooling around with other people.”
“Breathing room?” She pauses. “Carson, what do you think of this girl? Is she messing with my son?”
He doesn’t even bother to look at my pleading eyes when he says, “No. She’s a good girl. I like her. She’s in one of our classes, and you can tell she likes Knox. It’s in her eyes. But I do think the ex-boyfriend did a number on her. Knox is playing it out right, not jumping in head first and possibly scaring her away.”
Well, there are fucking miracles. Everything Carson said was perfect. Maybe I won’t cut off his nuts when I’m done talking to my mom.
“Oh, the poor dear. I’m so sorry to hear that. You better take good care of her, Knox.” And just like that, she switches from being skeptical to loving Emory in seconds without even meeting her. “What’s her name? What does she look like?”
“Emory, and she’s—”
“Oh, what a gorgeous name,” Mom gushes. “How beautiful?”
“Yeah, and she’s beautiful inside and out,” I say, even though I feel like a dickhead. This should have been a conversation between my mom and me alone.
“She is,” Carson says as he leans in, adding his two cents. “She’s funny too, and gives your son a run for his money. I already told him he better not fuck things up with her.”
There is clapping on the other end of the phone. “Oh goodness, when do I get to meet her?”
“Uh, not for a while. Remember what I said about things being casual? Meeting a mom doesn’t necessarily scream casual.”
“I would have to agree with him, Mama G. I’d wait until the new semester. Let them figure out what they really want from each other.”
“That’s so far though. Can I write her a card? Let her know what a wonderful son you are?”
“Keep the stationery in the closet. No cards, Mom.”
“But I just bought this new beautiful set with butterflies on it. I really think she’d consider it a classy piece of stationery. Might help you out in the long run.”
“Or scare her away.”
“Yeah, it might scare her away,” Carson adds. “But I would love a card, Mama G. That butterfly stationery sounds magical.”
Fucking kiss-ass.
“Don’t let him fool you, Mom. He just wants some of your Oreo brownies.”
“You kept the last batch all to yourself like a selfish prick,” Carson spouts off. “I got one measly square.”
“Because they’re my favorite. They have Oreos and marshmallows in them, moron.”
“I know what’s in them and don’t need the play-by-play. It’s why I wanted more.”
“Boys, boys,” my mom says. She’s used to our theatrics. Although, she must know it’s Carson who’s being a dick right now. “How about I make each of you your own batch? Would that settle things?”
“That would be much appreciated, Mama G. And don’t forget the butterfly stationery.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Carson is all too happy with himself. “Well, boys, I should be going, skee ball is going to start soon. I’ll talk to you two handsome boys later.”
“Bye, Mom.”
“Bye, Mama G.”
I hang up and toss my phone to the side and drag both my hands down my face. “Thanks for that, asshole. Now she’s going to be on me about Emory.”
“You’re more than welcome. That’s exactly what I was hoping for,” Carson answers with a giant grin.
Why am I his friend?
* * *
I look through the crack of Emory’s door and spot her at her desk—head turned toward her book, hand pressed against her forehead, and her headphones on. Cross-legged on her chair in a pair of sweats, she looks adorably sweet with her nose stuck in a book.
Freshly showered and tired as fuck from a long, drawn-out practice, I make my way into her room and set my backpack on the ground before flopping on her bed. Coach drilled us today. He was on a warpath and made sure we suffered.
Up, down, up, down. I can still hear his voice chanting as we dropped to do burpees with him hovering over us. When one of the freshmen threw up, I swear I saw a smile cross the old bastard’s face.
From the corner of her eyes, she catches me approaching her bed and smiles while taking off her headphones.
“What are you listening to?” I ask, sticking my hands behind my head and making myself comfortable on her comforter.
She unfolds her legs from her chair, snaps her book shut, and hops up on her bed to sit next to me.
“The Harry Potter soundtrack. Gets me all amped up to learn.”
I move my hand over her thigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who was amped up to learn.”
She picks up my hand and threads her fingers with mine. “Well, now you do.” She squeezes. “How was practice? I didn’t know you were coming over.”
“Practice was good. I didn’t think I’d make it back to the loft with how exhausted I am. And I wasn’t about to let another night go by when I didn’t see you. We made an agreement, I saw you in class on Monday, you denied me lunch—again—and now it’s Thursday, and I was wondering why I haven’t tasted your lips since the dining hall. Are you avoiding me, Ealson?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “Never. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Yeah? Even though I wasn’t invited to come over?”
“Yes. Gives me an excuse to stop studyi
ng.” She reaches up and lets her hair out of a clip. The long, brown strands fall past her shoulders, framing her beautiful face.
“Are you trying to make me hard?” I ask, taking in her full, pouty lips while tracing my finger over her thigh.
“Seriously? I undid my hair.”
“And it was sexy.” I pull on her hand and shift her back on the mattress beneath me. I look toward the ceiling and say, “The fire alarm isn’t going to go off again, right?”
“No, but if you’re thinking of sticking your hand down my pants, you’re going to have to wait.”
“Why’s that?”
“I have my period.” She shrugs as if sharing this information is no big deal. It’s not, but since we just started “seeing” each other, I’m really happy with her level of comfort she has with me.
“Shit, that sucks.” I move my hand over her stomach. “Do you need anything? I can run out and get you candy or something.”
She smiles sincerely and moves her hand over my cheek. “I have a stash of Pretzel M&M’s I keep around for this joyous occasion. Want to break into them and watch a movie?”
Fuck, she’s cute. What I said to my mom was right: she’s beautiful inside and out. And I’m the lucky fuck who gets to be with her. Mom will seriously love this girl.
“Do you have popcorn too?”
“I think Lindsay does.”
I hop off the bed. “Then it’s a date.”
Chapter Seventeen
EMORY
Knox: Dining hall, 7 p.m. Don’t be late.
I stare at the text and then look at the time. He’s two minutes late. How dare he? I smile. He’s so busy, and there’s no doubt in my mind he’s working his hardest to get here.
I lean against the brick wall, thinking back to our movie night the other night where Knox took down my entire stash of Pretzel M&M’s—plus a bag of popcorn—in one sitting. The man can eat.
He also really likes snuggling, but only if he can have his hand up my shirt. He made that an “honorary” rule the other night when he slipped his hand under my shirt and pressed his palm to my stomach. According to him, he wasn’t getting frisky, he just likes the feel of my skin when he holds me.
The Locker Room Page 13
