The Locker Room

by Quinn, Meghan

  How can a girl say no to that?

  She can’t.

  He was right when he told me his schedule was really tight. Mix that with mine, and there aren’t many options for us to meet up during the week, but that’s okay, because we’re keeping it casual. It also makes me want him more, because the moments I do have with him fulfill a need in my soul I didn’t know I had. Which only makes our time together that much sweeter.

  From over the hill, I spot Knox briskly walking with Carson and Holt toward me. I know the minute Knox sees me, because a gorgeous and happy smile crosses his face. Carson taps him on the stomach and then points directly at me while saying something I can’t hear, but whatever it is, Knox seems to issue him a warning.

  It’s a warm fall day, which means I’m wearing a cute, short black flowy skirt with knee-high knitted socks and a long-sleeved button-up blouse, and I left the first few buttons undone to show off a little cleavage for my man.

  By the way he’s dragging his hand over his face, he likes what he sees.

  Instead of meeting him halfway, I wait for him to close the distance and when he does, he loops his arm around my neck and brings his lips to mine where he slowly works his mouth over mine. Small, closed kisses at first that build and build until my mouth parts and our tongues connect.

  “Dude, I’m starving, and you’re paying, so can you remove your mouth from Em’s so we can get some food?”

  Sighing, Knox pulls away and squeezes my side. His forehead connects with mine as he says, “You look fucking hot, babe.”

  “Good, because I chose this for you.”

  “It’s appreciated.” He moves his hand to mine and presses our palms together as our hands link. “Come on, dinner is on me. I owe these two, and I’m paying for my girl.”

  He doesn’t give me time to protest as we walk up the stairs to the dining hall. There are five dining halls on campus, including one in the student union, but Lakeview is the best not only because it’s where my dorm is located, but because it’s on the second story and looks over Lake Michigan. It also has a make-your-own salad station I’ve become addicted to.

  When we reach the top, Carson and Holt split up as I turn to Knox and ask, “What are you in the mood for?”

  He scans the different stations and says, “I think lasagna and a side salad. And a cookie.”

  I chuckle. “Of course. You can’t go without your sweets, can you?”

  “Hell no.” He kisses my cheek and says, “Meet you at the register.”

  Everyone splits up as we gather our dinners on the black trays. Knox pays, which in all honesty isn’t a lot, because dining hall food is cheap plus he has an unlimited dining card, and we pick a table that’s lined up against the large windows where we have the perfect view of Lake Michigan. Knox sits next to me while Carson and Holt sit across from us.

  Before I can grab my fork, all three guys are shoveling food into their mouths. Holt has a salad and chicken with a side of fries. Carson went with a burger, roasted veggies, and a side of fries. And all three of them have Gatorades and giant cookies.

  Despite the mouthful of food, Carson asks, “Did Knox tell you about his mom and how she’s just dying to meet you?”

  He told his mom about me? When was this? And here I thought we were keeping things casual.

  I turn to Knox, who has already made an impressive dent in his lasagna. “No, he didn’t. You told your mom about me?”

  “Carson did,” Knox says, sounding annoyed.

  “And why is that a problem?”

  “You don’t know my mom.”

  “Please,” Holt interrupts while wiping his mouth. He turns to me and says, “There’s something you need to know about little Knox Gentry. He’s a complete and total mama’s boy.”

  What? I never would have pegged him as one.

  “Really?” I ask, a smile spreading over my face. “Is that true?”

  He stares at his lasagna and shrugs. “My mom might be a good friend of mine.”

  “He once said best friend,” Carson adds.

  “Seriously?” I ask, feeling frustrated. As if I needed another reason to swoon over this man, he says his mom is his best friend? What is that about?

  “We’re close. I mean . . . not so close she’s giving me tips on how to please my girl, but we share things.”

  “And she makes the best brownies ever,” Carson adds. “You two would get along really well.”

  “Which is why you two need to stay as far away as possible. I don’t need them ganging up on me and talking about how I style my hair or any of that bullshit.”

  “I like your hair. I’d never pick on that. Now the baseball hoodie you like to wear a lot . . .” I glance at all three of them, because it’s like their off-the-field uniform.

  “I think she’s mocking our clothing,” Holt says.

  “I think she is,” Carson adds. “What are you going to do about it, man?”

  Knox sits back in his chair and sets his fork down, already done with his meal. Only the cookie is left. Seriously, he unhinges his jaw and shoves it down his throat, there is no other explanation. “Well, boys, I guess the only thing we can do is go home, wash these hoodies, and make sure we wear them every Monday just to drive her crazy.”

  They laugh, and I roll my eyes. “Looks like ‘all the oral’ you want isn’t going to happen as soon as you thought.” I pop a cherry tomato in my mouth and smile while I chew. Both Holt and Carson “ooo” from my threat.

  “Please, I’ll have that skirt up and around your nipples before you can moan ‘oh, Knox.’ Don’t threaten me, Ealson.”

  “Trust me, I can hold out. You’re the one who’s itching to pull my thong off.”

  “It’s hot that she said thong,” Holt says with a point of his fork.

  “I agree with Em. There’s no way you’ll be able to hold out longer than her.”

  “Fuck you. I’m not a horny dickhead. I can hold out. I’ve been holding out.” I can hear the competitiveness in his voice from a mile away.

  Carson and Holt scoff, which only fires Knox up more.

  “You don’t think I can, do you?” He laughs and breaks off a piece of his cookie, a cocky attitude igniting his eyes. “Fine, it’s on.” He turns to me and says, “The first to break and beg for sexual relations loses.”

  “Oh yeah?” I say, finding this all too entertaining. He has no clue how long I’ve gone without sex, and to be honest, because the sex I’ve had has been mediocre at best, I have plenty of patience. “And what do we lose?”

  “Oh, a wager.” Carson rubs his hands together. “I want in.”

  Knox crosses his arms over his broad chest and says, “Fine, if Em cracks first, I get to pick out your walk-out songs. And I’m really digging some early Britney Spears.” He turns to me and says, “And as for you, missy, if you crack first, you have to go out to lunch with me after our Monday class, finally.”

  I can’t help the smile that passes over my lips. “Okay, fine, but if you crack, you’re going to pay for a nice steak dinner for all four of us, and you have to speak in a French accent the whole time while wearing one of my skirts.”

  Carson and Holt both bark out in laughter. I’m so intent on watching Knox try not to show any sense of humor I don’t catch who claps.

  “Deal.” He holds his hand out to me and I take it, but before he lets go, he says, “But you have to be honest, since it’s three against one. No skewing the results.”

  “Do you really believe I would do that?” I ask, shocked.

  “Yes,” he deadpans. “Yes, I do.”

  I chuckle. “You’re right, I would. Okay, I agree to being totally honest.”

  “Good.” He leans in, and pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger and presses his lips softly against mine before pulling away and says, “Game on, babe.”

  * * *

  “Why are you two sitting out here with me?” Dottie asks.

  We’re in the common room, on the most uncomfortabl
e couch known to man. I’m sitting on Knox’s lap as he slowly makes circles on my back with his finger, driving me crazy. We’re one week in on the no-sex competition, and I’m actually shocked at his self-control. Then again, the only reason he is where he is today in his sport is because of self-control and self-discipline.

  I refuse to be in a closed room with him right now, not when he smells like fresh soap and his hair is still a little wet from his shower after practice. I haven’t seen the man in two days, and when he came into my dorm room, his lips immediately found mine, and all I could do to save myself was push him out into the common room.

  When I shoved him and pointed at him to stay away, he laughed and made himself at home on the couch, only to pull me down on his lap and torture me with his fingers on my back. It’s bliss. And torture. Totally unfair.

  “She doesn’t want to lose the bet,” Knox answers, eyes trained on the baseball game in front of us that he turned on. None of us complained because frankly, we couldn’t care less.

  “What bet?” Dottie asks, crossing her legs under her and getting comfortable.

  “You didn’t tell them?” Knox’s brows rise in surprise.

  I push my hair behind my ear. “It’s none of their business.”

  “What’s none of our business?” Lindsay asks, walking into the room eating a popsicle.

  Jumping right in, Knox fills them in on the bet, including how Carson and Holt got in on it, professing their doubt in Knox.

  Laughing, Lindsay says, “You really think you can outlast Knox?” She shakes her head. “No way. You’ve never had good sex, and your orgasms were few and far between. Your itch needs to be scratched badly.”

  I really do need new friends. What ever happened to girl code around here?

  “You haven’t had many orgasms?” Knox asks. “Why the hell did you stay with your ex for so long?”

  Ignoring Knox, I say, “Hey Lindsay, remember how we talked about censoring what you say? That would have been the time.”

  “Please, Knox needs to know the sexual background you’re coming from.” She leans toward him. “It wasn’t much. Yeah, Neil was nice at first, but after they did it for the first time and then the tenth time, she didn’t have anything wonderful to say. I think her exact comment was, ‘I’ll grow to like it.’”

  “Lindsay,” I snap. “Shut it.”

  “Grow to like it?” Knox drags his hand over his face as if he’s in pain. “Oh hell, I wish I didn’t know that.”

  “Because you want to fuck her even more now, right?” Lindsay asks, looking smug.

  “Precisely.” His finger stills and his hand slides down to my ass. He presses his forehead against my shoulder and then lets out a long breath of air. “I’m going to take off.”

  “Why?” I ask, disappointed.

  “Because there is no way I’m losing this bet and if I stay here, with that new knowledge, I’m going to lose . . . badly.” He shifts me off his lap and heads to get his backpack. When he returns, he presses a soft kiss across my lips and lingers for a few seconds before whispering bye.

  After he’s gone, I turn to Lindsay and sarcastically say, “Thanks a lot.”

  She chuckles and says unapologetically, “You’re never going to win.” And even though I can see the humor in this situation, because I really can, part of me is annoyed. Lindsay just shut down my time with Knox. We don’t get much time together, so when time is stolen like it just was, I don’t feel great. Do I love that Knox wants me so much that he left? Yes, I think so. But, who knows when we’ll get to hang out again? This moment isn’t about the bet, because right now, we’re both losing. And that sucks.

  Chapter Eighteen

  EMORY

  Emory: This bet was stupid.

  Knox: Are you saying you want to give up? If so, I’ll be to your place in ten minutes. I expect you naked, legs spread.

  Emory: It’s been over a month, Knox. Over a month, and you haven’t budged.

  Knox: That’s because I have a good hand and a strong imagination of how you look completely bare. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, in case you were wondering.

  Emory: I have a good hand too, you know . . .

  Knox: I see what you’re trying to do. Get me all hot and bothered from the shock of hearing that you masturbate. Sorry to inform you, babe, but in my imagination, you masturbate to me anyway. Nice try.

  Emory: Damn it. Are you really not going to budge?

  Knox: On the first day I met you, I asked you out to lunch and you said no. My pride took a hit that day. I’m just stubborn enough to hold on to that nugget and power through. The question is, are you really that stubborn not to go out to lunch with me?

  Emory: It’s the principle of the thing.

  Knox: Your loss.

  Emory: You’re an ass.

  Knox: Whoa, say that again. Turned me on.

  Emory: I hate you.

  * * *

  “Psst, babe, over here.” I look through the books on the bookshelf and spot a black backward hat, followed by a pair of blue eyes—my favorite pair.

  It’s December.

  December. And Knox hasn’t cracked, not even a little.

  We’ve had some pretty heavy make-out sessions and the minute it starts to turn over to something more, he pulls away and turns on a movie, or starts reading a book, or looks at sports highlights. His resistance is platinum level. It’s driving me crazy.

  So crazy I’m just going to say it: I’m horny.

  I’m the horniest girl on campus—with my competition for the title nowhere near me—because every time I’m with Knox, I’m not only faced with the hottest guy I know, but I’m left with metaphorical blue balls whenever we part.

  Anytime I see him, all I want to do is tear his clothes off then let him do the same to me. I want to roll around naked, our sweaty bodies clapping together—yeah, clapping. I want to make so many noises with him, that’s how freaking insane I am. It’s come to the embarrassing point that whenever I see any marketing material of him around campus, I get a dull ache between my legs.

  Sports brochures are turning me on.

  This is so stupid.

  Over a lunch bet.

  A simple lunch bet. It’s ridiculous, something I should have given in to, but I swear on my left nipple that’s constantly hard, anytime I think about losing the bet, Holt or Carson text me with words of encouragement.

  This isn’t just about me.

  It’s about them and walking up to bat to a Britney Spears song.

  So I’m holding strong. At least I think I am.

  “Knox, what are you—?”

  “Come over here, Em.” He motions with his fingers. Fingers I have yet to experience. Fingers I want deep inside me, twiddling, flicking, massaging.

  Maybe I could become acquainted with those fingers right now . . .

  Wait, no. No, I can’t.

  Not only would I lose the bet, but if Mrs. Flower caught me with my skirt up around my waist, that would be the end of my internship and everything I’ve worked hard for this semester. Being under her reins hasn’t been easy.

  Speaking of which, I look to the left where Mrs. Flower is talking to a student, well, more like berating, and when I see that the coast is clear, I set down the stack of books I was putting away on the cart and make my way around the shelf where Knox pulls me by the hand and into his chest.

  His lips find mine immediately and then his hand falls to my backside where he grips my skirt, bunching it up in his hand and lifting it to an inappropriate level. I swat at his hand, but it does nothing but intensify both his kiss and his hold on me.

  We’ve gone through a fair amount of Chapstick over the last few months, our mouths inseparable when we’re together, but our make-out sessions are nothing like this, nothing this carnal, this needy. When I pull away, I stare at his crazed eyes.

  “Knox, what’s going on?”

  He pins my hands above my head and kisses the side of my neck. “I want you,
Em. I want you so fucking bad.”

  Jesus. Here? Now?

  Couldn’t he have said that the other night when his hand was dancing with the smooth waistband of my silk shorts?

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to study with the team. We’re in the red room, which has given me the perfect view of your tiny ass in this short skirt, prancing around the library. It’s driving me so goddamn crazy.”

  “You’re here? With the team? Since when?”

  “An hour ago,” he says, his lips moving up to my jaw.

  “And you didn’t come to say hi?”

  “Not when you’re dressed like this.”

  I sigh as his teeth graze my skin. “I’m always dressed like this.”

  “Yeah, which reminds me, can you start wearing pants please? It’s fucking winter.”

  “I have leggings. It works.”

  “In too many tortuous ways.” His lips still, and he lets out a long breath as his head drops near my shoulder. “Damn it, Em, you’re killing me.”

  “You think this is easy on me? This is the stupidest bet I’ve ever taken part in. Do you know how many times we could have had sex by now?”

  “I can’t even think about it or else my dick will cry.”

  No one likes a crying dick.

  “What’s going on over here?” Both Knox and I jump from the shrill voice of Mrs. Flower. We turn side by side and I swear my stomach hits the floor when I see the disapproving look on Mrs. Flower’s face.

  Of all people to spot us rubbing our bodies together.

  “I . . . I—” I’m so fucked.

  Oh God, I don’t think I could have committed a bigger offense in the library. Considering the rules, I think Mrs. Flower would rather see me in non-fiction with a panini press than making out with my boyfriend.

  I might cry.

  How did I let this happen? If I lose this internship . . . Fuck. Only last week I felt bad for a couple who Mrs. Flowers found making out. Her fury is something I swore I’d never cause. And here I am. Shit. Shit. Shit.