by Shandi Boyes
I wait for her to finish yawning before asking, “Do you remember Professor McManus?”
“The communications professor for your sports journalist degree?” When I nod, she adds, “And the reason you’re adamant we sit on the opposite side of the projector any time he hosts a lecture?”
“Because his left nut pops out of his micro shorts every time he adjusts the reel… bingo!” Willow’s laugh echoes around the half-full lecture hall. It’s as adorable as her loved-up face. Even with her being dog-ass tired the past month, Elvis’s attention has been good for her. I’ve never seen her so happy. “I have no clue why, but supposedly Professor McManus is a huge fan of soccer.”
Willow’s mouth pops open. “So, you organized for him to meet Lorenzo, so he’ll be generous with his test scoring. You’re brilliant, Sky. I wish I had thought of that.”
A sigh ruffles my lips as my shoulders slump. “I wish you had, too. I didn’t even think of it until you mentioned it. What’s going on with me this week? I feel like a brain-dead idiot, even with my veins strumming with enough energy to light the country.”
My question is rhetorical, but Willow doesn’t realize that. “Because when your head is hazed with lust, your brain doesn’t work properly.”
I laugh, but I don’t attempt an objection. No women in their right mind would if they were served the orgasms I was given on the weekend. It’s been three days since I whispered Lorenzo’s name into the cool morning air while shuddering like an addict coming down from a high, yet I’m still reveling in the high. That might have more to do with his risqué texts than his bedroom skills, but I highly doubt it.
Who knew a man whose first language isn’t English could sext so well?
I relish the delicious memories my thoughts fabricated for a good thirty seconds before I recall I’m partway through a conversion with Willow.
After a stern warning for my brain to get with the program, I lock my eyes with Willow’s. “A majority of my grade this semester was supposed to be achieved during a Q&A session with a world-renowned sports star. Professor McManus failed to realize a man with nuts longer than his knees doesn’t have the pull required to gain access to a little league coach, much less a big-time baller.”
Willow looks a cross between wanting to aww and vomit. She goes for the former while saying, “So you asked Lorenzo? That’s so sweet.”
I grip her arm tight enough she’ll feel my claws for days. “Will you shut up and listen, lady? You’re ruining my mojo.” She pokes out her tongue before waving her hand across her body, gesturing for me to continue. “Jonah was a big-time sports agent before he became Lorenzo’s bitch, so I asked him to hook me up with some real football players.”
“Sky…” For the first time ever, Willow looks too stunned by my nastiness to reply.
It is almost as shocking as what I say next. “I’m joking. I asked Jonah to schedule Lorenzo to do the Q&A for my class as part payment for me being his tour guide. That’s what all the ogling eyes directed my way were about on our way to class. Supposedly, there’s a bunch of freaks at our college who would cream their pants to sit in the same room as Lorenzo Ricci, and I won’t tell you what I’ve been offered for the chance to be alone with him.”
Willow laughs at my dramatic eye-roll. I’m glad she’s entertained as I am being swallowed whole by jealousy, and only two-thirds of the requests came from women. I don’t get jealous.
Well, I didn’t until two days ago.
I stop plotting the death of almost my entire sports journalism class when Willow says, “I could ask E to tag along? After his last public event, Coach James benched him from press conferences, but if he knows it’s for a good cause, he might be lenient.”
“Really?” Who knew one word could sound so desperate?
Willow twists her lips. “There’s no harm in asking, right? If there were, you’d still be in triple digits for the last time you orgasmed, and I’d still believe anal sex can only occur with guys who have micro dicks for penises.”
My mouth falls open. “Willow Reid Underwood, you tramp!”
I’m dying for the dets, however, I need a few minutes to work out why no naughty images of Elvis popped into my head after Willow’s confession.
I still when reality dawns.
Someone say it isn’t so.
Lorenzo Ricci didn’t break my Presley he-needs-to-have-my-babies Carlton spell, did he?
If it’s true, it suffices to say I’m shocked. I’ve had my crush for years. I didn’t think anyone would break the spell, much less a short-ass with a deliriously handsome face.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Skylar
Two days after my near panic attack, Willow came through with her pledge. Lorenzo and Elvis dazzled my journalist class with both their wit and sexiness. Not even Professor McManus’s nut slip dampened the event that ran two hours over the allotted time slot.
Shockingly, the questions were evenly shared between Lorenzo and Elvis as was the interest. Lorenzo had a slight disadvantage since English isn’t his first language, but his sexy smirk and obvious love of his game made it less noticeable.
Even now, in a bar filled to the brim with football fanatics, Lorenzo’s admirers are as high as Elvis’s. Not that he’s noticed, his eyes have barely left mine.
I raise my drink to my lips to hide my jovial grin before murmuring, “Stop staring, Shortie J. Only creeps stare.”
He acts as if I haven’t called him a creep many times the past month of our ‘courtship.’ “I can’t help it. You’re too bello not to look at.”
His throat struggles to swallow his whiskey when I reply, “I don’t know what bello means, but you should keep saying it because it makes my lady bits tingle.”
My breathing shortens when the prickles on his chin graze the column of my neck. Our decision to join Willow and Elvis for a double date was so last minute, he didn’t have time to shave. “Your mouth is filthy, amore mio. Perhaps I should wash it out with my cock.”
I lower my eyes to my drink, praying it will stop him from seeing the excitement flaring in my eyes. I have to up my game tonight since it’s the first time we’ve ventured outside of a bedroom the past four weeks. “And risk another arrest? Don’t be ludicrous. We barely escaped our last escapade without a record. I’m not willing to face a judge for the second time in a month.”
I’m lying. I’d risk a firing squad if it guaranteed his lips would be on mine. We’ve had some crazy adventurous exchanges the past month, growing more blistering with each one we share. Although I’ve never been more devastated to have a thigh gap. Instead of showcasing the cool, calm, and collected woman I had planned to display, I’m representing a desperate loser who presses her thighs together every time she’s smirked at.
It’s not my fault. Lorenzo has the perfect I’m-going-to-ruin-you smirk. You know the sexy one guys give when you think they’re shy, but they aren’t—head slanted to the side, lips recently moistened, and the slightest incline of razor-sharp cheekbones that tell they’ll bring all sorts of trouble to your life, but you’ll only ever remember the good times. That’s Lorenzo smirk and the very reason I fought so hard to stay away from him. One smirk and I’m a goner, and he knows it. He uses it to his benefit at all times, day and night. He even managed to con a handful of daytime, mid-study fucks from me.
What can I say? My clit really likes the bumps on his tongue.
I had planned to stop being a hussy and play hard to get tonight, but for each hour I do that, I lose an hour of investigating how many smirks Lorenzo has. We’ve only been officially ‘dating’ for thirty-six days, yet I already know five of his distinct smirks. There’s the one he does just before he calls me ‘amore mio.’ The candid one he showcases when he’s enjoying his food. The shy one when he’s actually being shy. The cocky one that makes middle-aged women faint. And the one he’s giving me now. The I’m-going-to-ruin-you smirk.
It’s my favorite of them all.
My thoughts are sna
pped back to the present when I feel the heat of several pairs of eyes on me. I want to pretend it’s Willow’s loved-up glare reading mine and Lorenzo’s flirting in the wrong manner, but unfortunately, that isn’t the case. It’s the nympho freaks who gyrate their hips long before either Lorenzo or Elvis’s legs get within sniffing distance of their snatch.
“Someone please tell me I was never that desperate.”
Willow cringes as Elvis laughs. The only one jumping to my defense is Lorenzo. “There’s only one time you give me that look, amore mio.”
“When she wants to go poopie?”
Lorenzo continues talking as if Danny never interrupted him. He’s not getting off his smart-ass comment scot-free. Lorenzo is just aware he doesn’t need to be punished from him yelping about my stiletto becoming friendly with his shin.
“It’s when…” I don’t know what Lorenzo whispers in my ear in Italian, but I sure as hell hope he’s up for some public displays of affection as I’m about two seconds from humping his leg like desperado number one and two are doing from afar.
The energy crackling between us doubles when Lorenzo whispers, “Dance with me, amore mio?”
“Yes!”
After apologizing to everyone my squeal startled, I snatch my clutch off the tabletop, wiggle my fingers at Willow and Elvis, then ram Danny with my hip, demanding he vacate the booth so Lorenzo and I can leave. I’m so eager to head to Lorenzo’s sports car in the back lot, it almost takes Lorenzo yanking my arm out of its socket to guide me in the opposite direction I’m running.
“Where are we going?”
He gives me his shy smirk before murmuring, “To the dance floor. Where people are dancing.”
“You want to dance dance?” When he nods, bile scorches my throat. “I thought you meant between the sheets.”
Ladies and gentlemen, please let me introduce you to Lorenzo’s sexy smirk. It’s as delicious as the wings we scarfed down earlier. “Don’t worry, amore mio, we’ll do that, too… after we’ve danced.”
I pout like a spoiled brat. “Now I know why you needed a fake girlfriend,” I whine when we reach the middle of the packed dance floor. “For future reference, when your girl wants to fool around, give her what she wants. It will serve you well.”
“More than this?”
My spine snaps straight when Lorenzo claps his hands two times. When he starts marching around me in a way I can only imagine is a traditional Italian dance move, the crowd pulls back to form a circle. I should be laughing at his idea of nightclub dancing, but for some reason, all I can do is smile. His moves are as basic as they come, however, their simplicity makes it easy for others to join in.
They mimic his moves and claps while adding the occasional “Hey, hey, hey,” into the mix. Even Willow gets in on the act. Lorenzo and her dance in the middle of the clubgoers circling them while Elvis joins me at the side of the dance floor to watch them in awe.
“Will said he’s doing a traditional Sicilian dance. Tara-something.”
“Tarantella?”
Elvis peers down at me before jerking up his chin. “Have you heard of it before?”
I nod. “My grandmother was obsessed with all things Greek a few years back. She taught Brooklyn and me some moves, but I never paid much attention.”
I wish I had, then I could have joined the festivities.
Like he heard my private thoughts, Lorenzo appears out of nowhere, snatches my wrist, then drags me to join the group dancing in a circle. With Lorenzo on one side and Willow on the other, I copy their bounce, kick, and jump routine. Just like cheerleading, dancing will never be my forte, much less exotic dancing. Not that it matters. I’m having too much fun to consider how stupid I look.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Skylar
Several hours and many many burned calories later, I slump into the passenger seat of Lorenzo’s flashy ride. Our first outing as a ‘couple’ was a roaring success, but I’m so tired, I can barely keep my eyelids open. “Who knew the hokey pokey was so tiring?”
Lorenzo laughs at my parody of his home country’s traditional dance while pushing the start button on the dashboard. Once the engine roars to life, he secures his belt, then shifts his blissfully happy eyes to me. “Where to? Your dorm or a hotel?”
Even exhausted, I smile, loving how quickly he clued on that I’m not a fan of being forced out of my comfort zone. Most of our hookups have occurred in my dormitory or at one of the many hotels around the 69ers’ home stadium. I’m dying to see where Lorenzo hangs when we’re not together, but I’m also not willing to push our arrangement into that dark void just yet.
My smile sags when reality dawns. “The Magic Mile Slug-a-thon is on this weekend. All the hotels will be booked.”
“So, your dorm. Got it.”
I shake my head, my whine picking up. “That won’t work either. I can’t be within a five-mile radius of the Magic Mile event. It was part of my plea bargain three years ago.”
With his hands clutching his steering wheel for dear life, Lorenzo shifts his eyes from the exit of the dusty lot to me. “Your plea bargain?”
I nod, grimacing. “You know how you said my bail was substantially more than yours?”
Lorenzo jerks up his chin but remains quiet.
“Well… that’s because I have a criminal record.” When his knuckles go white from strangling the steering wheel, I push out, “Not for anything bad. It was just a misunderstanding.”
“What type of misunderstanding?” He’s lucky he didn’t air quote his last word, or my fist may have had a misunderstanding with his stomach.
I lick my dry lips before explaining myself. “Have you ever watched American Pie?”
“The movie… or an actual pie?” His confused face is super cute, and it has me regretting my decision to confess my sins.
“The movie.” When dark hair falls into Lorenzo’s eyes from the brisk shake of his head, I add, “You really should. There’s a whole series of them. They’re good. Funny, crude, and humorous…” He cuts off my blubbering with a stern glare. “Sorry. I have a habit of talking without breathing when I’m nervous.” I force down the breath stuck in my throat with a hearty swallow before ripping off the Band-Aid with one quick yank. “After watching The Naked Mile, some college friends and I had a brilliant idea on how we could fundraise money for books, but instead of us running naked, we charged men to jog the mile between the entrance of my university and the quad.”
“So, they ran naked to help you buy books?”
I drag my teeth over my bottom lip, suddenly fretful. “No… and they didn’t really run… otherwise, they wouldn’t have gotten their money’s worth.”
Lorenzo slants his head to the side as his lips quirk. “They wouldn’t have gotten their money’s worth? They being the male population of your school?”
“Yes…” I let him stew over the facts for a few seconds. When it does nothing but scrunch his brows more, I aim to settle his confusion. “They wore clothes, but the people they ran past were missing a few vital pieces.”
I didn’t realize you could hear a jaw tick until now. “People being you?”
“Not just me,” I defend, shocked by the anger in his tone. “Anyone who needed money for books. Participation was voluntary, and you received a cut of the takings. The more risqué you were, the bigger your cut because it guaranteed more registered runners. It was foolproof… until I found out it’s supposedly illegal.” I air quote my last two words like a loser, still frustrated I was laid off from an event that raises thousands of dollars every year.
“You accepted money for people to see you naked, Skylar. Of course, it’s illegal.”
“Hey!” I whack him in the stomach, unable to hold back. “They didn’t see me naked, I wore strategically placed 69ers’ decals, thank you very much. But even if they did, how is what we’re doing any different? You offered me money to see me naked.”
Lorenzo’s car whizzes out of the dusty lot at a speed too fast
to be safe while he grumbles, “I offered for you to be my tour guide.”
“Yet, tonight is the first time we’ve left a hotel room. Go figure.”
He grumbles a heap of unintelligible words under his breath while weaving his car in and out of traffic. If I were a person who gets scared by dominant, aggressive behavior, I’d be crapping my pants right now. Unfortunately, I’m too turned on by his arrogance to decipher how ridiculous it is for him to be angry. Our event wasn’t foolproof—clearly, I have a criminal record for crying out loud—but a lot of money was raised for a good cause, and I didn’t even need to get my nipples out.
How can he be angry about that?
My heart rate kicks up a notch when Lorenzo pulls his car into an underground lot of a flashy hotel twenty minutes later. “We can’t stay here. It says no vacancy, and my poor student-self can’t afford half the hotel bill.”
Yep, you heard me right. Anytime we stay in a hotel, much to Lorenzo’s disgrace, I foot half the bill. That way, I don’t feel like he’s paying me for my time. I’m not a prostitute, and I won’t have anyone make me feel like I am.
“Lorenzo…” I murmur again, shocked at his ignorance. I’ve learned a lot about his hot little head the past month, but ignorance never came into the equation. “We can’t stay here. It’s full.”
He smirks at the way I speak slowly at him as if he’s simple, but it doesn’t slacken the agitation in his voice when he growls, “I have a suite here. It’s where I reside when I’m not between your legs.”
I can’t help but smile when his eyes snap to me, compliments to me crossing my arms under my chest. However, happy he’s still obsessed with my boobs won’t stop me from saying, “Sleepovers at principal places of residence are jotted down on the no-go part of our agreement.”
His eyes lift from my breasts to my face. “We go to your dorm all the time.”
“Yeah, because it isn’t my home. It’s where I bunk while studying.”
