by Lexi Ryan
“What’s that? That he treats me like I’m five?”
He chuckles. “He’s not looking at you like you’re five.”
I try to ignore the flutter in my stomach. There’s definitely a tension between me and Chris that’s grown over the last two days, but despite Bailey and Mia’s suggestions at the bar, I assumed it was one-sided. The truth is that I just like Chris so much that I want Keegan and Bailey and everyone who thinks he’s into me to be right. I keep reminding myself that my feelings aren’t really about who Chris is now. All this slutty, fluttery butterfly business is really about a ninth-grade girl who still needs to prove she’s good enough for Chris Montgomery.
“How long are you in town?” Keegan asks. “Are you transferring to BHU?”
I shake my head. “Just for the summer.”
“Are you taking any classes?”
“Nope. I’d love to make some money, but I’m having trouble finding any job openings I’m qualified for.”
“I might be able to help with that.”
I arch a brow. “Are you hiring?”
He chuckles. “Nah, I have an uncle in town. He’s got a fellowship with the college for the summer, and one of his research assistants bailed after her first week with him. I might be able to hook you up if you’re into that kind of thing.”
“What’s his field?” I can research okay, but I don’t know how much use I’d be to a chemist or medical researcher.
“He’s a writer. Plays, mostly. His name’s Drew Gregory.”
My eyes go wide. “Your uncle is Drew Gregory? The playwright?”
“Playwright,” Keegan says. “That’s the word. I can never think of it. Seems redundant or something. But yeah. That’s him.”
One, I’m a little impressed that Keegan knows what the word redundant means. Two, I never would have guessed this brawny football player could be related to Drew Gregory.
“Are you interested?” he asks.
I can only gape at him. There’s no way Drew Gregory is going to want to work with me. Absolutely no way. I mean, I’m not even sure I’m ready for an opportunity like this. My hands are shaking just thinking about it. How would I be able to face him or form complete sentences?
“Forget I said anything,” Keegan says.
“No!” I bite my lip and force myself to take a deep breath. “I mean, don’t forget it. Remember it. I’m a big fan of your uncle. If you could convince him to even consider me, I’d owe you big time.”
“Big time like you’ll talk to me in public, or big time like you’d let me take you to dinner?”
I laugh. “Do you have to bribe most girls to talk to you in public?”
“Ah, but you’re not most girls,” he says, flashing that you know you love me grin.
“And what about Sebastian’s sister?”
The grin falls off his face. “What do you know about Olivia?”
I shrug. “More than I’m supposed to and less than I want to. Chris said she cheated on him with you, but now you’re asking me out?”
“He told you that?”
No, it’s what I learned from listening to him and Olivia talk last night, but Keegan doesn’t need to know that, so I don’t answer.
“First, I didn’t know they were involved. And second . . .” He drags a hand through his hair. “Not everything is what it seems.” This guy has had easygoing all over his features since he came over here, but it evaporated when I mentioned Olivia. Now, his shoulders are tense and his jaw is tight, making him look grim and irritated instead of happy and carefree. “There’s nothing between me and Olivia.”
“She really messed with your head, didn’t she?”
The corner of his mouth hitches up into a lopsided grin. “Yes, and I really need a pretty girl to take my mind off the heartbreak. What do you say?”
“I’m not sure dating one of Chris’s friends is a good idea.”
“Good thing Chris doesn’t really like me then, huh?”
I laugh. I can’t help myself. This guy’s fun.
“Well, I’ll tell my uncle about you either way, but I’m not as bad as they think, you know. I mean, I like girls and I like looking at them and being with them, but I’m good to the ones I’m with. I’d be good to you.” His lips curl into a tentative smile, then he turns away from me for the first time and stretches his long legs out in front of him as he looks toward the pool. His chair is just outside of my umbrella’s shade, and the sunlight highlights his muscular chest.
It’s okay that I’m not interested in Keegan. I’m not going to be here long, and I don’t need complications tying me to Blackhawk Valley when I go back to the city in the fall.
My eyes go to Chris. He’s standing on the other side of the pool talking to Arrow, but his gaze is on me. Thanks to my sunglasses, I’m guessing he doesn’t know I’ve caught him staring, and he doesn’t avert his eyes. His swim trunks are slung low on his hips, and my eyes move over him of their own volition—over his hard chest and across the hard planes of his abdomen and to that sexy V of muscle that dips below his waistband.
A slow smile curls my lips without my permission. I like the way he looks at me, and the way my skin heats as if I were in the sun and not in the shade. I don’t need complications, but it might be too late for that.
Chapter Nineteen
Chris
She can’t be real. Nothing that beautiful exists outside of Photoshop. Grace belongs in one of those calendars of fifties pinup models—the ones with the curves and the big eyes and soft thighs.
Beside me, Arrow chuckles under his breath.
Mia jabs him with an elbow to his ribs. “Stop it.”
“It’s funny,” Arrow says. “I’ve never seen him act like this.”
It’s all I can do to tear my eyes off Grace. Since she pulled off her sundress and sauntered across the pool deck, I haven’t looked away. She’s playing the role of Sexpot Minnie Mouse again, this time in a black two-piece with white polka dots and a red bow tying off the bottom of her long braid. The suit covers her body more modestly than any of the other girls here are covered, but somehow that only accentuates her curves. Her ivory skin is pale and perfect all the way to the tops of her thighs. I’m simultaneously grateful that the bikini is so modest and heartbroken that I don’t get to see more.
She climbs out of her chair and pulls the bow from her hair before jumping into the pool, shrieking when the cold water touches her skin. Bailey’s in the water and laughs before shoving a pool float Grace’s way. Grace shakes her head and says something about a sunburn.
“Do you need sunblock?” Mia asks. “We have some in the house.”
“That would be awesome,” Grace says. “I thought I brought mine, but it must have fallen out of my bag. The higher the SPF, the better.”
“Use the baby’s,” Mia says. “It’s the best and I stocked up on it, so there’s more than she’ll need. It’s in the bathroom.” She gives me a pointed look. “Chris, will you show her where that is?”
Grace climbs out of the pool, her hair wet, water streaming down her back and over the swell of her breasts.
I swallow hard and avert my eyes, only allowing myself to watch from my peripheral vision as she grabs her towel from her chair and rubs her limbs dry.
“Do you mind?” she asks, squinting at me as she wraps the towel under her arms.
“Not at all.”
She wrings out her hair, and I lead her through the back door.
The inside of the house is a quiet contrast to the chatter of everyone outside. It’s cool in here, hot out there. Private in here, too many eyes out there. It makes me want to take advantage of the privacy in the best way possible. When it comes to turning off my attraction to Grace, I might be a lost cause.
She follows me into the guest bathroom, and I feel her behind me as I open the cabinet and find the sunscreen. When I turn, she squeaks and hops back, and the backs of her knees bump the toilet.
“Here.” I hand the bottle to her, and her
fingers brush my hand as she takes it. Something thick clogs my throat. This is probably where I should walk back outside, but I can’t get my feet to move.
She shakes the bottle and squirts some out onto her hand as she props a foot onto the lid of the toilet. As she begins applying the lotion to her legs, I’m so entranced, I miss half her sentence before I realize she’s talking to me.
“Sorry, what?”
“Keegan said his uncle might be able to give me a job this summer. It’s probably a long shot, but would it bother you if I took him up on that?”
“Keegan has an uncle in town?”
“He’s a writer and needs a research assistant. Actually, he’s not just a writer. He’s one of my favorite writers.”
“Sounds like a great opportunity. Why would that bother me?”
“He’s your friend.”
I grunt. “Only in the loosest definition of the word. What does that have to do with you taking the job?”
She sighs. “Obviously, you two had some weirdness over Olivia, and I don’t want to contribute to any issues between you.”
I shift awkwardly. I can’t decide if I don’t like her knowing about Olivia or if I’m just uncomfortable with anyone knowing when I never told Sebastian. “Are you planning on doing bad work?”
She grins at me and rubs in the lotion on the top of her thigh, her long fingers sweeping along the edge of her bikini bottoms. “I do great work.”
It speaks to the serious oxygen deprivation happening in my brain right now that the first time I process her sentence, I think she’s making some sexual innuendo. I can hardly think around this girl under the best of circumstances, but watching her long fingers rub sunscreen into her soft skin, I’m surprised any organs north of my waistband are functioning at all.
She sighs and hands me the bottle. “Could you get my back?” Without waiting for my response, she turns around and lifts her wet hair off her neck.
Son of a bitch. My mouth goes dry, and my hands itch to do a hell of a lot more than apply sunblock. I swallow hard, squeeze some lotion onto my good hand, and do the job. Surely I can be more mature than a pubescent boy for the ninety seconds it’ll take to get this done.
“I burn easily, so put it on thick.”
I lick my lips and start at the back of her neck. She has an ivy tattoo at the base of her neck that dips down along her shoulder blade. It disappears into the top of her bikini and reappears again beneath her arm, where it trails down her side and into her bikini bottoms. I tell myself not to think about where it goes from there, but damn do I want to know.
I move as quickly and clinically as possible as I work in the lotion, but she lets out these little moans as I rub it into her skin. They’re barely audible, but somehow that makes them even sexier.
When I drag my thumb across the ivy on her right shoulder blade, she tilts her head to the side and bites her lip. Her eyes are closed, and I take advantage of the opportunity to study her face, her red lips, and inky black lashes.
“You have such great hands.”
I jump, as if caught doing something I shouldn’t be. And technically, I guess I was.
“Either that or I’m in desperate need of a massage.” She opens her eyes and smiles up at me, but it’s a dreamy, relaxed smile, the kind that makes me feel like I might just do anything to keep her looking at me like that for as long as possible.
I close my hand around her shoulder and dig my thumbs into the muscle. “You’re tense,” I say. I was so focused on my own physical response to her before that I didn’t even notice.
“Mm-hmm,” she says, and then her eyes float closed again and she moans full out. “Such great hands.”
“Football,” I explain, my voice a little rough. “You have to have strong hands to keep a hold of the ball when you’re being thrown to the ground and five different guys are trying to strip it away.” I move to her neck and dig at the knots there with my thumbs. I’m rewarded with a moan I’ll definitely dream about tonight and every night for all eternity.
“Huh. Maybe I should reconsider my stance on football players.”
Only one. I squirt more lotion onto my hand and use it to work on the muscles on either side of her spine. “Are you ever going to tell me what you have against the sport?”
“Oh, I love the sport. I just don’t care for the players.”
“That’s prejudice.”
She grunts. “No, it’s not. It’s wisdom.”
“Not liking someone because of the sport they play is prejudice by definition,” I say, more to keep my mind off my hands on her skin than because I care. Never mind all the horrible stories on the news; I’ve met enough asshole football players to understand why some people might hate us as a whole. But I don’t care about some people. I want to know why Grace has an issue with football players. I want to know a lot of things about her. “How’s that?” I ask, squeezing her neck a final time.
“Amazing. Thanks.” She points to the strip of skin exposed between the top and bottom of her suit. “Could you put some lotion there, too?”
She might as well ask me if I’d like a critical case of blue balls. “Sure.” My voice cracks, but she doesn’t seem to notice. I squeeze some more lotion into my hand and cover her skin with it, rubbing it over her spine while being careful not to get it on my bandage. If my hands linger too long at her sides or spend more time than necessary covering the vine of ivy, she doesn’t say. I slide my fingers beneath the high waistband before I realize my hand is lower than it needs to go. I pull away quickly. “There you go.”
She turns around, and those big green eyes lock on mine. We’re standing close, and for a second I think she might be feeling some of the same things I am. But then she says, “So I should apply for the internship, you think?”
I step back into the hall. “Yeah. Definitely.”
“Thank you, Christopher.” She shimmies past me, and I watch her push through the French doors and go outside to join the group.
When she’s gone, I head to the kitchen. I’m in no shape to join the others. I fully intend on standing in front of the open refrigerator until my brain or my balls freeze—whichever comes first.
Instead of finding the main living area of the house empty, I see the guys are gathered around the TV in the living room just off the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” I walk into the room and frown when I see the picture on the screen—a still shot of my father walking with his head tucked to his chest. The scroll at the bottom of the screen reads, Coach Colt Montgomery reported to have met with Blackhawk Hills University board today.
A hot, needy tightness coiled in my gut during my time in the bathroom with Grace, and now it goes cold and hard.
Arrow looks over his shoulder and meets my eyes. “We don’t know what it means.”
BHU has been completely tight-lipped about who they’re considering in their search for a new head coach, and that’s pretty much par for the course in filling a position like this one—maybe even more so after our previous coach’s high-profile exit from his position.
Keegan rubs his hands together, his eyes bright when he turns them on me. “Has he said anything to you?”
What a joke. My dad hasn’t talked to me since I turned eighteen and petitioned the court to change my name. In the end, Mom talked me out of it, arguing that I’d built a reputation for myself as Montgomery, but my father took the attempt for the insult it was intended to be and hasn’t forgiven me. But Keegan’s still waiting for an answer, and to give him some credit, at least he’s attempting to keep a lid on his glee at the possibility of playing for Coach Montgomery.
“He hasn’t mentioned it to me,” I say.
Mason rubs the back of his neck, his eyes glued to the screen. “They might have hired him as a consultant. Who better than Colt Montgomery to help them pick between some potential candidates?”
I sink into a chair. The guys are all standing and blocking my view of the screen, but I don’t want to loo
k at that asshole’s face anyway.
Arrow turns his back on the screen to face me. “Are you okay?”
I meet his eyes and can only pray he knows me well enough to understand how much this is going to fuck with my head. This year is arguably the most important of my career. Last year, we made it to a bowl game for the first time in BHU history, and everyone’s watching to see if I can take my team there again—this time without Arrow there to help me lead the charge. Added to that, it’s my last year at BHU, and my last year before entering the draft. It doesn’t matter how well I played in every season leading up to this. If I have a shitty season now—like, say I’m benched because my coach hates my guts—all the other shit was for nothing.
Mason turns his back to the screen, too. “Chris?”
Sebastian follows their lead, giving the TV his back and facing me. “We’re your boys first.” Maybe it means the most coming from him because I’m not as close to Sebastian as I am to Arrow and Mason, and since he sat out last year because of his transfer, he needs a great season this year more than I do. I want to believe his allegiance is symbolic of the team.
Keegan turns, too. “What can we do for you, man?”
I draw in a deep breath and exhale slowly. There’s no point in freaking out about something so completely out of my control. “I need a beer.”
Chapter Twenty
Grace
I make a little nest of blankets on the couch, open a bottle of cheap red wine, turn on The Very Best of Prince, and settle in for an exhilarating evening of filling out job applications for local fast-food restaurants. I’m hoping the job with Keegan’s uncle pans out, but I don’t want to put all my eggs in the Opportunity of a Lifetime basket, so I’m looking for other, less thrilling possibilities just in case.
Under the stack of apps is my journal, a place where I sketch out scenes and ideas for plays and short stories, and if I get through these applications, journaling time will be my reward.
The afternoon turned weird after my interlude with Chris in the bathroom. When Bailey offered to put lotion on my back and I told her I had Chris do it, she declared I was her soul mate, and then I swear she giggle-snorted for half an hour.
