by Germaine, KF
“Sydney,” I whispered, enjoying the warmth of her skin, “how soon can you transfer?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My body was on fire, and my head was still pounding, when Peters dropped me off at my dorm.
He woke me in the early morning while everyone was still asleep. On our way to my dorm, he pulled through a drive-up coffee place. Peters ordered me a coffee, and when I questioned why he didn’t order one, he said he didn’t drink coffee. I told him to stop being nice to me, and he said he’d never stop, which made me even more flustered and nervous.
Twice, he put his hand on my knee.
The first time, I swatted it off, and he laughed. The second time, I let him leave it there. I felt ridiculous in his T-shirt, and I’d borrowed a pair of his boxers. When his hand inched closer to the boxers’ trap door, I crossed my legs, blocking his access. He peered over at me with an exaggerated frown, but it soon erupted into his signature Gray Peters charming smile.
During the car ride, I glanced at my phone several times, expecting a news flash to come across the screen. And I peeked up to the sky a handful of times, expecting to see the Goodyear blimp overhead with a lit-up sign: Sunday Lane is Sydney Porter… Murder… Death… Kill.
Realistically, it was still too early for my dream wrecker to learn Jack didn’t in fact sleep with one of the Shrieking T’s, but it was just a matter of time. The saddest part, though? I was beginning to dread Peters finding out more than the rest of the student body. For all our faults, I had fun with him, and the way he looked at me was fast melting my ice-bitch heart.
All week, I waited for my impending doom.
Nothing. Nada. Zip.
The only thing out of the ordinary was Allison’s absence. At first, I thought she was staying with Jack, but when my texts bounced back, I knew something was up.
Peters started texting on a regular basis. He’d make an excellent telemarketer, always popping up at the most inconvenient time. I tried to avoid him. Let’s face it, at this point, I would eventually be exposed, and he’d hate me along with fifty percent of the campus. But despite my best efforts, I was thawing under his attention so much Sunday Lane stopped talking about him altogether.
In true awkward trying-to-rekindle-something-I-wasn’t-sure-was-lit-in-the-first-place fashion, his texts were slow and innocent.
Saturday…
Microdick: At our away game. Thought I’d check in to see if you still hate me.
Syd: It doesn’t help that you’re texting me at three in the morning.
Sunday…
Microdick: Just studying. Wondering if you know how to find the sine of a right triangle?
Syd: That’s easy. To find the sine of a right triangle, you GO TO MATH CLASS, MEATHEAD.
I had to sigh, but two seconds later, I sent him a record-breaking second text.
Syd: Good night, Peters.
Microdick: It’d be a better night if I had someone to cuddle with.
Syd: I just sent Fernando a text. He’ll be by in a minute.
Reply was a sad face emoji.
Monday…
Microdick: Thought I’d change your name on my phone? What do you suggest?
Syd: How about YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE
Peters: No. I was thinking something more endearing… like antichrist. Promise you’ll change mine?
Syd: That has a nice ring to it… No way, Jose.
But I did.
Peters: Do you ever eat?
Syd: Yes, most people eat, Peters.
Peters: Would you consider eating a meal with me?
I held the phone in my hand, rereading the sentence until the message hit my brain. A date?
Syd: I don’t know. Give me 24 hours
On Tuesday, I was beginning an extra set at the SpaceRoom when Nick set a drink down on the stage. He looked especially good tonight. He was wearing a fitted white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his tatted arms, and black-rimmed glasses, which made him look like a bookish, hot nuclear physicist. Needless to say, it was distracting.
“Greyhound,” he said softly. “I fresh-squeezed the grapefruit. Didn’t get a chance to get you a proper birthday drink the other night.” With a small frown, he turned away and started a slow, steady death row walk back toward the bar. You know the one, shoulders drooped and shuffling his feet like he had five pounds of chain attached.
“Nick,” I yelled, and he whipped around, throwing his hands in his jean pockets. When he gave me those puppy eyes and rocked back and forth on his heels, I nearly melted. “I’m sorry about the other night… Peters was just being a turd… Maybe we could do it again sometime?” I gave him a small, hopeful smile.
He slowly nodded, eyes searing my body until I pulled at my top to release the building steam. “Yeah. Get your shit together, Sydney.”
His words caught me off guard, but he gave me a quick smile. “Hurry up and figure out Peters is an asshole. You know where I’ll be.” He flipped back around just as a patron approached the bar.
Conflicted.
I was conflicted.
The possibility of being with Nick terrified me. He was always an untouchable fantasy. Something to strive for when I was in my late twenties and hot, because I’d be more sexually experienced and confident. Never in a million years would I have predicted his interest now.
Then there was Peters.
Peters, who was beginning to grow on me like some sexy quarterback mold over my rye bread exterior. Not the best analogy, but he made me feel soft and fuzzy all over.
The night I spent in his room, he’d made me feel safe and respected. Not something I was expecting at all. His arms around me felt like home, but a home that would eventually burn to the ground once Sunday Lane’s true identity was out.
Nick, on the other hand, had never been a topic of my airwave diatribes. I’d put him in a special place, for my view only, but the more I opened my eyes, the less I seemed to care.
Two years earlier…
Gray and I spent the last three hours talking about everything.
We talked about what we loved, but not who we were. It was refreshing to not be asked a million questions about my home life or my dreams. We both thought we were keeping our conversation simple, but it was so much more than that. There’s a level trust you agree to when you admit the things you love. What you love is telling of who you are and what you value.
Gray loved old people because they smelled like mint and had the best stories. He loved football, but he wasn’t in love with football. When I told him I didn’t understand the difference, he smiled and picked at his pillowcase cover. “I guess I love football because it got me here,” he’d said, “but there’s other things in life I love more.”
When I asked him what, his answer was tuna fish sandwiches. Tuna in water, not oil. When I told him tuna was gross, he said he was starving for one and headed back to my nether regions. So I slapped him lightly in the face, which led to another round of mind-blowing s-e-x. Like up against the headboard, I’ll probably need a chiropractor, and I know I’ll need an icepack later sex.
“Green,” I answered, pulling a short stack of Pringles from its can. I dropped one on my chest, and Peters snatched it up with his teeth, sucking it in like a vacuum.
“Green like spring grass or green like emeralds?” he asked, kissing some of the chip dusting off my chest.
“Green like money—that’s why I sleep with NFL hopefuls, duh,” I teased, brushing the rest off with my hand.
Peters narrowed his amber eyes and growled as he flipped back on his pillow.
“What’s your favorite color, then?” I flipped over to face him, sinking my head deep into his pillow.
“Well, it was blue, but now it’s brown.”
“Brown?”
“Yes, brown like your eyes, Sydney Fu.”
I laughed, but it came out choppy and nervous.
Then he grazed the side of my face with his fingertips and paused at the cor
ner of my eye. “I’m serious. You’re dangerous. Your coffee-colored eyes make me forget the world exists.”
Feeling a landslide of rocks roll into my throat, I shifted until his arm dropped. “You don’t have to put on the charm for me. We’ve already done the deed, so the flirting can stop.”
“I’m not flirting,” he said softly. “I mean it, Sydney. You’re fun to be around. Most girls know who I am before they even approach me. I can tell you don’t give a shit, and that—”
“I like your pictures,” I said, pointing across his room at a collection of artwork on his wall.
I didn’t want to admit I knew who he was. He thought I was different. It was never my intention to sleep with Northern’s famous QB, but he was sexy and nice. He didn’t try to snag me with bragging. His pickup line was about yogurt, for Christ’s sake.
“Thanks.” He flipped on his side to look at the wall. “Kind of a side hobby of mine.”
“You drew those?” I didn’t mean it to come out so shocked, but I was. They were striking abstract pieces. I couldn’t help but smile. They were simple yet complicated… kind of my life motto.
“Yes.” He gave me a sidelong glance, reveling in my reaction. “Believe it or not, dumb jocks have interests outside of banging chicks and collecting team stats.” He lay back on his pillow and took my hand in his. Playing with my fingers, he said, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“I think I’ve got you all figured out, Gray Peters, brooding NFL hopeful.”
“You do, huh?” Turning on his side, Peters ran his hand down my hip. A fresh line of goose bumps followed his path. “And what do you love most in this world?”
“Music,” I answered without a second thought. “I love music. I love the way it makes me feel. I love watching people enjoy it with their bodies. Singing to themselves in the car. Its language is universal and bonding and beautiful… ” I stopped when I realized how sappy I sounded.
“Keep going,” he whispered, watching me with those intense honeyed eyes.
“Well, even if it’s a stupid and pointless thing to strive for, that’s what I want to do for the rest of my life. People should always do what makes them happiest. Or at least try to.”
Peters took a long look at his art-covered wall. “I agree.”
“And what do you love most in the world, Peters?”
Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his tousled hair. “Talking to you,” he said with a cocked grin, and I lightly punched him in the arm. “I need water. How ‘bout you?” Glancing at his desk clock, he let out a long sigh. “Shit, we’ve been up talking all night. I’ve got practice in three hours.”
Here it comes. I waited for him to kick me out, sure this was his way of escaping without looking like a total jerk.
Instead, Peters twisted his back in one long stretch and turned to face me. “But it’s been worth every second.” Rising from the bed, he threw on a pair of boxers and running shoes. “Don’t move a muscle, gorgeous.” He leaned down, giving me one last kiss. “Because we’re not done with this conversation.
Chapter Thirty
Okay, it was clear I’d scared Sydney.
It was Wednesday and she still hadn’t texted back.
Maybe I was too eager. Did I move too fast?
I slumped back on my cracked wooden stool in the stadium locker room, a towel wrapped around my waist. Like a lovesick girl, I’d been checking my phone every thirty seconds, expecting a text. Crap, Sydney was all I could think about. Her pouty lips, her curves, her quick wit that skyrocketed my pulse with every quip.
I was such a fool.
“What are you doing?” Chance sank on his stool and pulled a T-shirt over his head. “Still waiting on Porter to return your texts?” He smirked and started to throw on a sweatshirt.
I smacked him in the stomach as it covered his head, and he hunched over on impact.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the row of metal lockers. “Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“Oh, I think she does.” Chance jerked his head down the wide carpeted locker room hall. The oak double doors were pulled open, and Sydney’s head popped inside. She looked from left to right before spotting me down at the end of the room.
“Get the fuck out!” someone screamed, and then a shoe hit the door. She slammed it closed, and I hopped off the bench, still wrapped in my towel, and ran after her.
She was halfway down the long concrete hall separating the lower levels of the stadium stands when I yelled out for her.
“Sydney?”
Stopping in her tracks, she cautiously turned around. She was wearing a knee-length skirt, her Converse, and a fitted T-shirt. Her long brown hair was pulled up in a messy bun, showing off her lightly faded tattoo, and her messenger bag was slung over her shoulder.
She looked past me toward the open field illuminated by the stadium lights. “I was looking for Jack,” she said quietly, twisting the tip of her toe in a circle. Her timid voice had me spiraling. All I wanted to do was find an empty closet and have my way with her. “I haven’t seen Allison all week, so I thought he might know what was going on.”
The concrete froze my bare toes as I padded toward her. “So you planned on ambushing your brother in the shower with forty other guys?”
Nodding, she fixed her eyes thoughtfully on my chest, drinking me in. “I figured he couldn’t run away from me in there. Plus, I’ve seen it all.”
I could feel her heated stare wash over me, and I hardened under my towel. Pulling it tighter around me, I hoped she didn’t notice. When her lips rose slightly, I knew I’d been caught.
“I thought maybe I could knock, but when no one answered, I just took a quick peek.” Her eyes hit my towel and settled at the loose knot in the fabric with intense interest.
“Did you like what you saw, Porter?” Deciding to mess with her, I suggestively fingered the knot.
Sydney wasn’t the type to blush, but the stroke of my thumb over the cotton fiber turned her normally olive cheeks to crimson. As I took a step forward, she backed up against the wall, her shade deepening with each move.
When I was foot away, I laid my palms on either side of her head, and her eyes roamed up my chest, finally landing on my face.
“You’ve seen one and you’ve seen them all, right?” she said in a flat whisper, turning her face against the wall. Probably to cool off those cheeks.
Boldly, I moved her chin to center on my face. “I don’t think that’s true, Sydney,” I teased, pressing my chest against her. The moisture from my shower wet her T-shirt, and she drew in a slow, controlled breath. “You gonna let me take you out to dinner?”
Rubbing my thumb across her jawline, I tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. When she tried to move away, I gently grabbed her by the waist.
A group of guys bailed out of the locker room, glanced our way, and headed down the opposite hall, laughing. I didn’t care. It was just Sydney and me. I had her. Her chest heaved. She was chewing on that lower lip, making it raw. I had her.
She lifted her tiny hands to my chest and pulled down across my muscles, feeling every ridge. Her palms felt like licking flames, gliding down my icy skin, and I wanted that touch everywhere. When they hit my towel, she surprised me by rolling over my front.
“Sydn—”
She gently cupped me, and any words I was about to form were a jumbled mess.
I moaned and lowered my head to her shoulder, lightly pecking the inside of her neck. “What are you doing?”
Tucked away in the shadows of the hall, Sydney and I were seconds away from indecent exposure. I felt her pulse quicken and throb as I brushed my lips just below her chin, and I was throbbing right along with her.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Peters,” she whispered, shifting her hips flat against the wall. When her hands caressed the skin along my waist, I leaned in, kissing her earlobe.
&nbs
p; Soon, we were both releasing desperate pants, on the brink of being discovered outside the locker room, but I’d take Sydney wherever I could get her. Even if it were during halftime on the football field, with thousands of fans screaming for me to score. This thought made me laugh, and even though she didn’t know why, she responded with a grin next to my chin.
Chance and Fernando barreled out the door and their mouths dropped open when they saw me intimately pressed against Sydney. She saw them out of the corner of her eye and smiled. I’d expected her to cut and run, but she didn’t give a damn, and it only made me harder.
“Get out of here,” I barked, and they hurried down the hallway, whistling and whooping.
I felt a cool rush of air hit my ass and looked down to find my towel on the floor. Sydney had pulled it off while I was yelling, but instead of covering myself, I stood back and let her look.
“Damn,” she mumbled, skimming a hand over my hip. “Okay, pick me up at my dorm in an hour.”
As she bent to grab the towel from the floor, her face grazed past my groin. The soft stray hairs from her bun swept over my skin, and I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, holding down a groan. “Jesus Christ, Sydney. Don’t you think we’re past dinner at this point?”
She shook her head, brushing wisps of hair against my shaft before she stood up. Then she slung the towel over her shoulder and started a lazy walk down the hallway. “I’m going to milk you for every cent, rich kid,” she yelled as she pushed through the stadium doors.
Still releasing heavy pants, the urgent need for Sydney stewed in my veins. I leaned against the wall where she’d just been standing and pressed myself against the cool cement.
I had to get my shit together before entering the locker room. I’d wanted her for so long, and I was literally inches away. I wasn’t sure how much more of her teasing I could handle.
