by Sara Ney
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Bats in the Belfry
WHAT THE FUCK, GREYSON? I don’t even know where to start. How does a fake boyfriend respond to an email like that? I can’t come pound some dude’s face in because he touched you just like I can’t beat your landlord’s ass for not showing up to kill a bat—and that infuriates me. I’m going to take a deep breath here and calm the fuck down for a second. – Calvin
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: There’s only room for ONE (fake) boyfriend in my life.
Cal,
I’m sorry I upset you. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. I mean, yes, Dylan kind of upset me, but he wasn’t doing it intentionally. Well… okay. That’s a lie because he was obviously hitting on me pretty hard and CLEARLY trying to badmouth you. Or the OTHER Cal. LOL. It makes me—I don’t know—happy that you care enough to get mad. Who knew that we would become FRIENDS? Life is crazy, isn’t it? Just in the middle of cooking dinner here, but I wanted to send you a quick note. What time is your match tomorrow? Grey.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Wasted man meat.
Grey. What did you end up making for dinner? I bet it was better than what we had—or didn’t have. We bought a few choice steak filets that Mason immediately burned the CRAP out of on the grill. Charred. Fifty bucks flushed down the shitter, and he kept blaming the charcoal. Our game tomorrow starts at 6pm, and it’s 80 minutes—two 40-minute halves, obviously. Have you ever been to one? This match is going to set the tone for our entire season. Aaron has his sights set on a professional team in Ireland after graduation and has a good chance at being signed. We’ve been friends since middle school, so his level of play is surreal, even for me. I love the kid like a brother and I’m really proud of him. I swear to God, Grey, if you ever repeat that… - Cal
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Sisterhoods and Bromances
Calvin,
Who would I even TELL about your love for Aaron? My sorority sisters? The Twitterverse? Anyway, I don’t get why guys never want to talk about their feelings for each other. It’s really stupid if you ask me. A slap on the ass among men during a sporting event hardly a brotherhood makes. Wait. Did that even make sense??? Whatever, I’m not deleting it. Haha. You probably won’t even see this because you’re getting ready to rugby. Grey
Cal: Oh, I saw it.
Grey: You’re there!!
Cal: Grey, it’s only noon. Lol. Where else would I be?
Cal: And for your information, rugby players do NOT slap each other on the ass. Ever. I’d get punched in the face if I ever swatted another dude in the ass.
Grey: Want to test that theory? Swat someone on the ass and see what happens…
Cal: No.
Grey: Boo, hiss.
Cal: So. Got anything going on tomorrow afternoon?
Grey: Maybe. I don’t have afternoon classes on Fridays, so the girls and I might take a short trip.
Cal: That sounds… terrible.
Grey: That’s ‘cause you’re a party pooper.
Grey: Incidentally, if you had a drink of choice after your game, what would it be?
Cal: Um…??? That’s really random.
Grey: Humor me.
Cal: Probably a green tea lemonade.
Grey: Ah, a Starbucks man.
Cal: GTG. Team meeting in twenty.
Grey: :)
Calvin
I’m pulling the slobbery mouth guard off my teeth when I see her.
I briskly shake my head side to side, beads of perspiration flying out of my damp hair, and squint up into the stands, convinced my eyes are playing tricks on me.
Under the stadium light, among the SMU and Notre Dame fans donning their navy and gold school colors, Grey stands, her long blonde hair whipping in the wind as she makes her way, one metal bleacher step at a time, down towards the rugby field.
I shake my head again. Holy fuck. What is she doing here?
My breath catches as I blink in her direction—not just from being winded from the hard-fought game we just won. No. I’m suddenly winded from an adrenaline rush of another kind: Lust. Anticipation. Uncertainty.
I stand frozen on the sidelines, surrounded by my teammates packing up their gear. Another bead of sweat rolls down my neck and drips onto my already soaked jersey.
“Hottie approaching at three o’clock,” the team’s athletic trainer, Paul, announces. “Wow. She’s… wow. “
“That’s no ordinary hottie, Paul,” Mason announces, slapping a hand down on my shoulder. “That’s Tighthead’s stalker. Steer clear.”
Paul stares, captivated, at Greyson’s encroaching figure. “Why would anyone want to steer clear of that?” Lucky for Paul, he just sounds fascinated, not perverted.
Aaron stuffs a towel and sweatshirt into his duffel before joining in the mocking. “Holy shit, man. It looks like your stalker really is a stalker! Were you full of shit when you said she wasn’t stalking you?”
“Are you guys being serious?” Paul, armed with this new information, tilts his head and appraises her. “She’s a stalker? No way.”
“Stop being an asshole, Mason. And stop fucking using that word,” I growl, shoving him out of my personal space. Grey’s throng of friends lingers behind her, obediently up in the bleachers as she approaches me, her bright white smile lighting her stunning face.
A low whistle of appreciation escapes Paul’s lips. “Damn, Tighthead, that girl is into you? No offense.”
Shit. Fuck.
“She is way out of your league, bro,” Mason charitably points out.
Don’t I know it.
She’s gorgeous, and I’m a mutt, and Mason’s reminder pisses me off.
“Would you all just effing go away,” I demand with another shove, and he laughs, giving Grey a little wave before hefting his equipment bag over his shoulder and retreating towards the university’s field house.
“Come on, guys. Let’s give Tighthead and his girlfriend here some pri-va-cy.” The way he says it has everyone, including our coach, snickering.
“Fuck off, all of you,” I sneer, embarrassed and irritated. Several of the guys are avidly checking out Greyson, and that’s pissing me off too.
“Tsk, tsk. That’s not a very nice way to talk to your friends,” Grey calls out to me, and I hear several of my teammates laughing in the distance as Grey steps onto the playing field in those same wedge sandals she wore the day we met, her dark jean capris hugging her long legs. And are my eyes deceiving me, or is she eyeing me up with unconcealed appreciation?
“I didn’t see you smacking anyone’s ass during the match,” she teases. “That’s a tad disappointing. I thought maybe you were lying when you said you never did that.” Her eyes roam to Mason, who keeps glancing back at us as he trudges to the building.
Greyson’s keen eyes notice. “What’d he do to piss you off?”
She’s thirty feet away.
I swallow the hard lump in my throat. “He was being an ass.”
Fifteen.
“Well, never mind him.”
Five feet.
She extends her hand, presenting me with a large green tea lemonade from Starbucks. “The ice melted because I couldn’t give it to you sooner. Sorry.” Perspiration slides off the plastic cup.
Shell shocked, I take it from her while she continues gushing.
“My gosh, Cal,” she breathes when she’s standing in front of me, her hands reaching up to hover over my hardened pecs like she’s about to run them up-and-down my broad chest.
I hold my breath, but she drops them back to her side.
But then…
“You are amazing! You look so incredible out there, Cal. I swear, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” Moving in closer, s
he actually goes up on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on my sweat-drenched cheek. As if she couldn’t stop herself.
I watch, transfixed, when Grey licks her lips instead of wiping the sweat on her mouth off with her hand. “Wow, you smell good. Like a man.”
Jesus H Christ.
“Um, hi?” I manage, fighting the urge to blurt out, What the hell are you doing here?
“Surprise!” Grey giggles, a delighted little twinkle that tinges the apples of her cheeks a pretty pink color. “I couldn’t stay away. The temptation to show up unexpectedly was impossible to resist.” She gives me a wink and shoves my bicep, her fingers sinking into my skin and lingering far too long to be accidental.
She prattles on. “Well, I mean I could have stayed away—but I didn’t want to.”
Down in my spandex rugby pants is the telltale twitching of an impending hard-on.
Fuck.
“Grey, uh…” I tip my head to our audience. My teammates are huddled on the far side of the field, avidly watching with interest, while her sorority sisters do the same from up in the bleachers.
She glances back over her shoulder and shrugs without a care. “My friends wanted to come down here, but of course I wouldn’t let them. You’re safe from the inquisition, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Grey runs a hand through her highlighted wavy hair and gives it a shake.
It settles on her shoulder like a silky cloud, shining under the stadium lights like a halo.
Mesmerized, I stare down into her large, laughing hazel eyes, darkened with black eyeliner and coated with a heavy layer of mascara. She’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, but it’s tight, and my eyes are drawn to the smooth bronze skin in the deep V neck.
Her brown eyebrows are raised at me expectantly.
Oh shit. She wants me to say something.
“Hmm.” Her hands settle on her narrow hips. “You were much chattier when you came to my house. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just—you want the truth?”
“No, I want you to lie.” Grey rolls those brilliant eyes with a smile. “Yes, of course I want the truth.”
“I’m shocked to see you. It’s one thing for me to ambush you, but another for you to ambush me.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, we can’t stay long. I have to get that crew of misfit toys behind me back to campus. A few of them are running a 5k tomorrow, and they want to stuff themselves with pasta.” She rolls her eyes again. “They think they’re pro athletes now and want to carb load. By the way, this is one of those 5ks where you wear a fluffy tutu and get pelted with color bombs, so…”
Again with the raised eyebrow.
I can’t stand it. “I know I’m being fucking awkward, okay? Just say it.”
“You’re a little awkward.” She crosses her arms and taps her foot. “But I find you very charming.”
“Stop looking at me like that,” I mumble.
“How am I looking at you? I’m not doing anything.” Greyson laughs. “I’m standing here talking.”
She playfully gives my tricep another tap, the contact from her feather-light touch giving me goosebumps and a goddamn boner.
The tightening in my shorts has my jaw clenching and my nostrils flare. “Stop flirting.”
“Why?”
Fuck it. “Because it’s making me hard.”
Instead of being offended by the lewd comment, Greys hazel eyes leisurely skim down my body to my spandex shorts, alive with interest. The air between us crackles and sizzles.
“Spoilsport,” she whispers, the disappointment in her voice palpable.
At that moment, I’m certain of one thing: this girl is going to be the death of me.
She tips her chin thoughtfully at me when I frown. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave. Tell Mason and Aaron your stalker says hi.”
“You heard that?”
“Um, yeah—they were practically shouting.”
“Sorry.”
“Do I look like I care?” She flips her hair and shoots a flirty smile over to my group of teammates, wiggling her fingers in their direction. They stare back at the pretty girl, transfixed, before several meaty arms enthusiastically wave back. “Could they be any more obvious?” Greyson’s laugh fills the night air. “They’re nosier than a group of sorority girls. Look at them pretending to be busy instead of heading into the building.”
“They’re just staring because you’re kind of nice looking.” I sound disgruntled.
“Nice looking?” Grey laughs again and reaches up to touch my jaw, running a thumb along my busted up lip. “Aww, see? You can be sweet.”
“Yeah, whatever.” A smile curls my lips.
“Alright, well. I’m going to go now.” She lets out a little puff of air and closes the space between us. “Can you do me a small favor, since my friends are watching?”
“That depends.” I cross my arms, one hand fisting the Starbucks, noting with satisfaction that my biceps are bulging nicely. “What is it?”
Grey notices too.
“See, remember how I told you no one knows I made you up? Well, it wouldn’t seem natural for me to just walk away right now. You know, without…” Her sentence trails off, and she stares me down.
I’m not following. “Without what?”
“A good-bye kiss, you idiot.”
It takes me a few to realize she’s being serious. She actually wants me to kiss her. This gorgeous, smart, funny girl wants me to kiss her.
“You’re asking me to kiss you.” It’s a statement, not a question. “I have stitches in my lip.”
“Do the stitches bother you? It doesn’t have to be real—just one for show. If you can stand to put your lips near me.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. I think I can manage.”
Her eyes shine. “Put the cup down.”
The air crackles around us like unharnessed electricity. Bending slowly, I do as I’m told, setting the green tea lemonade on the playing field.
“Well? Get closer, you shameless hussy. Unless you’re afraid to get dirty.”
“I’m not afraid to get dirty if you’re not.”
“Would you stop saying shit like that? Jesus.” I grasp her arm, tugging her into my damp, mud-stained rugby jersey, trailing my calloused hands up her smooth arms. Grey sighs and leans into me, returning the favor. The tips of her fingers start at my wrists, tracing their way up the sensitive skin of my underarms. She flattens her palms and closes them around the corded muscles of my flexed biceps.
Her breasts press against my sweat-soaked chest.
My cock gets harder, and any intentions of a chaste good-bye kiss go up in smoke as my hormones rage inside me like a wildfire.
I gently cup her neck in my large palms, kneading the nape and cradling her jaw when her head lists to one side with a moan.
My fingers find themselves threaded through her thick, silk-spun hair.
Bodies drawn together as if by necessity, our hot lips press together, softly at first. Tentatively. I hesitate a few seconds, inhaling to harness my raging testosterone levels, and begin pulling away.
“Wait.” Grey’s delicate hands gently glide up my biceps to my shoulders, her index finger tracing my square jawline, then the lobe of an ear. “Don’t back away yet. Please.”
Without thinking, I grab her wrist and roll my head, bringing her palm to my mouth and planting a wet kiss there. I kiss the tips of her fingers and her palm, running my nose along the velvety skin of her wrist and inhaling the musky smell of her perfume.
Her lips part as she watches me, her pupils dilated.
“God, Grey.”
Our foreheads touch. The tips of our noses follow.
A few millimeters closer and our lips part. Mouths touch. Tongues meet.
“Kiss me, Cal,” Grey begs against my mouth, her voice a whisper in the breeze. “Kiss me.”
Fuck it. I’m going all in.
I snake my arms around her waist and haul her in
, so flush with her body that I’m cradled in between her legs. I groan. She moans, and her hands travel south, down over my firm ass, squeezing it through my thin shorts.
Holy shit, yes.
I lose half my brain cells in that moment—then the rest—when she sucks my tongue farther into her mouth, like she’s actually enjoying herself. Her tongue darts out, licking along the deep cut on my lip.
I give her a few more kisses before I tighten my grip on her arms and, regretfully, give her a small push to create some space between us.
“Shit, Grey, we have to stop.” My breathing is labored, but so is hers. “Jesus. This is nuts.”
“I don’t want to,” she pouts against my lips.
“I don’t either, but my dick is hard as a rock and I’m wearing fucking spandex. People are watching.”
As if on cue, my teammates begin cat-calling from the field house. Assholes.
She huffs; it’s adorable. “Okay, fine. But only because I don’t want to be called any more nasty names ‘cause I can’t keep my hands to myself.”
