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by May, McKinley

"Dude, I was actually being serious," Weston says before poking my side mischievously. "But I'll show her that, too."

  The defeated trio get to pick-up duties as Weston and I head to the house he and Liam share. We spent all of Spring Break at my place, so I'm eager to see his home.

  After he gives me a tour of the quaint living space, he leads me inside his room.

  "Totally your style, right?" he quips as he kicks a soccer ball against the wall. "What would you call this? College-dude chic? Student-athlete glam?"

  "Either would work. This place definitely screams collegiate male." I grin as I take in the room.

  It's fairly plain, housing some mismatched furniture and minimal decoration. And I see he's fallen victim to the "empty beer bottles on display" trend like every other guy on this campus. (We get it, college dudes—you pound back brewskis like it's your major). But the room is clean, and there's an attempt at a color scheme, feeble as it may be, so I'm impressed.

  "I like it. It's cozy."

  "You want cozy?" Weston jerks a thumb towards his large bed. "Try it out. Go on. Get your ass up there."

  Right before I leap into the heap of pillows, I stop myself.

  "Wait." I turn, leveling him with an accusatory stare. "I know what you're doing."

  "What?"

  "You're just trying to get me into bed with you."

  "Is it working?" His teeth scrape against his full bottom lip and he winks.

  I shake my head defiantly.

  He steps forward, forcing me to back up until my hamstrings hit the mattress.

  Molten eyes pierce mine as he smirks. "I think it is."

  His large hands wrap around my middle and he lifts me from the floor with no effort whatsoever. After tossing me on the mattress, he crawls on top with a devilish grin. I squeal as I try to dodge the onslaught of kisses he's ambushing me with.

  "Weston!" I grab his shoulders, tugging him down next to me. We're a tangle of limbs and laughter, playfully wrestling between his sheets like the lovestruck lunatics we are.

  When we finally come down from the high, he snuggles us into a spooning position.

  "God, you smell so damn good," he groans, his nose buried in my freshly-washed hair.

  "So do you," I mumble as I breathe in deeply. I feel heady from his masculine scent, but another familiar smell suddenly catches my attention. Instantly, I prop myself up on my elbows, eyes bouncing around his room until they land on a flickering flame.

  My jaw goes slack, and he frowns in response.

  "What?"

  "You got a French Toast candle?"

  "Yep." He shrugs like it's no big deal. "I found it at the grocery store. Apparently, French Toast isn't 'in season' right now, so it was on clearance. How the fuck can a breakfast food have a season? It's not a freakin' plant, is it? Does the French Toast bush only bloom in the summer or something?"

  I breathe in the essence of cinnamon sweetness. "Well? What's the verdict? Do you like it?"

  "Eh." He pops a shoulder. "Not really. Vanilla's better."

  With a carefree laugh, I rest my head on his broad chest. His heart beat vibrates against my cheekbone as I languidly trace the letters on his shirt.

  "Then why are you lighting it?"

  He tucks a loose lock of hair behind my ear. The touch is gentle, a soft caress that has butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

  "Because you like it," he states simply. "And I like you."

  27

  The next morning, Weston's five minutes late to lab.

  On a normal day, I'd give him a teasing reprimand, but I'm willing to take some of the blame for this one. I was in his bed until 2 a.m., and I barely made it on time myself.

  He strides down the aisle, a heated glint in his expression as he approaches our table.

  "We have a sub?" he questions.

  I nod.

  "And we're working on that scientific journal paper, right? No experiment?"

  "Right. Somebody read their syllabus. Never been prouder of you, babe," I say sarcastically. For some reason, he's too distracted to return the snark.

  "So that means we can do whatever we want today?"

  "I guess so. The dude's already half-asleep, so I doubt he'll be watching us closely."

  "Good." Weston drops his backpack to the floor with a clunk. His eyes are dark, blazing a hole through me as he speaks. "Switch spots with me."

  "What? Why?"

  "Because I'm left-handed."

  "I know. That would be why you're on my left."

  "Lexie. Switch with me." His husky command leaves no room for further protest.

  I grumble slightly as I stand up and plant my butt on the stool usually reserved for his.

  "What's up?" I ask with a frown. "Is there a specific reason you want to bump elbows the entire cla—Oh. Oh."

  His dominant hand grips my upper thigh, and I'm suddenly very aware of what he wants.

  Feral gaze. Tense jaw. Nostrils flaring.

  Not sure how I missed all the telltale signs of his...affliction.

  He's horny as fuck.

  This boy is insatiable. It's no exaggeration when I say he wants it All. The. Freaking. Time.

  Good thing is, so do I.

  Just a simple graze of his fingers has my core flooding with need.

  He dips his hand under the elastic band of my leggings, rubbing against my underwear with slow, deliberate movements. My thighs clench together as he works my body, eyelids fluttering closed as I get swept away in his mesmerizing touch.

  A loud cough that doesn't come from either of us has my eyes flying right back open, and I suddenly remember a very important fact—we're in the middle of freaking class.

  "Here?" I whisper frantically.

  "Why the fuck not?"

  "What if somebody sees us?"

  I see a hint of a smirk as he lifts a shoulder. "Let 'em watch."

  An objection's on the tip of my tongue, but it evolves into a short gasp as he starts rubbing small circles over my clit.

  Damn, he's good.

  "If someone looks back, it's not like they can see what's happening." He kicks the front partition of the desk, a barrier that blocks everything underneath. "And I doubt anyone's gonna turn our way. They're all too focused on their own shit."

  I survey the classroom. Everyone's busy chattering with their partners, not one watchful stare aimed in our direction. The substitute's got a magazine hanging limply from one hand, his head drooping on his shoulder as he snores.

  And we're in the very back of the room, all isolated and alone. We could grow, sell, and smoke weed back here and no one would catch on.

  My brain goes to mush as Weston pushes the cotton fabric aside, his hand now flush with my bare flesh.

  "Oh shit." He curses under his breath. "You're soaked."

  That's an understatement.

  He plunges a finger inside of me—holyhell—and another one joins shortly after.

  My hips start to move involuntarily, matching his rhythm. When he grinds the heel of his palm into my clit, I emit the quietest moan I can manage.

  Above the desk, we're a picture of innocence. I'm literally drawing scribbles on a sheet of paper to ward off suspicion. Weston's "reading" his lab notebook, pretending to be absorbed in the material.

  But below?

  He fucks me with his fingers, faster and deeper as my imminent release steadily builds. When he finds that sweet spot inside of me, my thighs start to tremble. Black dots fill my vision as I reach the precipice of no return.

  Weston senses me losing control and I hear his breathing become more battered.

  "Lexie," he mumbles, his voice a throaty growl. "Come for me."

  And I do.

  Just like that.

  Warmth and bliss explode within me, pulsating through my bloodstream as I fall apart. I bite down on my cheek super freaking hard to silence the noises of pleasure that are threatening to escape.

  It takes a good minute or two for me to come back down
to Earth. I blink a few times, inspecting the room to see if anyone's the wiser, but nope.

  I legit just orgasmed in Biology Lab and not a soul noticed.

  "Wow," I mutter contently. "Just...wow."

  A 'thank you' doesn't seem sufficient for the things Weston does to me.

  I twist my head to look at him. My eyes are still star-crossed, but it's not particularly difficult to make out the thick erection tenting his sweats.

  I gape at it hungrily, unable to tear myself away.

  I did this to him.

  That's all for me.

  "My eyes are up here." Weston grins as he takes note of my unyielding stare. He leans back against the wall, interlacing his fingers behind his head in a cocky fashion.

  His pupils bounce from his massive boner to my face expectantly. He spreads his legs, arching one brow in a way that says "You gonna take care of this or what?"

  Uh, hell yeah I am.

  Two seconds flat and my hand's wrapped around his thick shaft, pumping up and down slowly. I avoid the head on purpose, wanting to see him squirm and beg a little. It doesn't take long until he starts to get riled up, a pained sound emitting from his throat a minute later.

  "You're a fucking tease," he groans. His features are taut with desperation as his hips jut forward. "Shit."

  After I prolong his torture a few moments longer, I finally give in, tugging my hand all the way up his impressive length.

  My fingers drag across the sensitive spot just under the tip, eliciting a small hiss of approval from his lips. I alternate my pace and technique until I get the physical confirmation I'm searching for.

  "Right there." A guttural sound rumbles in his chest. He leans forward, one of his hands gripping the edge of the desk, the other squeezing a pen for relief. "Just like that, baby."

  I do exactly that—a fast, frenzied motion that has him gritting his teeth with pleasure.

  I keep my eyes on his face, basking in the vulnerable state I've got him in. I freaking love seeing him turned on to the point of no control, that raw desire clouding his gaze, emanating off every inch of his body...

  It's hot as hell.

  Suddenly, the pen in his grasp snaps in half.

  "Fuck," he chokes out, lust swimming in his glassy eyes. "I'm gonna come all over your hand."

  I'm not sure what takes over me, be it natural instinct or that fact that I'm just so damn aroused, but I duck my head down and immediately take him into my mouth.

  The groan he emits is one of pure appreciation and it spurs me on.

  I continue working him with my hand as I swirl my tongue around the head. He thrusts his fingers in my hair, his hips rolling forward like he can't fucking help himself.

  He rides out the pleasure until he can't hold back any longer. A deep, masculine moan synchronizes with his orgasm, his dick twitching in my mouth as he comes.

  When he releases his hand from my head, I pop back up. He pushes his water bottle towards me and I take a satisfying gulp.

  "You're the fucking best, you know that?" His airy voice reveals he's still in a lust-fueled daze.

  I swallow the cold liquid and give him a cunning smile.

  "Round two? There's an empty supply closet down the hall." I glance at the sleepy substitute. "Sneaking off shouldn't be an issue."

  Weston's pupils dilate at my suggestion.

  "I'm down," he says gruffly before a grin stretches his lips. "And let me repeat myself...you are the fucking best."

  28

  A few Saturdays later brings the warmest day of Spring so far.

  82 degrees by mid-morning, a mellow breeze, and not one cloud in the sky to eclipse the warm ball of sun nourishing me with a healthy dose of Vitamin D.

  It's perfect weather for brunch on a rooftop patio, chowing down on syrup-soaked waffles and double-fisting peach bellinis as I gossip with friends.

  Sounds nice, doesn't it?

  Unfortunately, that's not a description of my current situation.

  I have a new responsibility that cuts into those ideal weekend mornings. I am now the girlfriend of an athlete—a supportive girlfriend—and that's why I'm sitting on some metal bleachers, my ass going numb as I watch Weston's soccer game.

  Correction: soccer scrimmage.

  I'm learning!

  The good thing is I'm not alone. I'm with Rayne, Ellie, and Vaughn's younger sister, Sydney, who's visiting for the weekend. We brought a giant thermos of vodka and orange juice that's already half-empty, so at least the drinking and chatting portion of my fantasy brunch is accounted for.

  The beginning of the game consists of nothing but passes and running, but twenty minutes in, Vaughn scores a goal.

  Ball in other team's net = cause for celebration. I leap up and start clapping and hollering like a good fan, but I'm about the only one cheering.

  The ref raises an arm straight in the air and blows his whistle, our boys jogging backwards in frustration.

  "Huh? What happened?" I ask as I sit back down. "It didn't count?"

  "Offsides," Ellie offers in explanation.

  Sydney stands and uses her hands to create a makeshift megaphone. "Watch the line, Vaughn!"

  He gives his sister a thumbs up in acknowledgement as I level Ellie with a dubious look.

  "What's offsides?"

  Sydney whirls around, gawking at me like I just asked what color the sky is. "Not a soccer fan?"

  I laugh sheepishly. "Not in the slightest."

  "I'll explain everything." Ellie pats the empty spot next to her. "Come sit."

  I already knew Rayne and Sydney were big lovers of the game. Rayne is, well, she's Rayne, and Sydney's literally the girl version of her older brother—badass soccer star who led her high school team to a state championship last weekend.

  But I was kinda hoping Ellie was more my speed. A fellow sports-challenged companion. As she spends the next half hour explaining what's happening on the field in front of us, technical terms and esoteric rules galore, I realize she's as knowledgable as the other two.

  When the second half begins, I try to figure out how she knows so much.

  "Damn, girl. You're like a soccer expert. Did you play?"

  She shakes her head, wavy brown hair blowing in the wind. "I was on drill team in high school. And I come from a big baseball family, so I was about as clueless as you in the beginning. I've learned a ton from watching Liam over the years. You'll get there soon enough. Come next season, a newcomer will be getting the game 4-1-1 from you," she encourages with a smile.

  I return the simper, about to tell her she's basically the nicest person I've ever met, when a roar from the crowd pulls our attention back to the action.

  Parker's on a breakaway down the sideline, moving so fast my eyes can barely focus on him. The speedster sends a cross to the middle of the field. Vaughn's ready and waiting in front of the goal, instantly connecting with the ball. The shot is hard and accurate as it zooms into the corner of the net. Everyone lets out an enthusiastic hurrah, no offsides issues this time.

  "Vaughn Squad!" Rayne shouts as she and Sydney exchange a high-five.

  As we settle back into our seats, Sydney frowns. "As much as I like supporting my big bro, I'm jealous that all y'all have a boyfriend to cheer for. I feel like the odd-man out."

  Rayne chuckles. "Well, who do you like? Majority of these boys are single, so take your pick."

  "Just steer clear of #2," I instruct with a wink, tugging at Weston's jersey that I've tied up in a knot above my belly button. "He's off-limits."

  "Noted," she says before squinting at the field. "Hmm. Let's see."

  As she browses the selection, the opposing team nails a shot from twenty yards out. Cameron jumps, knocking the ball over the top of the post with his fingertips.

  "The goalkeeper's hot as sin. Tattoos, dirty blonde, tall and mysterious..." Her indigo eyes flare with intrigue. "What's his name again?"

  "Cameron Collins."

  "Sydney," Rayne warns. "You might not wa
nna—"

  But the dark-haired beauty is already on her feet, two fingers in her mouth as she whistles at Cam. "Nice save, Collins!"

  The moment he gives her an appreciative nod, a possessive growl sounds a few rows ahead of us.

  Our heads swivel in the direction of the noise. Staring at us is a beautiful girl I've seen around The Treehouse a few times, but haven't formally met. Her thick golden hair grazes the small of her back, her brows angry slashes as she sends a death glare our way.

  "Crap," Sydney mutters. "He's one of the taken ones, isn't he?"

  "No," Ellie says assuredly. "He's single."

  "What's with the stink eye from this chick, then?" Sydney shoots daggers at the girl until she huffs and twists back around. "She obviously thinks she holds some claim over him. What gives?"

  "That's Julie," my roommate answers. "Her and Cam are...complicated?"

  She looks to Ellie for help elaborating.

  "They're not a couple, but Julie wishes they were," she reveals. "She's been trying to get him to commit for years. Word of advice: it's best not to mess with her. She's a demon."

  "I can tell. And she's got an entire pack of minions at her beckoning call," Sydney points out, referring to the posse surrounding her. "Whatever. I'm not going to bark up that tree. I'll set my sights on someone else."

  "You don't have a BF at school?" I ask curiously.

  "Nope. Actually..." Her nose turns pink as she utters her surprising confession. "I've never had a boyfriend."

  "That's not possible." Rayne looks at her in astonishment. "You're captain of the best girls' soccer team in the state—you must have guys pursuing you left and right!"

  "Not really." Sydney lets out a humble laugh. "Or maybe I've been too distracted to notice. The past four years, all I've focused on is soccer, soccer, soccer. I'm a few months out from graduation and it's all starting to hit me. Maybe I should've lived a bit more, you know? Had some fun."

  "I get it," Rayne sympathizes. "I'm super one-track minded, too. You'll find the balance in college, I bet."

  "You're a senior, right?" Ellie cuts in.

  Sydney bobs her head.

  "My younger brother, Colton, is a senior, too. He's the whole package: smart, funny, a baseball stud. And he's single. If you end up going to college in Georgia, I'll give him your number."