This guy...
Sometimes I don’t know what to say to him. At every turn, he knocks me off balance. I should be used to it by now.
Clearly, I’m not.
Brayden grins before shoving the athletic shorts down his thighs until they pool around his ankles. He picks them up and tosses them onto the growing pile of clothing.
When his fingers hover over the elastic waistband of his black boxer-briefs, I blurt, “You can leave them on. I’ll use my imagination for—”
“Nah.” His smile widens, his expression turning predatory. “I’m not shy about the goods.”
Before any further protest can escape, the boxers disappear, leaving Brayden in all his naked glory.
Almost hastily, I avert my gaze as the atmosphere in the bedroom turns oppressive. It’s almost enough to choke on.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll have a hard time rendering a likeness of me if you refuse to look in my direction.” Even though his voice has deepened, traces of humor tinge the edges.
Ugh.
Why am I acting like this? I’ve sketched plenty of naked figures over the past three years. I’ve always been able to act professionally.
So why does this feel so different?
Why am I acting like such a newbie?
Snap out of it!
This isn’t any different than if you were sketching Marco. Or Leo. Or even Jon.
Except...it is.
“Where do you want me?” he asks, breaking into my muddled thoughts.
“Umm—”
“Like this?” He ambles closer before lifting his foot and placing it on the chair. With his leg raised, he positions his elbow on his muscular thigh before settling his chin on his fist and sending a broody look in my direction.
Oh, god.
I compress my lips and quickly shake my head.
“No?” He straightens to his full height and glances around the room. “How about something more along these lines?” He flexes his arms until both biceps bulge. My mouth dries.
Holy hotness, Batman.
When I remain silent, he says, “Not quite right? Okay, give me a moment here.” Then he saunters to the bed before bending over and throwing a heated look over his shoulder. “Better? More modelish? Are you getting Zoolander vibes from this pose? Because that’s who I’m channeling.”
His ass is totally on display along with his—
I jerk my gaze away.
Oh my.
It’s only been three minutes and I’ve already caught way more than an eyeful.
“Stop!” I can’t take much more of this before I totally self-combust. I set the sketch pad down and force myself to close the distance between us before grabbing his arm and towing him to the middle of the room. “Just...stand there.” I huff out a breath. “Okay?”
“What should I do with my arms?”
“Just let them hang at your sides.” My heart is jackhammering a painful staccato beneath my breast. If I’m not careful, it’ll explode right out of my chest.
“Sure, whatever you think is best. You’re the professional,” he says.
Well, that remains to be seen after this debacle.
Once he does that, I stand back and take him in, tweaking his stance until he’s exactly how I want him. At least for the time being. Positioning him allows me to remove myself from the situation and stop noticing things about him that make me think of the man he is instead of the beauty of his form and bringing it to life on paper. I’ve drawn good-looking men before. Silently, I admit that Brayden is in a class all by himself.
Michelangelo couldn’t have done a better job sculpting David. The artist in me can appreciate every slab of finely honed muscle. From a distance, he’s always looked to be in peak physical condition, but it’s so much more than that.
For the first time since we entered the bedroom, my fingers itch to pick up my pencils and sketch. I settle on the chair near the desk as Brayden holds his position. The silliness from moments ago vanishes as I study the lean lines of his body. That’s all it takes for the charcoal to fly over the thick paper. After about twenty minutes, I grab a different pencil and shade in the image slowly taking shape. I fill in the ridges of his chest, making sure to contour all of his musculature.
Once a good likeness of his front has been rendered, I stand and stretch, moving around to capture the tall football player from a different angle. Brayden watches me until I disappear from sight. He doesn’t move a muscle or say a word. I settle on my bed with the sketch pad and flip the page before getting to work. This project will be a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree perspective taken from several different angles.
Honestly, I was less than thrilled with the idea of Brayden modeling for me, but if my preliminary work is anything to go off, this project will turn out exceptionally well. He’s the perfect specimen. His body is flawless with thighs that are thick and powerful. There’s a smattering of dark hair sprinkled across his body. And his ass...
I’m tempted to run my fingers across the firm flesh to see if it’s as taut as it appears.
Do I actually give in to the urge?
Hell, no.
That would be begging for trouble.
With Brayden’s back to me, I’m able to look my fill as my fingers fly across the thick paper. It doesn’t take long to lose myself in the familiar strokes of charcoal until an illustration takes shape. It’s only when I notice the slant of the sun outside my bedroom window that I become aware of how much time has passed.
I rise to my feet and walk around to the front again, flipping from the fifth drawing back to the first. My gaze drifts over him, taking in every minute detail until arriving at his cock. Even in repose, it’s long and thick. The length is curved, nestled against dark curls. He really is gorgeous.
Artistically speaking, of course.
My fingers still as my gaze lingers, drinking in the sight of him. The man really should be sculpted and displayed in a museum to be admired. I almost lose myself in his masculine form. The lines and ridges that bisect his body. It’s only when his cock stirs, stiffening up, that my wide gaze jerks to his. Air gets wedged in my throat as my mouth turns cottony.
With a smirk, he shrugs. “There’s only so much I can take of you eating me up with your eyes.”
If I was expecting an apology or even a hint of embarrassment, I don’t get it.
Quite the opposite.
Nudity has never embarrassed me, but it does with Brayden. Which makes no sense. I’m not the one who’s standing around in his birthday suit. And yet...my entire body feels flushed and achy.
“That’s not what I was doing,” I mumble, because yeah, that’s exactly what I was doing.
Hell, I’m still doing it.
Brayden Kendricks is magnificent, and I was totally ogling him. But there’s no way I’ll admit that. The guy is cocky enough without me adding to his swollen head.
Either of them, as the case might be.
Heat slams into my cheeks as I swing away and move toward the desk to set my materials down. The more distance between us, the better off I’ll be. “You can get dressed now. We’re done for today.”
Hopefully, by the time I turn around, he’ll be fully clothed and ready to take off.
“Sydney.” His voice drops, becoming low and gravelly. It strums something deep inside I’d rather not acknowledge. Or inspect too closely. I’m afraid of what I’ll find.
My nerves ratchet up with every creak of the floorboards. By the time his hands settle on my shoulders, I’m ready to jump out of my skin. He’s so close that I can feel the heat of his larger frame against my backside. His warm breath ghosts over my ear and an unwelcome shiver scampers down my spine. Arousal explodes in the pit of my belly before settling in my core.
No.
No.
No.
Brayden is the last guy on Earth I want to feel this way about. I hate that he can affect me so easily. I want to feel nothing where he’s concerned. I want to be stone cold.
Instead, I’m ready to melt into a puddle at his bare feet. It’s demoralizing.
His fingers curl around the tops of my shoulders before drawing me close enough for my back to align with the rigid lines of his chest. Lines that I studied and practically committed to memory as I brought them to life on the page.
Instead of breaking free of his embrace and scrambling away, my feet become rooted in place. I’m incapable of movement. The brute male strength that radiates from him in powerful waves is heady and intoxicating. My eyelids feather closed, and I feel myself falling. Tumbling into a dark abyss.
“Sydney,” he growls again, fingertips burning my flesh as they skim down my arms. The way he bites out my name has liquid heat gathering between my thighs. The echo of it leaves me breathless and hungry with need. Whatever is about to happen, I no longer have the strength of will to fight against it.
I’m ripped from those dangerous thoughts when my bedroom door flies open and Demi screeches to a halt over the threshold. “Hey, I was—”
Her eyes go wide as her voice abruptly falls off. “Oh! I’m...ah...sorry! I didn’t realize...”
I’m sure my expression mirrors the stunned one she’s wearing. I shake my head. Violent little movements that leave me feeling dizzy. “No, we’re not—”
I try to explain, but she’s already springing forward and grasping the handle before slamming the door shut with a resounding thud.
A tortured sound of humiliation escapes from my lips. “She thinks we were about to have sex.”
“It does appear that way,” Brayden says, humor replacing the thick desire in his voice.
“I’m, ah, leaving now!” Demi’s muffled voice comes from the other side of the door. “So...carry on with whatever was about to happen!”
Oh.
God.
This is truly horrific. And there’s nothing I can do to rectify the situation. If anything, I owe her for the timely interruption. It’s shocking to realize that there’s a good possibility something would have happened between us if she hadn’t barged in. As painful as it is to admit it, Brayden is like the pied piper of pussy, and I was so damn close to falling under his spell.
“Guess we don’t need to worry about people thinking this is a fake relationship, now do we?”
No.
We certainly don’t.
Chapter Sixteen
Brayden
“That practice sucked ass,” I huff, shoving my way inside the locker room along with the other guys. Everyone is bitching and complaining. The closer we get to the playoffs, the harder Coach works us. After four years, I should be used to it. Sweat is beaded across my forehead, has soaked through my pads, and dampens my hair. A hot shower is going to feel so damn good.
Rowan shrugs, looking no worse for the wear. “What are you talking about? It didn’t seem so bad. I barely broke a sweat.”
My eyes narrow. “You know why that is?” I don’t bother to wait for a response. “Because all you do is stand around like a fucking prima donna waiting to unload the ball. My ass is the one running routes and getting into position.”
Not taking offense to my complaint, a grin slides across his face. “Guess you should have been a quarterback. Best position on the team.”
I give him a one-fingered salute.
In all honesty, I can’t criticize the guy. No matter what conference you’re looking at, he’s the best QB in Division I college football. There’s no way he won’t be a first-round draft pick. And if there’s anyone who deserves it, it’s Rowan. He’s worked his ass off to be the best.
That being said, I enjoy giving him shit from time to time. Can’t have him getting too big for his britches, now can I?
By the time I peel off my pads, Rowan is already out of the shower. It’s like his damn ass is on fire. What’s he in such a hurry for?
Never mind. It probably has something to do with Demi. Those two went from spending as little time as possible together to practically being conjoined twins.
“Come on, man. Get a move on it,” he urges, grabbing his boxers from the locker and hauling them up his thighs.
Excuse me?
I hike a brow. “Why?”
He shoots me an exasperated look. “The game starts at seven, and I don’t want to miss any of it.”
“Game?”
What the hell is he talking about?
The only game I’m focused on is the upcoming one this Saturday. Thankfully, we’ll have home field advantage. The cheer of our fans always helps to heighten the energy in the stadium. It’s a point of pride to step on the turf and stare up at the ocean of red and black that surrounds us. There’s nothing more that gets me pumped than the excitement of our fans. It’s electric.
“If you’re gonna go out with Sydney, then you need to step up and show some support. Trust me, it won’t go well for you if your ass isn’t in the stands tonight.” Rowan shakes his head as if I’m a complete moron. “How is it that you get all the chicks but don’t know a damn thing about them?”
I almost snort.
Trust me, I know enough to make them happy. I open my mouth to tell him exactly that when it hits me.
“Oh, right,” I improvise with a nod, “the soccer game. Sure, Sydney mentioned it earlier.” Actually, Sydney didn’t utter one damn peep. Why that should send an arrow of hurt slicing clean through me, I have no idea. We might have cleared the air at the diner, but that doesn’t mean our relationship has changed. She holds me at just as much of a distance as she always has. The girl has so many walls up, she’s like an impenetrable fortress.
Rowan waves his hand. “Great. Now get moving.” He glances at his phone. “We’ve got ten minutes. Coach is already there, waiting for us.”
“All right, all right,” I grumble, realizing that my plans for the night have veered in an unexpected direction. Looks like I’ll be checking out women’s soccer. Should be interesting. Or not. “Let me hop in the shower and then we can take off.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re both freshly washed with our asses parked in the bleachers. The game is just about to get underway. Both teams are out on the field, warming up and taking shots at the net. It doesn’t take long to find Sydney. My gaze homes in on her blonde head. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail as she moves through a defensive drill.
“Nice to see you at the game, Kendricks,” Coach says from the other side of Rowan where he’s seated.
“Yup, just coming out to support the Wildcats.”
He nods, his gaze refocusing on the field. In the three plus years I’ve been at Western, I don’t think Coach has ever missed a game. He’s always here, supporting his daughter.
Everyone rises for the National Anthem before the announcer goes through the starting lineup for each team and then the game gets underway. I’ve never attended a women’s soccer match. I’m a little surprised to realize how fast paced the action is. Both the ball and the girls are in constant motion, running from one side of the field to the other. My head is on a swivel with the continuous movement. And these girls aren’t afraid to get a little physical. Especially Sydney. A smirk settles on my face as she throws an elbow. When a ref warns her with a yellow card, she lifts her hands in the air like she doesn’t understand what she got called for. Like she was just out there, minding her own business.
A smile curls around the edges of my lips.
That’s my girl, all right.
Well...technically speaking, she’s my girl, but not really.
From the moment the game begins until the buzzer sounds at the end of the second half, I find myself perched on the edge of my seat, gaze locked on the action. And there’s plenty of it. I knew Sydney was an athlete, but I had no idea she was so talented. It’s like she’s got a motor tied to her ass. She never stops, gets gassed, or winded. Barely does she come out to guzzle down water before she’s running back onto the turf. I’m exhausted just watching her.
Demi scores two goals. Each time the ball hits the net, Coach jumps to his
feet and cheers, whistling like his life depends on it. I can’t help but follow suit. It’s almost a shock when two hours slip by with the Wildcats managing to pull off a win by the skin of their teeth. It’s a hard-fought game. One they should be proud of.
What amazes me most is how much I actually enjoyed watching the match. Staring at Sydney while she makes moves on the field was certainly no hardship. I’ve always admired her spunk, but it’s so much more than that. She’s hard-core competitive, and as an athlete, I can totally respect that.
My gaze follows the blonde firecracker as she heads off the field and disappears inside the locker room with her teammates. I’ve always found Sydney to be smart and beautiful with a feisty personality to match. But there’s so much more to her that I’m only now discovering. Her talent as an artist has blown me away and now watching her on the field...
What can’t this girl do?
I have a newfound appreciation and respect for how relentlessly she must train to maintain that level of endurance. I work hard to stay in shape and make it through a three-and-a-half-hour game every week, but I suspect she could run circles around me. She has a ton of stamina. It’s impressive.
And yeah, hot as hell.
It does the impossible and somehow makes me want her more than I already do.
I have no idea how this fake relationship will end. What I do know is that if Sydney is involved, it’ll be interesting.
Chapter Seventeen
Sydney
Demi’s arm is slung around my shoulders as we walk out of the locker room. As exhausted as I am, I’m flying high from that win. That was a tough game. There’s nothing better than a victory on the field. Especially one that comes down to the wire and could go either way. With every second that ticked by, the crowd’s cheers grew louder, pumping even more adrenaline through my body and giving me the extra boost I needed.
As a team, we worked like a well-oiled machine. Now we just need to keep performing at this level and we’ll make it to the playoffs and, hopefully, championship. It’ll be the perfect end to my soccer career. Unlike Demi, I won’t be going on to play in the National Women’s Soccer League.
Campus Heartthrob (The Campus Series Book 2) Page 11
