Since I haven’t showered yet—yeah, it’s been one of those days—I’ve allotted my study time to stop sharply at seven, but now I might be rethinking that. My mind is mush.
I need a mindless second.
Cue goat videos . . .
I pop open my computer and log in to the school chat system. Too lazy to grab my phone from my bed, I send Dottie a quick message before I open YouTube.
Emory: Dinner, what’s on the menu?
Because she’s always glued to her computer when studying, she answers right away.
Dottie: Pizza is coming. Daddy dearest called earlier. Spent an hour on the phone with him. He told me all about this pizza he wants us to try so he’s having it delivered.
Emory: Remind me to send him a thank-you card.
Dottie: You know he already knows you’re thankful.
Emory: Still. It’s nice to say thank you. Let me know when it arrives. I’ll study some more until then. P.S. Please tell me he ordered grape soda to go with it.
Dottie: He isn’t the best father in the world for no reason. Of course he got grape soda. Don’t doubt the man.
Emory: Never will again. Knock on my door when it’s here.
I go to shut my chat box, pizza and grape soda waiting for me just around the corner, when a new chat screen pops up.
I catch the name right before I am about to exit out and pause.
Knox Gentry.
What is he doing messaging me?
Because the school wants students to experience what it’s like to live and breathe in a community atmosphere, they allow any student to contact another through the chat system, but the chat has to be accepted first.
Since I’ve never messaged with Knox before, I only have the choice to accept his chat or not. No preview to what he’s said. Damn it.
I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating what I should do. More studying, or finding out what he wants.
Hell, I already know what he wants: me to show up at his party for some odd reason. I’m curious to see what other tactics he has to get me to come.
Not that he needs to, as I’m already going, thanks to Lindsay and Dottie, but he doesn’t need to know that. I’ve watched a lot of goat videos recently, so maybe I should take a small break and have a little fun.
I earned it.
I click to accept his message as I place one of my feet on my chair. Time to get comfortable. I push my blue-light blocking glasses back on my nose and read what poetic diatribe I’ve received. From our past interactions and arguments, I’m sure it will be good.
Knox: Yo.
Oh wow . . . how prolific.
I chuckle, wondering what I was thinking, as if he was going to open with recited poetry or something. He is a “horny college student” after all—his words, not mine.
Shaking my head, I type back.
Emory: You have one chance to make a good first impression in student chat and you open with yo? I expected more from you.
Knox: I wasn’t going to waste a good opening on the possibility of you not accepting my chat.
Emory: Does that mean you have a secondary opening?
Knox: Obviously.
Emory: Do I get to read it?
Knox: I don’t know. I’m trying to decide if you’re worthy or not.
Emory: You’re the one who messaged me. I can sign out anytime I want.
Knox: You’re fucking brutal. Fine . . . *ahem*, here it goes; What’s up?
I laugh out loud, hating that he so easily entertains me. What a doofus.
Emory: Wow, I think you just blew my socks off.
Knox: See why I saved it? Can’t waste that shit on just anyone.
Emory: I hope you keep that opening a secret. Can you imagine the number of socks that would be flying off feet all over campus? It’s dangerous.
Knox: Lethal.
Emory: I’m glad you saved it for me. I’m indebted to you.
Knox: Really? ((Rubs hands together)) Should I cash in now?
Emory: I’m clearly kidding.
Knox: Nope, I have it in writing ^^^ right up there. You’re indebted to me. So I’m cashing in.
Emory: “Cash in” all you want, still doesn’t mean I’m going to do whatever you ask.
Knox: Stubborn woman.
Emory: ^^That’s winning you friends.
Knox: Come to the party tonight.
Emory: Just jumping right into it, are you?
Knox: There is no theme. It’s just to have fun. We have beer and some mixed drinks, and I can even offer you some pretzels.
Emory: Wow, you paint a beautiful evening. The pretzels are a real winning attribute.
Knox: I was going to save this as a last-ditch effort but since I think I might have you hooked with the pretzels, I’m going to bring my offer home and let you in on a little secret; just bought a fresh packet of Oreos. So if you play your cards right, you could be separating Oreos with me tonight.
Emory: Seriously? Oreos, how RARE! Well, then I must go because . . . Oreos.
Knox: Really? You’re coming?
Emory: No. Have a good night, Knox.
I shut the computer before he can respond and smile to myself as I look over to my closet, debating what I should wear tonight.
Oddly, I kind of want to blow him away, which means, I’ll put more thought into what I wear. And maybe, I’ll spend the rest of my time filling my stomach so I don’t get stupid drunk. I did study all day. I deserve this.
And how could I really turn down Oreos?
Chapter Eight
KNOX
“Why does she have to be so goddamn difficult?” I ask Carson as I lean against the window next to the fire escape, surveying the party that I have zero interest in being at. “I mean, I’ve seen the way she looks at me, there’s interest there.”
“Didn’t you say she had an ex-boyfriend that did her wrong?”
“Something like that.” I lift my hat then settle it on my head, backward. I just got my hair cut so it falls smoothly over my head. I would have done my hair if I knew she was coming tonight, but I put zero effort into what I look like, not interested in being near anyone besides Carson. He’s only sticking around because he hasn’t found a girl he’s interested in yet, but the minute he does, I’ll make my way back to my room and lock the door.
Fucking pathetic.
I’m not feeling social right now. Emory has a great way of cutting down a guy’s ego, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why I like it so damn much.
“Maybe she’s super cautious. Maybe she dated another baseball player and he was a dick. You know how women will associate their feelings like that.”
“Maybe.” I sigh and take a sip from my beer bottle. “Jesus, you would think I was a sick fool in love with the way I’m acting.”
“I was going to say that but didn’t want to sound like an ass.”
I push off the wall and shake my shoulders out, giving myself a little slap to the cheek. “Okay, I’m not going to waste this night just because some girl I hardly know turned me down for the tenth time.”
“Tenth, really?”
“No, well, I’m not really sure, but it feels like that. I’m just going to find someone else.”
“Pretty sure there is a line of college girls waiting to have their chance with you. Just call out a number, see who shows up.”
“Not a bad idea.” I give him a pat on the back. “See any brunettes wearing a skirt?”
Carson rolls his eyes. “If you’re going to try to move on from another girl, don’t go for the exact replica, dude.”
I shrug. “It’s my type right now.”
He chuckles and then points. “Well, there’s a brunette with a skirt, but not sure you can land her.”
“Where?”
“By the beer pong table, near Holt’s room.”
I scan the crowd and when my eyes land on a laughing Emory, my stomach does a tiny little flip.
See? Fucking pathetic. Might as well put a dog
tag around my neck that says: Return to owner, Emory Ealson.
Shit, she looks good. Wearing an off-the-shoulder white crop top that gives me a good glimpse of her cleavage, she paired it with a floral skirt that flares at her hips. She looks classy but sexy at the same time, a lethal weapon for my southern heart.
“Shit, she’s here.”
Carson pats me on the back. “Looks like you should go change because damn, she looks good.”
“Nah, I don’t want her leaving my sight. I’m going in.”
“Good luck,” Carson says with less confidence than I appreciate.
I would normally say I don’t need luck, but with Emory, I might. She’s different than other girls, sexy and intelligent with a hint of resistance that turns me on. I enjoy her banter and her ability to call me out on my shit. She’s fucking fun, and I want to be around her more.
Beer in hand, wearing a simple black T-shirt and jeans, I shift through the crowd and walk straight toward Emory, who’s talking to two other girls. I don’t even bother to wait until they’re done talking. Instead, I walk up next to Emory, put my arm over her shoulder, and bring her close into my chest for a hug. To my surprise, she laughs and presses her hand against my chest as she returns the hug.
That feels good, her tits pressed against me. Fucking amazing.
“Thought you weren’t coming.”
She looks up at me, those green eyes connecting beautifully with mine. “You can thank my roommates for making sure I showed up.”
I glance at the girls in front of us who have huge smiles on their faces. I’m thinking I have the same look on mine as well. “Are these your roommates?” I point with the hand that’s holding my beer bottle.
“Yup. This is Dottie and Lindsay.”
I give them a quick wave. “Dottie and Lindsay, I owe you one. I didn’t think this girl was going to show.”
“She can be a beast at times, but whenever you need something, just let us know, we can convince her,” Dottie says.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Do you care if I steal your girl?”
“Have at it.” Dottie ushers us away.
“Thanks, ladies, enjoy yourselves.” Before Emory can protest, I take her hand in mine and lead her to the kitchen, where I ask one of the freshmen to grab me two beers and the Oreos I stuffed away. The dutiful teammate he is, he fetches them in an instant, and I take Emory to the window that leads to the fire escape.
“Uh, where do you think you’re taking me?”
“It’s either this or my bedroom. Take your pick, because I want you alone.”
She pulls her hand away from me and folds her arms over her chest, her bare shoulders enticing me more than they should. “Who’s to say I want to be alone with you?”
“Me. That’s who. Now stop being stubborn and follow me. I promise a good time.”
“As long as you keep your hands to yourself.”
I scoff. “I’m a southern gentleman if anything, Em.”
When I link her hand in mine and she allows it, I assume earning some private time with her is a go.
I help her out of the window and up the fire escape a few stairs away from the window so we can actually hear each other. Thankfully, I put a blanket out here just in case she decided to show up and I lay it on the metal stairs before we take a seat. We sit side by side, not shoved too close together thanks to the spacious fire escape—rare, I know—but close enough where our knees knock together. I set the beers behind us and hold out the Oreos. She eyes them for a second with a sly smile before popping open the resealable top. Her delicate fingers pull one out and instead of eating it right away, she holds it out.
Looking up at me, head slightly tilted, she says, “Grab the other side and twist. Whoever gets the most cream, gets to ask the other a question.”
That’s my kind of game. What do I want to know about this girl? I start conjuring up all the questions I have about her.
Tell me more about this douche ex-boyfriend.
What’s your favorite sexual position?
Are you in favor of me sucking on your tits tonight?
Hmm . . . might be too presumptuous.
“What kind of questions? Anything we want to ask? Does the other person have to answer?”
“Sure.” She shrugs. “I don’t have much to hide.”
“Much, huh? So, there are some things you care to hide?”
“Stuff you’ll never guess, so we’re safe.” She nods at the cookie. “You in?”
“Hell yeah.” I grip the other side and count, “One, two, three, twist.”
We both twist and pull apart. I look down at my empty black cookie and then at the sly smile crossing Emory’s face, who’s wiggling her cookie at me. Damn, she’s cute.
She pops the whole thing in her mouth and chews while she leans back on the stairs, giving me the perfect view of her smooth stomach and perfectly proportioned breasts.
Full B-cup, easily.
“How many girls have you brought out on the fire escape, Knox?”
Her question comes out low, seductive, and instead of answering right away, I’m staring. Staring at her perfectly glossed lips, so full, bigger than I remember. She can do some wicked things with those lips, things I want to experience.
“How many? Hmm, let me see.” I chew on my half of the cookie and start counting on my fingers. “There was Victoria, Kristi, Tiffany, Sarah, Franci, Heather . . . Logan, but that was a short questioning phase my freshman year. Then Lynn, Gina, Marina—oof.” Emory playfully whacks me in the stomach and then starts to get up. I pull her back down, laughing. “Stop. I’ve never brought anyone out here before. Believe it or not, I’m not the huge player you think I am.”
“I don’t think that.”
“Please, I can see it all over your face. You think I sleep around, don’t you?”
She looks down at her nails and says, “Well, you did kiss another girl the same night you tried to hit on me.”
“Like I said, she kissed me, and I wasn’t about to go dead lips on her. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Heaven forbid.” She rolls her eyes.
“Rumors spread, Ealson. Last thing I need is for the student body to know me as the shortstop with dead-fish lips.”
“That really sounds unappealing.”
“See.” I reach for another Oreo. “Now twist with me, I have some burning questions for you.”
She eyes it for a second, her lips twisting to the side, questioning if she should break apart another cookie, but her curiosity wins out and she grabs the other side. “Okay, one, two, three, twist,” she says, and we break the cookie apart.
I glance down at my plain chocolate cookie and curse under my breath as she plops the cookie in her mouth with another smarmy smile.
“Okay, what the hell are you doing? Are you aware of some twisting trickery that I’m not?”
“Just luck.” She winks.
Why don’t I believe her?
As she chews on her cookie, she mulls over her question for me. “When did you lose your virginity?”
I choke on my beer while trying to wash down my cookie. Shit, I wasn’t expecting that.
She pats my back and then casually leans on the stair behind us, smiling at me. She’s so cool and calm, unlike any girl I’ve ever met. She’s not trying to fluff her hair or make sure her lipstick is perfect. Yeah, she dressed up tonight and looks fucking good, but she isn’t high-maintenance. I like that. I like her.
A lot.
Once I gather myself, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and say, “Wasn’t ready for that question.”
She brushes her hand over her skirt and casually says, “You said we could ask anything.”
“I guess so.” I lean against the handrail and turn slightly on the stairs so I’m facing her. “Seventeen. My date and I had sex for the first time after prom.”
“Seriously?”
I chuckle. “Yup, totally cliché and I’ll tell you this, it was good for me,
but given I lasted like thirty seconds, let’s just say it wasn’t the best for her.”
Emory covers her mouth, eyes wide, and laughs.
“If any guy tells you he’s good at sex right off the bat, he’s a liar.”
“How would you say you fare now?”
I lift a thick brow. “Interviewing for a position in my bed?”
“You wish. Just wanting to know if limp dick should be paired with your dead-fish lips.”
My eyes narrow as I point at her. “Don’t even fucking joke about limp dick. Jesus. Shit spreads quickly here on campus.”
“So you’ve informed me.” She smirks.
Goddamn, she’s so . . . cool.
“So . . .” she continues, “are you limp or not?”
“Not,” I answer quickly. “I’m actually really good in bed. Want me to show you?”
She holds up her hand. “I’m good. After having you pass out while holding my boob, I’m pretty sure I know the extent of your bedroom abilities.”
I sit up taller. “That’s not an accurate portrayal of my talents in the bedroom. I barely made it to my room that night, let alone kept my eyes open long enough to help your wayward boob back in place.”
She just shrugs and picks up another Oreo.
I don’t take it though, instead, I motion to the loft. “Come on, we’re going to my room. I’ll show you right now what I can do. Fucking question my abilities to pleasure a woman, I’ll show you what pleasure is.”
She attempts to tamp me down with her hand. “It’s really okay. I believe you. You’re the ultimate lover. Got it.”
“I don’t believe you mean that. You’re being sarcastic.” I point to her lower half. “Fine, if you won’t go back in the loft, lift up your skit, I’ll eat you out right here, right now.”
For the first time this night, her cheeks flush and her cool façade finally shows a crack. Huh, would you look at that. And I thought her confidence was sexy, I think her embarrassment might just be even sexier.
The Locker Room Page 6