Only one person seems to be in a pissy mood. “I could've done it better,” Jake says petulantly as we do our cooldown stretches. “All that dancing bullshit is fine for practice, but it’s not gonna work in the game. They were taking it easy on him out there.”
I glance over at Jake, a little pissed. “You had reps with the offense today too, remember? Did those not count either? You want more time? Earn it.”
“That’s enough,” Coach Buckley says, but I’ve already dismissed Jake. Instead, my mind is on Norma Jean, who’s going to be waiting for me once I shower up and get changed. I let her go yesterday, but today won’t be so easy. I’ve had all night and day to think of what I want to do to her.
“Hey, Knight,” Coach Jefferson, our head coach, says after I shower and leave the locker room. He’s old-school, with white hair and a belly that sticks out in his polo shirt, and he runs summer practice like we’re trying out for the Marines. But he knows football and has put four QBs in the pros. Best of all, he’ll give as much to you as you give to him. I couldn’t ask for a better guide to the League. “Looked good out there.”
“What can I say, Coach?” I reply with a grin. “I play to win. They won't fucking know what hit ‘em Saturday.”
He laughs. “That’s the spirit! But let me talk to you for a moment. My office.”
I step into his office and take a seat. “What’s up, Coach?”
He settles in, grabbing an antacid out of the big bowl of them he keeps next to his computer. Maybe it’s the eighteen-hour work days, but he munches Tums like candy, and as he gives me a look, I figure I’m the cause of this particular munch. “I got a call from Erica Waters this morning. Listen, no bullshit with the tutoring, alright? She said you were late and gave the tutor a hard time. I don’t want you sidelined because you can’t act like an adult. This is a big ask of that girl. Don’t fuck it up, Son.”
I shift around, pissed that Norma tattled on me to her boss. But then again, she probably got called into a sit-down just like this. “Coach, I’m taking the tutoring seriously, going to get my grades up so I maintain eligibility. No worries. And I might’ve pushed the line on the tutor a little, but . . . well, you know.”
He nods. “Yeah, I know how you boys are. I was a football hotshot once too.” He pats his belly like he can’t believe what’s happened to him since his college ball days. “But listen very carefully on this one. Don’t mix business and pleasure. And that tutor, she’s business even if we’ve got some shitty dating lie in place for cover. If you want to fool around with someone, go for it, but not her, and not until we get this grade stuff handled.”
“Coach, she’s cute, and it wouldn’t interfere with my—”
“Stow it. I’ve heard that a thousand times. Don’t do anything to mess up your future because you’ve got a fucking bright one, Son. A golden ticket . . . if you can get your grades up. She’s got your grades by the balls because you need her. Don’t hand her your literal ones too. Business and pleasure, Zachary, do not mix.” His words are delivered with the wisdom of a man who’s seen too many guys screw something up, and I take them seriously.
I nod. “Yes sir.” He nods back, dismissing me, and I make a run for it before I run his blood pressure up any higher.
I leave the football complex and head toward the library. As I walk, I stew over Coach’s words. Is he right? Should I leave Norma solidly in the business category and let what happened last night be a one-time thing, just letting this dating shit settle in the background in case someone asks? Or can I tempt fate and do a bit of mixing of business and pleasure?
I think of the way Norma tempted me last night and I know the answer.
I’m jogging my way up the steps to the library at five minutes to eight, feeling good in a fresh pair of jeans and a team T-shirt. Pausing at the door, I do a quick run-through of my hair with my hands. I normally don’t give a shit about what my hair looks like after practice, content to let it do whatever the fuck it wants. But I feel like upping my game for some reason.
After all, little Norma seems to have a way of finding chinks in my armor and stabbing me in them. And that’s not going to continue to be the damn case. Entering the library, I look around, finding the little alcove where I first saw her. I’m already thinking of it as ‘our spot’ . . . except she’s not there.
“Hmm,” I mutter, turning around and checking but seeing nobody. “Little Miss Perfect gives me shit about being late and then she doesn’t show up?”
But then I scan again, and I spot her off in a far corner but with a direct sightline to the front door. She’s lost in her work, her foot tapping under the table to whatever music is pumping through her earbuds and her eyes flicking from the book on the table to the computer screen in front of her.
She looks sweet like this, without the fire she shoots when she looks at me. I approach slowly, not wanting to break the spell she’s under. As I get closer, I take the opportunity to look her up and down. A smirk takes my face when I realize how she’s dressed, like an oddly naughty librarian. It’s nothing like her outfit from yesterday but still so cute that my cock twitches in my jeans.
I set my bag on the table, and she jumps, yanking her earbuds out. “Fuck, you scared me,” she scolds.
I point to my watch. “Just making sure you noted that I’m right on time. You look nice.” I smirk, waiting for her sarcastic bite back.
“What?” she asks, playing innocent. “You don’t like my clothes?”
I snort, shaking my head. I lean in close, one arm on either side of her to whisper in her ear. “You can try all you want to cover up, but we both know the truth. You got all dressed up like that because you needed a few more layers of cloth armor between me and your sweet little pussy because you’re afraid your body is going to betray you again. But you’ve got a bad girl side, and we’re going to explore it sooner rather than later. I’m looking forward to seeing you accept that fact. I think it’ll be . . . beautiful. Speaking of beautiful, right now, I’m thinking of flipping that long skirt up and making you hold it so I can grab a couple of handfuls of your ass and get at your pussy from behind.”
I stay silent, letting that imagery fill her mind as I watch the flush cover her freckled face. And when I see that pink tinge to her cheeks, I say a silent apology to Coach Jefferson. He’s done so much for me, but I can’t honor his request this time. Because that hint of blush just gave me as much satisfaction as a pass perfectly thrown for a game-winning touchdown, and I’ve barely started with Norma.
“You can’t say things like that to me!” she argues halfheartedly, turning slightly to look up at me from inside the cage of my arms.
It sounds like she got the business and pleasure talk too, or at least one similar to it. But yeah, I’m mixing that shit up.
She’s practically trembling as I capture her with my gaze, a wolf ready to stare into the eyes of its prey before taking it down. It’s like she’s trying her hardest to resist, but all it will take is one simple push, one touch, to send her over the brink.
I chance a glance to her lips, beseeching them. “Admit it. You liked it, didn’t you? No shame in that. Don’t be shy.”
Her hand trembles on the tabletop, so I reach up and cover it with my own. She doesn’t resist as I rub soothing circles along the back of it and trace her fingers, marveling at how soft they are. “Zach . . .”
“It’s our little secret,” I whisper as I put her hand on my thigh, sliding it up with no resistance until it comes to rest on the hard bulge between my legs. It’s honest, and I’m not faking a thing as I look into those pretty eyes. “Truth be told, I haven’t been able to think about anything else either. You’re sexy as fuck, Norma . . . and I’m not all bad. I can be more than an asshole if you’re willing to give me a chance. So tell me the truth. Tell me you liked it.”
“I loved it,” she whispers, her hand tightening almost without even thinking. “God, I loved it.”
Norma
My hand rests wher
e it is, but suddenly, I realize where we are, what I’m doing, and who I’m doing it with. What the hell am I thinking?
“No!” I protest, jerking my hand away from the big bulge between his legs and trying to take back my words. “You’re playing with my head. I didn’t mean that!”
Zach grins, not letting go of my hand as he stands up, shoving my stuff in my bag and tossing it over his shoulder. He leads me deeper into the library. My feet don’t even attempt to stop him, following him willingly as we hike the steps to the fourth floor and then twist and turn until we’re in a darkened section. It’s musty up here, like nobody’s been around this section in a long time.
“Zach,” I try to protest, even as my feet follow him. “We can’t do this.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or me. But he finds a secluded table and pulls a chair out for me like a gentleman. The gesture is unexpectedly civil, and I smile as I sit.
He sits beside me after turning his chair slightly so that it faces me. “Ok, Brat. Hit me with them.”
I’m confused and my eyebrows pull together. “Hit you with what?”
“Your reasons why not. I’ll go first. We’re going to be spending time together, getting to know each other, and people already think we’re dating or they soon will, and we have chemistry, even when we’re smack talking at each other. Why not add a little reality to the pretend? No harm, no foul, just fun.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Those are your reasons why not?”
He chuckles. “No, you take one side of the argument, and I’ll take the other. That’s how debate works, or have you not learned that? I thought you were supposed to be a smarty pants?”
The tease is silly, but it works, making the moment lighter. “I am a smarty pants, but more importantly, I’m a smart ass. So there’s reason one why not. It’s fun to jab with you, but that won’t last. You’re going to get tired of my always pushing your buttons. Everyone does. And I’m not sure I’m ready for your level of casual fun. It’s a bit of a bigger deal to me. I think your way sounds . . . dangerous.”
He rubs at his chin like he’s contemplating my arguments, but I can see the light in his eyes. “Agree to disagree. I find your button pushing endearing in an odd way. Can’t say I can explain it, but it’s true. And you say dangerous like it’s a bad thing, but what I’m hearing is that you might enjoy a little danger. Fuck knows, I would. And you seem rather risky to me too, Brat.” His voice is full of promise, the hazards seeming fewer than the possibilities when he says it like that.
I smile at the idea that of the two of us, I could be the dangerous one. Ridiculous. “Okay. Agree to disagree. But what I think we can both agree on is that you have a paper to write tonight and we should get to work.”
He grumbles, muttering something about ‘this conversation not being over’, but he pulls out his laptop and book. “Okay, now what?”
I sigh. “Now, you write. Here’s the outline we worked on last night. Use it to do the opening paragraph and then we’ll reread it to clean it up.”
His nod is reluctant, but he gets to work, his fingers deftly flying cross the keys as he writes. A mere fifteen minutes later, he sits back in his chair. “Done.”
He turns his laptop toward me and I begin to read his introductory paragraph. It’s good, better than I would’ve expected if I’m honest, though my harshly judgmental thoughts embarrass me a bit. “Good job. Next paragraph is based on this quote . . .” I point to the one in his notes.
But he doesn’t get to work. Instead, he smirks at me knowingly. “You thought it’d suck, didn’t you? That a dumb jock like me wouldn’t be able to write for shit. But I’ll let you in on a little secret. I aced English in high school and can actually string together a sentence, using commas and everything. This professor and me just don’t click, and I particularly hate Paradise Lost.”
I blush, the truth a bit of a jagged dig, but probably no more so than my expectation of him. “Honestly, yeah. Sorry for the preconceived idea. Stereotypes aren’t always true. Hell, they’re usually not true.”
“Apology not accepted this time, Brat. Gonna take more than that,” he says, reaching forward to wrap a tendril of my hair around his finger. It feels intimate with the rest of my hair piled on top of my head, like his finger is this close to brushing against the silky skin of my neck.
“Zach, what are you doing? What are you talking about? We agreed—” I say, but my voice is quiet.
“You decided. I didn’t agree to shit. I just blasted one of your judgments about me. Tell me something that’ll change one of mine about you.”
I think he’s trying to stall on his work, but he seems genuinely interested. I quickly rack my brain for something, then offer, “People think I’m spoiled sometimes, like I get everything handed to me because of my dad. But that’s not true. He’s more of the ‘work hard and earn it’ camp than the ‘want my kids to have it better than I did’ group. He does pay for some things, my tuition and my apartment, and I know that’s a huge benefit lots of people don’t get. But it comes with strings, and we butt heads sometimes when he expects me to give in to what he wants. He raised me to be a leader, a fighter, but then he wants me to fall in line like one of his underlings at work.” It’s a big share for me, and a rarely-voiced criticism of my dad. He’s a good man and a good father, but no one is perfect.
Needing to get back on more solid ground, I flip the switch and let my armor pop back into place. “So, that’s me . . . poor little rich girl.” Zach eyes me thoughtfully, like he can see right through my shield, so I try to distract him. “So if it’s not Paradise Lost, what is your favorite book?”
He leans close, whispering in my ear, “Right now, I’m thinking my favorite book is the Kama Sutra because whatever is on page sixty-nine, I’m game for it.” He sits back, smirking. I know I walked right into that, but it almost feels like he’s directing us back to lighter, looser, sexier conversation because he knew I was uncomfortable with what I shared. Like his dirty joke was actually to be nice to me.
So I respond as expected, playing along, “Ugh, disgusting. Is that all you think about? Your brain is going to need a transfusion if the blood stays in your other head all the time.”
He chuckles and grabs at his crotch like he’s checking for blood flow, then knocks on the side of his temple. “Nope, I think we’ve got an appropriate division of blood supply. A little going north, a little going south.”
We both laugh, and then I tap on his outline, signaling that we should get back to work.
And that’s how each segment of his paper goes. He works, I read over it, and we pause for conversations. Somehow, through the evening, I feel like I get to know him a bit better.
He’s not quite the cocky bastard jock I thought, though there’s a heavy dose of that on the surface. But beneath, he’s actually a nice guy, albeit one with a wicked tongue that he uses to lash at me deliciously, both literally and figuratively.
His barbed banter is exciting, making me anticipate what zinger he’s going to lob my way next. He sometimes goes for the lowest common denominator joke, usually sexual, but then he’ll turn right around and surprise me with something a bit more high-brow. I swear there was even a comment about The Great Gatsby but I’m going to need to check my quote source to be sure. Of course, I didn’t let him know that.
But he’s also used that sinful tongue to drive me crazy in a much more literal way. Around paragraph eight, he slipped his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me toward him as I read, to lay little licking kisses along my skin. The only skin I left exposed, I think, recognizing the irony in that.
By paragraph twenty, he whispered dirty promises in my ear as he slipped my skirt up my thighs to get at my hot pussy. I’d protested for a second, more out of some feeling that I should than because I actually wanted to. I’d been desperately close to coming again, but he’d recognized that I’d finished reading the paragraph and stopped, going back to work on the next section. I’d growled and to
ld him not to start games he couldn’t finish. But he’d just grinned evilly and said that he planned on finishing . . . the paper and me.
It’s almost eleven when he finally finishes his essay, clicking Submit Online to turn the completed assignment in. I look around and realize the library has cleared out, though our secluded corner has been pretty quiet all night. I find that I don’t want the night to end. The tutoring has been fun, almost like a team effort to get his paper done by the deadline. But more importantly, it has been fun to spend time with Zach, and he’s got me on edge from all his touches and dirty whispers. Hell, I never knew having to be quiet in the library could be so damn sexy.
But I’m not sure what he’s thinking. Has this just been fun and games to pass the time while he got his work done? Hell, for all I know, he’s off to some party full of sorority girls and cheerleaders, and I’m going to go home to get myself off to thoughts of him. Again. Even though I know I shouldn’t.
“So, now what?” I ask, adding a bit of sass to my tone and lifting one eyebrow, hoping he hears the challenge and takes me up on it but knowing that if he doesn’t, I’ll have my answer right there.
He smirks. “I told you, Brat. I was gonna finish my paper and then finish . . . you.”
I should say no. I know that I should not do this. It’s epically stupid in so many ways. But Zach checks all the boxes on my checklist, both good and bad. Football player, cocky jock, bastard asshole, kind, funny, quick-witted, sharp-tongued . . . Zach.
And I know I’m going to give in. But I won’t do it easily. That’s not who I am.
“You think you can? Hmm, I don’t know. Guys sometimes have a hard time closing the deal. I could probably tutor you there if you want,” I say, letting false doubt fill my voice. I have no qualms that Zach could probably get me off in minutes, especially considering the way he’s been building me up all night.
He leans in and kisses me full on the lips. It’s fierce and hard, communicating in no uncertain terms that he’s ready to meet this challenge. My inner bitch jumps for joy, clapping with excitement.
The Virgin Diaries: The Complete Series Page 28