Page 33 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

I want to pant, but his mouth covers me. My moan is muffled as wave after wave drives my hips toward his pressure until it finally eases, and he squeezes out every last drop before pulling his hand away then sucking on his two fingers.

“Library tryst,” he says with a smug grin.

I guffaw, my body limp. I don’t even have the strength to straighten my skirt.

“What was that you said about the stacks?” I murmur.

He chuckles, then says, “You’ll see.”

12/

logan

“Come to my game.”

I’ve never asked a girl to show up to my game in my life. They were always just there. And maybe that’s what I’ve been doing wrong. I’ve been following the lines drawn for me, playing the parts people expect.

Dumb jock.

Bubble player.

Life of the party.

A good time but not a serious boyfriend.

Unambitious. That’s the word Amy used when she said it wasn’t working out. I took way more offense to that than her not wanting to be with me anymore. I have aspirations. I’m not sure why people don’t see them.

“I don’t know. It’s not like I have anyone to sit with. And aren’t you going to lose anyway?” Rachel wrinkles her nose, and I stumble back a step as I slip my sock on. She came to the house early so we could review for my test Monday before I have to leave for pregame.

I clutch at my chest and drop my jaw.

“You have that little faith in me?” I know she’s kidding about the losing part. She might not be about coming to my game, though.

“Eh?” She squints. “I’ve never seen you play, so I don’t want to believe the hype.”

I toss my sock to the side and lunge at her, pinning her under me as I poke at her ticklish sides. Her giggle echoes out my bedroom door and Jax makes sure to groan and yell, “Get a room!”

“We’re in my room!” I shout over my shoulder, still needling her.

“Fine. Fine!” She laughs out the words so I let up, dropping to my elbows and resting my forehead on hers. I love the way her eyelashes flutter when she looks up from this angle.

“Is that a yes? You’ll come?”

My chest is tight with hope. It’s weird.

She sucks in her lips but a faint smile curves them as she nods. I drop down and kiss her, and she places her hands on my cheeks.

We’ve been doing this a lot. Kissing. I can’t seem to quit, and it doesn’t matter if we’re alone or in the middle of campus. Everyone on the team assumes we’re dating. I guess we are dating. Aren’t we?

She pushes up on my chest and I climb off the bed, back to my abandoned sock.

“You’re going to be late,” she warns.

I check my watch, and I’ve got time. I’m cutting it close, for sure. And I might have to sprint into the team room. But I’ll make it.

I finish slipping on my compression sleeves then stuff my aftergame clothes into my gym bag using the roll method so things don’t get wrinkled. Coach likes us to look like “grown-ass men” when we leave the locker room. I’ll probably be spending some time in the media room, too. Hopefully talking about our amazing start to the season.

My bag zipped, I sling it over my shoulder and turn to take Rachel’s hand. She’s biting her thumbnail, her gaze lost somewhere out my door. I bend forward to scope out her view, but nobody is out there. I look back to her and her eyes flit to mine.

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