Page 12 of Bump and Run

“Oh, Ellie.” He lets out a quick whistle. “I’m up here.”

I clear my throat and force my eyes to meet his. “I was just looking—”

“For your dad,” he grins, reaching into his open locker for a stick of deodorant.

“Right.” I take a breath. “Why didn’t you say you were in here?”

“Well, you weren’t screaming my name.” He shoots me the briefest of glances, just a quick check to see whether or not I’m still gawking at him as he glides the deodorant under his armpits.

Heat spreads over my skin. It’s far too warm in here for this sweater but there’s no way I’m taking it off with Junior Morgan standing half buck in front of me. A bead of sweat travels down my back, tickling my nerves with welcome discomfort.

“He left a few minutes ago,” Junior adds. “Before I got in the shower.”

“Oh. Thanks.” I turn my back to him, eager to put a mile of distance between us before I let that Adonis belt of his turn me extra stupid.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, amusement dripping off his tone. “You just got here.”

Don’t let him bait you. Don’t turn around. Just say nothing and leave.

I turn around and look at him, my pulse quickening at the stiff, wet strands of his dark hair poking down to his eyes.

Extra stupid.

“You’re naked,” I say.

He shrugs. “I know.”

“So… that means I should leave.”

“If you wanted to leave, you would have left by now.”

I twist away, spinning on my heels to take me far, far away from that throbbing magnet begging to keep me here. “Bye, Junior.”

“Wait. Come here.”

“I have to meet my dad.”

“It’ll only take a minute, Ellie. I promise.”

I pause my stride, battle raging between my head and my core. When I look back at him, he draws an X over his upper chest, slicing two lines through the moisture built up on his skin.

“Cross my heart,” he says.

“Why?” I ask, stalling.

“Because I have a theory and I would like to test it.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a science enthusiast, Junior.”

“Just biology,” he smirks.

I cross my arms, trying to ignore the next wave of heat coursing through me. Everything about him bleeds confidence right now and I despise him for it. Mostly because it’s working exactly how he wants. I’m pretty sure the wetness between my thighs isn’t from the steam in here.

“Come here,”he says again. “No games, no bullshit. Just come here.”

My feet pull me forward on their own, bridging the distance between us. As I move closer, I see the finer details of his tattoos and the water still glistening against his skin. Or is it sweat? Oh, god — who cares?

“Touch it.”

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