Page 38 of Whistle

He was lying on his back, one arm thrown up over his head, the other against his side. Golden hair waved out around the pillow like a halo. I knew better, though. Bodhi Lawson was no angel. Though, he did look even younger when he slept, a fact that made my stomach sour and my self-loathing increase tenfold.

Apparently, I was far too comfortable with self-loathing because I still stood there like an old creeper, rooted in place.

He was fucking beautiful.

Unblemished, smooth skin with a smattering of light freckles over his nose and beneath his down-swept tawny lashes. His face was long, his chin and jaw square. Pink lips parted and appeared slightly dry, but it didn’t stop me from reliving for the millionth time the sinful way they felt against mine.

Why does sin feel so damn good?

Completely disturbed by my own thoughts, I grabbed the whistle hanging around my neck and shoved it between my lips.

Phweeeeee!

He jackknifed up, leg falling off the couch, blanket slipping into his lap. One long, lean arm flung out, grasping the back of the couch for balance.

Shocked and sleepy blue eyes darted to where I stood.

Phweeeeee!

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead. It’s time for practice,” I said after lowering the whistle to my chest.

His upper lip curled in a snarl. “Fuck off. I’m not going,” he declared, throwing himself back onto the couch and rolling so his back was to me.

I blew the whistle again.

“You blow that metal windpipe one more time, I’m gonna shove it up your ass,” he grumped, not even bothering to turn around.

“We leave in ten minutes.”

He remained exactly where he was, ignoring me completely.

Incensed by this dismissive attitude, I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around. He fell onto his back, blue eyes glaring and a stubborn tilt to his jaw.

“I said I’m not swimming.”

“And I said you are.”

“Who do you think you are, my dad?” he asked. “Because, newsflash, I don’t listen to him either.” A suggestive glint shone in his stare, his lips curling up into a shit-eating smirk. “But I’ll call you daddy if that’s what you’re into.”

The punch of lust was instant and forceful. So much so that I sucked in a breath where it stalled in my lungs before I remembered to force it back out.

Hands buried in those golden curls as I fuck all that attitude right out of him.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I glowered. “That’s Coach to you,” I retorted, drawing that line. Reminding him exactly who I was to him. Reminding myself too.

His lips curved, the smile of a deviant as if he knew exactly the effect he had on me. “Sure, Coach,” he drawled, and dammit if that didn’t make my dick stir too.

I needed to get laid. I needed to get all this frustration out.

Bodhi pushed his arms above his head and kicked the blanket away as he extended his legs. He stretched languidly, yawning without a care in the world. I couldn’t help but look at him. My eyes went right to his lean body laid out below me like some kind of offering. He didn’t have as much muscle definition as my swimmers should. He leaned toward the skinny side.

Too much booze and not enough nutrition.

Knowing I was unabashedly staring, he twisted, lengthening his body even more. The damned crop top he had on pulled up and the loose shorts skated down, revealing a naked torso that…

“What the hell is that?” My tone was strained and mouth dry as I pointed accusingly at his navel. More specifically, at the diamond stud piercing his belly button.

Pulling one arm down, he trailed his purple-painted fingernails over the center of his chest, down his side, and then slowly over to the stud.

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