Page 80 of Play the Game

Moving my hand up and down, I picture her face and the perfect glimpse of her pussy from the other night.

I can’t deny that she’s irresistible.

It’s the kissing.

It’s fucking everything up.

And the tiny shorts she wears, or the long T-shirts that make it look like she has nothing on underneath them.

How easy it would be for me to pull the hem up slightly and touch her in between her legs.

My cock is rock solid, and the more I think about her, the faster my hand moves.

If only she were on her knees in front of me and I could tug on those sun-colored strands of hair.

“Damn it,” I curse under my breath with water droplets falling off the edge of my nose.

My eyes open, and I turn away from the grip I have on my cock. I try to pull myself together and think of someone other than the one woman who can hardly look me in the eye without scowling.

But that’s going to be awfully fucking hard to do considering she’s staring at me through slightly fogged-up glass.

Thirty-Five

SCOTTIE

Look away.

I need to look away.

Scottie, look away!

Oh my god, I can’t.

Words no longer exist, and my stomach dips with need. I try to steady myself against the vanity, pushing into it farther and farther until it cuts into my back. The minty toothpaste that was perched on the bristles of my toothbrush has fallen to the floor, and I’m suspended in time.

It was supposed to be a super-quick in and out thing.

Emory left his touch on me after the locker room, and it rattled me.

Looking back to just a minute ago, I thought my plan of acting nonchalant and walking into the bathroom for toothpaste, knowing he was showering, was a clever way of retaliation.

He wanted to act like we were husband and wife by stripping in front of me in the locker room? As if it was the norm for us? Thenfine.I’ll do the same and charge into the bathroom while he is showering to show him that his bare chest and bedroom eyes don’t affect me one bit.

What a colossal mistake that was.

The second he turns and spots me, I drop my toothbrush.

It takes a nosedive to the floor, but neither one of us moves to look at it.

Water drips from his tight jaw to the shower floor, and every one of his muscles is locked. The longer we stare at one another, the more the glass door fogs.

I clench my legs together, and my pulse picks up speed.

Emory Olson is beyond attractive.

He knows it.

I know it.

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