Page 13 of Blitz'd

I should have told him to send me a picture of the mess he made of himself after I left. He probably wouldn’t have done it, but just the thought licks fire up my spine and makes me groan.

I’ll get pictures. I mentally put it on my list ofshit I’m going to make Zander do before I’m finished with him.

Still, the freshman isextremelyeager to answer their phone, and even more so to tell me they just saw Zander and his friend going to get lunch on campus.

Perfect.

A part of me shouldprobablyfeel bad about using someone to get information with no intention of giving a shit about seeing them after… but maybe I wasn’t born with theguiltportion of my brain connected, because I don’t.

The only thing I care about is getting what I want.

And what Iwantis to fuck with Zander.

I haven’t been on this shitty campus before, other than last night, but it doesn’t take me long to figure out where all the jocks go to grab food. It’s even better because there’s a line of trees to the left and an entire row of buildings to the right. There are plenty of places for me to stand, so Zander won’t know I’m here.

It occurs to me I’m acting like a bit of a stalker… but I really don’t care, especially when I see Braithe coming out with one of the guys on his team that he’s constantly hanging out with off the field.

Russell Washington.

When the big bastard throws his arm around Zander’s shoulder, I feel a knot of irritation ripple through my chest.

I’d planned on finding him by himself, maybe waiting until he walked past me so I could pull him into a hall or an alley.

I wanted to watch the way his cheeks went pink when I asked him how things went after I left last night.

Iwantedto get him alone, but he’s walking around with some giant asshole who is ruining all of my plans.

For a while, I just watch—I move when he moves, a shadow he can’t see, but I think he can tell that I’m there. His smile falters every now and then, and his eyes dart around like he can feel me just out of reach.

It shouldn’t set my skin on fire, knowing that he cansenseme. It doesn’t mean shit. It really doesn’t.

But at the same time, I fall more and more into the idea of seeing exactly how often I can watch Zander when he doesn’t know I’m there.

After a bit, though, watching isn’t enough. Iwantto go out and fuck with him.

Iwantto put my hands on his throat again.

I settle on sending him a picture of himself, leaning into his absolute garbage of a defensive end. I don’tcarethat he’s close to him. Really, I don’t. I could give less than two shits that he’s practically hanging all over him with his stupid smile on his face, those fucking dimples on full display.

But I still send the picture and text beneath it.

Me: So you’re gay for any football player? Damn, Dimples, I thought I was special, but I guess not.

I wait until I’m on the other side of the quad before I send the text so he won’t know where I am, and when he pulls his phone out, the way the smile melts from his face and is replaced with a faint pink sting to his cheeks isdelicious.

His dark brows snap together and my phone buzzes in my hand.

Zander: Where the fuck r u?

I could tell him. It’s not like he’d do anything about it here in the middle of everyone milling around. But… it’s more fun to fuck with him, isn’t it?

Me: Last night, when you were touching yourself after I left, were you imagining your lips around my cock or my fingers in your ass?

The pink turns into a brick red, and I’m shocked at the way the sight jumps straight to my dick, especially when he not-so-subtly puts his hands between his legs to adjust himself before he keeps walking.

Me: Come on, Dimples. You can’t tell me you didn’t fuck yourself into oblivion after I left. Should I give you a dildo next time so you can practice taking me? Is it not gay if it’s just a toy?

His jaw tics when the phone buzzes again, and he lasts exactly twenty-three seconds before he pulls it out and glares at my text.

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