Page 25 of Wicked

Harper: Of starting over.

Me: Is that what u want when u bring up Shephard? A do-over? ’Cause it’s the vibe I’m getting

Gray bar. Three dots.

Then nothing.

Then gray bar. Three dots.

I wait.

Stare at the screen.

The gray bar and dots show up again, and I’m not prepared for her answer.

Harper: More than anything in this world

10

Ryker

Sunday comes and goes. Monday too. Harper and I texted back and forth. Nothing sexual. I’m keeping to the boundaries of what is proper. I don’t want to screw anything up with Harper and get my ass—my number—blocked.

Most of all, I’m not crossing any lines for one reason. I want to see her face. Haven’t seen her on campus. I asked to FaceTime. She refused. My assumption is spot on. She’s private, keeping to our Wednesday, Thursday agreement but not giving me much outside of that.

Tuesday morning, I go running with a group of guys from the team. It’s our morning ritual. As soon as the sun rises over the horizon, we jocks are pounding the pavement.

We run as one on the side streets of Prescott. Three quarters of the way to campus, I hear from behind the group, “To your left.”

Jerk’s voice is deep and authoritative. For some reason, his voice rankles my nerves and gets me in a bad mood fast.

The guys and I don’t mind him. There’s space on the road for us and him. Douchebag runs past me on my left. Following close on his heels is a small woman dressed in a pair of black running shorts over tights. And she’s wearing a black sports tank that shows the obvious. She’s wearing a black sports bra. Slim arms. Toned legs. Tight ass. Long onyx hair pulled back in a ponytail that swings as her hips sway.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I break out of the group and run after the guy and the girl who looks a lot like Harper. They run faster. She catches up to him, and they keep pace side by side. I huff and puff, my breaths condensing in the air.

Shit, they’re fast. She doesn’t spare me a backward glance. I’m certain she can sense me near enough to grasp pieces of her hair between my fingers if I extend my arm.

But I don’t. I don’t call out her name, either. If I did, there’ll be less talk and a lot of action. I can’t kick Shephard’s ass to kingdom come in front of my guys. A stomped-on pride is more dangerous than jealousy.

And that damn green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head as his arm shoots out and cradles her shoulders, guiding her around a curve . . . They disappear out of my line of sight, and it’s a damn good thing too. I’d gulped air into my lungs and was ready to bellow her name.

Back on campus, at the quad, I hunch over and catch my breath. Brett is at my side, doing the same. We straighten.

“That was Harper, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t know, man. From the back, every girl’s ass looks the same.”

They don’t. Harper’s is high and tight. I can easily fit her ass cheeks in my big palms. I’m picturing it now. Me on my knees, kneading the round perfection of her ass as I bury my face in her sex, licking and sucking her clit until she comes. Then I’d smash my mouth on hers, giving Harper a taste of her musky sweetness.

“Conway? Hey, Ryker?” A large hand passes by my face. I blink.

“Your shit-eating grin . . .” Brett smirks. “How’s it with Harper? I spoke with Missy. She’s up for anything, including backdoor action.” He says the words low. I don’t miss the excitement in his voice.

Damn, does my horny teammate want to watch or join in?

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