Page 21 of Price of Victory
“Because you like it. Admit it.”
“Even if I did, why would you do anything I like?” The words came out rougher than I’d intended, and I had to clear my throat. “And I don’t. Like it.”
“You should see yourself right now. You’re completely red.” His voice was low, intimate, and I could hear the satisfaction in it. “I love making things red.”
The words conjured images I didn’t want in my head, thoughts of skin flushed with heat and exertion, of marks left behind by hands and mouths, of what it would feel like to havethose long fingers wrapped around my throat again. My grip on the locker door was so tight my knuckles had gone white, and I could feel sweat beading along my hairline despite the cool air.
“To answer your question,” Aiden continued, moving closer, “I might not be particularly altruistic, but I am solutions oriented. If there’s tension here, I’d like to resolve it. I happen to be very good at taking the edge off.”
He was close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, close enough that I could count the water droplets still clinging to his collarbone, close enough to smell the clean scent of his soap mixing with something uniquely him. When he lifted his arm to lean against the locker next to mine, his body was barely an inch from mine, and I could see the fine line of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his underwear.
For a moment, I was tempted to close that distance, to press against him and see what would happen. The want was so strong it made my knees weak, made me forget every rational thought I’d ever had. I could imagine the feeling of his skin against mine, warm and slightly damp from sweat, could imagine what those hands would feel like mapping the planes of my body.
But then reality crashed back in, and I pulled away.
“You stink of sweat,” I said, knowing it sounded childish even as the words left my mouth.
Aiden’s grin only widened. “Nature’s aphrodisiac.”
“I need to shower,” I muttered, grabbing my towel and heading for the shower stalls.
The individual stalls had doors that locked, thank God, because I needed a barrier between us. I slammed the door harder than I strictly needed to and hung my clothes on the hook, my hands shaking slightly as I stripped off my shirt and shorts.
I was painfully hard, and the cool tiles felt good against my back when I leaned against the wall. The water wasn’t even on yet, but I was breathing hard, my skin so taut I thought it might tear.
This was insane. I was losing my mind over Aiden Whitmore, of all people. The same guy who’d threatened me in the library, who’d spent years pushing my buttons just to see me react. The same guy whose family had tried to destroy mine.
I heard his bare feet on the tiles outside my stall, the soft sound of him moving around the locker room, the quiet splash of water as he stepped into his own shower. For a moment, I held my breath, my heart pounding so loud it seemed to echo off the tile walls, waiting to see if he would say something, if he would try the door.
The sound of his shower turning on came through the thin wall between us, and I could hear him moving under the spray, could imagine the water running down his body the way I’d seen it in the team showers. My imagination supplied details I didn’t want, images of his hands running over slick skin, of the way he’d look with water streaming down his chest and darkening his hair.
But he didn’t try my door, and somewhere deep in my chest, beneath the relief, I felt the tiniest flicker of disappointment.
I turned on the water and let it cascade over my overheated skin, trying to wash away the memory of his proximity, the scent of his cologne, the way he’d looked at me like he could see straight through every defense I’d built.
But even under the hot spray, with the sound of water drowning out everything else, I couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened if I hadn’t pulled away. What it would have felt like to close that last inch between us, to finally give in to the attraction that had been building between us since the moment he’d walked back into my life.
The thought terrified me and thrilled me in equal measure, and I knew that no matter how hard I tried to fight it, this thing between us was far from over.
TEN
AIDEN
He glaredat me like a disgruntled kitten.
That was my first thought as I watched Rhett emerge from the shower stalls, towel wrapped around his waist and his hair still damp from the hot water. His face was flushed from the steam, and there was something in his expression that suggested he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this moment.
I got dressed slowly, taking my time with each article of clothing while keeping one eye on him. Not because I was trying to be provocative, but because watching Rhett Morrison get dressed was turning out to be unexpectedly entertaining. He moved with the kind of efficient precision that came from years of locker room changes, but there was a self-consciousness to it now that hadn’t been there before.
He kept glancing in my direction when he thought I wasn’t looking, quick little flicks of his eyes that he probably thought were subtle. They weren’t. Every time our gazes met, that flush in his cheeks deepened, and he’d focus on whatever he was doing with unnecessary intensity.
When he pulled his shirt over his head, I caught a glimpse of the lean muscle of his torso, the way his jeans sat low on hiships as he worked the button closed. There was something oddly intimate about watching him dress, about being in this space together after everything that had just happened between us.
“You planning to stand there all night, or are you actually leaving?” Rhett asked without looking at me, shouldering his backpack with more force than necessary.
“Just enjoying the show,” I replied, pulling on my jacket and grabbing my duffel bag. “You’re very thorough with your post-workout routine.”
“Shut up.”
