Page 62 of Campus Crush
I was so far gone for that girl, and I didn’t think she had a fucking clue.
THIRTY-TWO
I was about to pull out my sociology assignment when there was a knock on the door.
Those butterflies that had made a home in my stomach over the last several weeks fluttered happily as I opened it to find Foster on the other side, his backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Hey,” I said, leaning against the door.
His smile grew. “Hey, yourself, Gorgeous.”
He stepped forward, closing the distance between us, and wrapped his hand around my neck, pulling me closer as he dipped down. The moment our lips touched, I melted against his body. I didn’t have a lot of experience, but I’d had several kisses in my past and not a single one held a candle to how Foster kissed me—like I was something worth treasuring while at the same time he couldn’t get enough.
He pulled back but kept his forehead against mine, both of us taking a moment to catch our breath.
“You’re dangerously addicting,” he said.
“Don’t distract me or you won’t be allowed to study here,” I teased him.
He put up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. I’ll do my best to behave. Just try not to be so tempting, okay?”
We moved to the couch and pulled out our study materials while he told me a story about Liam and Drew’s latest antics at practice. Apparently Drew tried to fake a pulled hamstring to skip sprints, and Gordy nearly launched a puck at his head.
“How’s the semester going so far?” I asked, nudging his leg gently with mine.
He let out a breath and leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “It’s fine. I mean, the classes are manageable. Just more of the same—business this, management that. All stuff I’m supposed to care about.”
The way he said it made my chest pinch.
“But you don’t?” I asked carefully.
His mouth lifted in a crooked half-smile. “Let’s just say I’m not exactly as passionate about my major as you are. But it keeps my dad happy, and passing keeps him off my back.” He looked at me then, softer. “And having you around makes it suck a whole lot less.”
“What major wouldyouchoose?”
His smile seemed a little wilted at the edges. “Never really thought about it because it’s never been my choice. My dad has planned for me to take over his business since I was born—actually probably since the pregnancy test came back positive. I’m just lucky he let me do hockey.”
That took me by surprise. “He didn’t want you to play?”
“He’d rather I spent that time doing something ‘productive’ that could help his business. To him, hockey is frivolous.”
“Isn’t it also really expensive?”
“Yeah, but he had a client who was big into hockey when I was a kid—hence why I started so young—and then let mekeep playing because that client led to more clients and he could still brag about me being good. But my success on the ice isn’t necessarily something he’s proud of—more something he uses to his advantage when he can. And now hockey is in my blood. For a long time, it was the only thing that got me excited to get up in the morning. Until I met you.”
My cheeks flushed and I shook my head as I bit back a smile. “Flattery will not distract me from the fact you came here to study and that’s what we need to do. I will not be held responsible for the star hockey player failing his classes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a mock salute, but instead of opening his book, he leaned closer to me, his blue eyes darkening slightly. “But first…”
His mouth found mine again, and despite my halfhearted protests about studying, I found myself responding eagerly. His hand slid to my waist, warm and secure, and I let my fingers thread through his soft hair.
“Foster,” I mumbled against his lips. “We’re supposed to be studying.”
“I am studying,” he murmured, trailing kisses along my jaw. “I’m studying how your breathing changes when I kiss you here.” His lips brushed the sensitive spot below my ear, and I couldn’t suppress a small gasp. “And here.” He moved to the curve where my neck met my shoulder.
“That’s not going to help you pass your classes,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his expression surprisingly serious. “You know what? I think it actually might. Whenever things feel like too much—when the pressure hits, or my brain won’t shut up—I’ll think about you. About this. The way you make everything feel a little less heavy. Youmade me feel that way even before I knew who you were.”
