Page 71 of Fair Catch
“Shrimp on a Barbie,” I explained with a shrug, gesturing to my getup with a long sweep of my hand.
Zeke barked out a laugh, crossing the threshold into my room and sweeping me into his arms without hesitation, like it was natural, like I belonged there.
“This costume is… a problem.”
“What? Why?” I frowned, panic zipping through me as I peered down at the set. “I thought it was cute.”
“Well, that’s part of the problem,” he explained. “It is cute. Adorable, honestly. And weird. And ridiculous. And, somehow…” He traced the tight, hot pink tank top that matched my heels, his finger drawing the cursive Barbie logo across my chest. “Sexy as hell.”
That finger dove a line down to my exposed navel, goosebumps breaking on the skin at his touch, which only made him smile more.
“Do you want your birthday gift now or later?”
My stomach surged with an ache so specific to Zeke that I wondered if I should make that its scientific name — The Zekes. It was a cross between wanting to fall into him, my thighs clenching with the thought of him being inside me, and my brain warring to remind me this would all end with me shattered on the floor.
“Later,” I managed on a soft voice. “The team is waiting.”
As if on cue, a loud barrage of fists rained down on our dorm door, the guys all hollering for us to stop primping and get our asses out there.
I smirked, but when I tried to pull away, Zeke held me in place. His eyes searched mine between bent brows, his jaw firm.
“You okay?”
I forced that smile wider. “Yeah. Just… I don’t know. I always get a little weird on my birthday.” I paused, then waved my hand. “Reflective or something, I don’t know.”
Zeke frowned a little more, but tried to smile. “You’re only nineteen, you know. This is no time for a mid-life crisis.”
“You’re right. This,” I said, pulling him toward the door, “is a time for drinking, and taking pictures of all our stupid costumes, and dancing.” I did a little twirl under his arm with that, but before I could peel away, he pulled me back in, pressing me up against our front door.
I lost my next breath with how he pinned me, how his thigh slipped between my knees, opening them for him.
“What about a time for kissing?”
His hands were already framing my face, tugging my hair the way he loved to, making me arch for him.
“I have lipstick on,” I whispered.
“I don’t give a fuck,” was his only answer before he kissed me, deep and long and commanding. I had no choice but to melt into him, to feel my belly burst into a hot flame of need.
When he finally pulled back, both of us a bit breathless, I bit back a laugh.
“You’re going to want to hit the bathroom before we go,” I said, tapping his pink-stained lips.
He wiped the corner of one with his thumb, smirking at the stain on the pad of it when he pulled it away. “Does this mean I can’t sneak kisses from you when no one’s looking tonight?”
I bit my lip, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Maybe there are other places I could leave my lipstick stains… ones out of sight.”
Zeke groaned, wrapping his hands around my rib cage and pinning me to the door with another fervent kiss. But more fists banged on the outside of that door, jolting us and making Zeke sigh for a completely different reason before he finally released me.
“Two minutes,” he mouthed to me, and then he jogged over to one of the bathroom sinks.
I checked my own reflection in the camera on my phone, making sure my lipstick was fine before I opened the door and was met face to face with Leo Ramirez dressed like Forrest Gump — complete with a crazy-long wig and beard, tiny red running shorts, a pale yellow shirt, and a ping pong paddle in one hand.
“About damn time,” he said, and he didn’t hide his appreciation of my outfit as his eyes raked over me. “You won’t need that dating profile after tonight, Novo, I can assure you that.”
I laughed, but then Zeke bounded out from behind me, knocking Leo upside the head as he jogged past.
“Hey!” Leo said, fixing his wig before he ran off after Zeke, slapping his ass with the ping pong paddle.
And the night began.
Riley
“Don’t be such a party pooper,” Gavin bellowed as he wheeled past me dressed as a sports car — with a girl on his lap wearing a racing helmet and holding a plastic detached steering wheel.
If my memory served me right, it was the same girl we ran into at the museum last weekend, and I laughed as he did a wheelie and she clung onto him tighter, squealing and looking at him like he was the center of her universe.
