Page 52 of Fair Catch
I had to admit, it was the most fun I’d ever had studying, the two of us laughing and making jokes at the other’s expense. We were running low on flash cards when he got me to strip my t-shirt overhead.
And that’s when the mood shifted.
Zeke was still laughing about some joke he had made about mutually exclusive events when I rolled my eyes and reached for the hem of my shirt. It was loose and baggy, one I’d thrown on after practice, and I ripped it overhead without a second thought, flinging it behind me.
“Alright, let’s see what’s next,” I said, shuffling to the next card.
But then I glanced up and found Zeke’s eyes blazing a trail from my collarbone down to my hip bone.
All humor had left him, his eyes hooded as they slowly skated across my skin. It was the same look he’d given me on the field when Kyle had knocked me to the ground, when I’d come to and found myself cradled in his arms.
He swallowed, the muscle in his jaw popping with the motion.
And then his eyes snapped to mine.
It was a rush of fire that came with that gaze, one that charred my insides and had me reaching for my water before I cleared my throat and focused on the next question.
My voice sounded far away, muffled — like I was under water and someone else was reading the question about the Poisson distribution. All I heard clear and steady was the chaotic rhythm of my heart beating, and I focused on that as I finished the question and my eyes found Zeke’s.
“A Poisson distribution models the number of events occurring in a fixed interval of time or space,” he answered, his voice lower, softer.
I swallowed. “What else?”
He frowned. “The events have to be… like… independent of each other. And the average rate of the events has to be already known.”
Fuck.
I couldn’t look at him as I nodded, and I dropped the cards to the table, standing slowly. I hooked my thumbs in the band of my shorts, peeling them over each hip, over my ass and my thighs before letting them slide the rest of the way down my legs.
I kicked them to the side, but I didn’t move to sit again.
I just stood there, a chill breaking out over my skin until I glanced up at Zeke.
The breath he loosened was deep and long, his eyes burning a path from my ankles all the way up to the gap between my thighs. He wet his lips, running a hand over his face that muffled whatever slipped from his mouth next.
When his eyes met mine, he swallowed.
And then he whispered my name.
That’s all it was, a slight, husky, “Riley,” that sent another wave of goosebumps parading over my skin. I shivered, eyelids fluttering at the sound, at how it felt to have him watch me like that.
Like he thought I was beautiful.
Like he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
Like he wanted to touch me.
I blinked, once at first and then rapidly as I immediately bent and swiped my shirt off the floor. I pulled it on quickly, gathering my laptop and study guide off our little dining table next.
“I need to…” I muttered, but didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t so much as glance at Zeke again as I gathered everything into my arms and made a beeline for my bedroom. I shut the door as soon as I was inside, dropping everything onto my desk before I fell to the floor, scooting back on my heels.
My back hit the door with a soft thump, my breaths erratic, heart hammering as I covered my mouth as if that could quiet my breathing.
On the other side of the door, I heard a soft curse from Zeke.
Then, he retreated to his room, too.
Zeke
Sweat dripped into my eyes as I braced my core, all my focus zeroing in on where my hands held the bar as I pressed it away from my chest. My arms shook with the force, and Clay’s hands hovered under the bar just in case I needed a spot.
“Come on, one more,” he said, watching me carefully as I lowered the bar back down.
I inhaled, knee bouncing a bit before I held everything steady again, and with my arms and chest burning, I let out a grunt and pushed the bar up one more time.
“Nice,” Clay said, helping me set it in the metal grooves at the top once I was done.
I sat up with my arms feeling like rubber, barely able to reach up and wipe the sweat from my brows.
“You going to tell me why you’re putting yourself through a torture session today?” Clay asked, helping me stand as we switched positions. He took one plate off each end of the bar before lying down on the bench and getting into position.
