Page 47 of Golden

Sol blinks at me, his shirt still in his hands. “Rules?”

“Yeah.” I nod, resolve settling like cement in my gut. “We’re both in our final year. I’ve got swim team, you’ve got lacrosse. There’s a lot of shit going on for both of us.”

“And?” Sol frowns.

“And this needs to stay casual,” I say, grabbing my glasses from the desk and sliding them on. “No strings. We can get each other off, but that’s it.”

Sol stares at me, his face unreadable, then something in his pretty blue eyes hardens. “Fine. Don’t worry, Wes. I’m not going to catch feelings.”

His tone cuts like a knife and I force my expression to stay neutral as I nod. “Great.”

“Great,” he echoes.

As I step out into the hallway and stride toward the communal bathroom, I feel anything but.

SOL

Great. The word echoes in my head for the rest of the week. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but I have whiplash. One minute we’re hot and heavy and the next Wes is a fucking ice cube. I can’t get a read on him. He’s not the easiest guy to read in the first place, but I honestly can’t figure him out. Not even a little.

I’d waited for my own panic to set in after what we did, but it never came. Being with Wes felt incredible. His mouth is . . . decadent. Yeah, I had to use an online dictionary to find a word to describe it. That’s how amazing it is. And the feel of his broad, hard body against mine? Heaven. Zak pointed out that I like small women, and it makes very little sense that I would be equally turned on by such a large man, but here we are. And I am very turned on by Wes Bowers.

I’ve replayed what happened between us a thousand times over the last few days and I can’t make logical sense of it. Whether I did something I shouldn’t have, I don’t know, but his speech about no strings came across loud and clear. It hurt. But Wes has said from day one that he was reluctant to guide me through this, so I suppose him setting clear guidelines shouldn’t have been a surprise. He’s that kind of guy. He likes rules and routine.

We’ve texted a little back and forth, but it’s been mostly about the fundraiser. Wes sent the proofs for the invitations through on Friday morning and they’re spectacular. I forwarded them on to Dean Mason immediately.

I’ve tried to steer the conversation toward trying to see each other again, but either he’s useless at picking up on my hints, or he’s purposefully ignoring them. Which is why I’m heading to the pool amidst a crowd of fellow Wolves decked out in green.

Franklin West is hosting a swim meet against University of Portland today and the campus is buzzing with rivalry. I’m usually so caught up in lacrosse, it’s never really crossed my mind that the same heated competition would apply for swimming, but as spectators wearing purple mix with our green, and tension rises on the way into the gymnasium, I marvel at how I’ve gone three years oblivious to the swim team’s popularity.

Once I’m inside, I scan the rows of seats, trying to decide where’s best to sit. I’m wearing my baseball cap and green hooded sweatshirt, blending in with everyone else. Not that I think me being here will distract Wes, but I don’t want to risk throwing him off, even if it’s because he’s pissed I’m here.

After a second, I spot Jackson Brown, one of my teammates and a fellow Wolf, and head over to him, easing down the quickly filling row.

“Hey, man,” I say, squeezing in beside him. “Didn’t know you were a swim fan.”

Jackson’s cheeks pinken. “Erm. Well. I’m kind of seeing Erica.”

My eyebrows shoot up. As captain of the team and vice president of the Wolves, I generally know everyone’s business. The fact that Jackson’s managed to keep this quiet is surprising. “Nice. I didn’t know.”

His eyes are fixed on where the team are taking their places around the pool. “You wouldn’t. This is . . .”

I smile at his heavy exhale. “New?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Exactly.”

As I watch Wes stretching by the side of the pool amidst his teammates, I know exactly how he feels.

“How come you’re here?” Jackson asks, tearing his gaze away. “I haven’t seen you at a meet before.”

I freeze, wondering how I can possibly explain my sudden interest, but then I relax and offer an easy smile. “Wes Bowers is helping me with a fundraiser. Figured I’d come out and support him.”

Jackson nods, turning his attention back to where the announcer is hyping up the crowd. I don’t know whether the swim team goes out for food afterwards like we do after a game, but if Wes won’t meet me for lunch, there’s a party at the Den tonight and I’m going to make sure he knows I want him there. Just the thought of getting Wes up to my room has my skin heating, and I squirm on my seat, debating taking off my sweatshirt.

Wes wins all five of his races and my ears are ringing by the end of the meet thanks to the screaming crowd. It was a tight competition, but Franklin West wins by seventeen points, which apparently isn’t a lot. I jog down the steps as the crowd begin to filter out and lean against the barrier, waiting for Wes to notice me. It doesn’t take long, and my body thrums with nerves as he heads over, a victorious smile on his face. For a fleeting moment, I imagine what it would be like if we were actually dating. I could reach over the barrier, grab a fistful of his dark-green robe and pull his mouth to mine. My chest pangs a little at the thought, but I push it down and grip the metal barrier tighter. This is about hooking up. Nothing more.

“Congrats,” I say as soon as he’s close. “That was awesome.”

He grins. “It was. I didn’t know you were coming.”

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