I can’t even summon up the energy to lecture him on propriety, so focused on his lips. Before I can flop my head back against the window, before I can shut my eyes and pretend to sleep, warm lips press firmly against my mouth. One. Two kisses. A wet tongue quickly darts out and flicks the corner of my mouth.
His large palm supports the back of my neck, pulling me down, pulling me in and resting his lips on mine. My heartbeat keeps time with the seconds our lips bond. One, two, three, four…
Lids briefly close and Oz pulls away, settling his cheek onto my chest.
Peppermint lingers on my gaping pucker.
“What… Why’d you do that?” Even to my own ears my voice is barely audible, throaty. I want to press a finger to my lips, but my hands are otherwise occupied, pressing into the solid, corded muscles in his back.
“Because I wanted to. Now chill out and take a nap with me. Be my calm.”
Be his calm? Be his calm.
“I’ll try,” I say breathily.
Oz’s head angles up and our drowsy eyes meet. “You’re cute.”
He’s always saying that.
Cute.
I hate it.
Feminist or not, I still hate that I’ll never be hot, or sexy, or coy.
Inept at flirting, I say nothing, let the moment pass until his gentle snores fill the small space we’re occupying for our ride home.
The first to wake, I’m able to sit up when Oz shifts, his legs spread wide and arms crossed as he rests.
I study his profile, eyes faltering on his handsome face, letting them travel the fine line of his nose, up his strong jawline, my perusal tracing his earlobe with every sweeping pass.
His lip twitches. “Are you watching me sleep?”
Ah, so the beast is awake.
Yes. “No.”
“Liar.” A smile tips his lips but his lids remain closed. “You’ve been watching me sleep all weekend, haven’t you, you little creeper?”
“Did you watch me sleep all weekend?” I tease, not expecting him to agree with me.
He pauses, cracking an eyelid open and studying me. For a second I don’t think he’ll answer honestly. “I might have once or twice.”
Seriously? “Seriously?”
His head lolls to the side, toward me. “Seriously. You’re gorgeous when you’re asleep.”
Okay then.
“So wait. You didn’t watch me sleep?” His demand jars me from my slumber and he gives me a nudge with his elbow. “Hey, wake up.”
“Leave me alone.” I don’t even crack an eyelid, just swat blindly in his direction. “I already told you this at least five times.”
“Right, but I just assumed you were full of shit.”
A groggy smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
Sebastian
Is it weird that I miss her?
She’s not a fuck buddy. Not a girlfriend. And if I’m being perfectly blunt, she’s not even a friend.
And yet…
I want to see her. Talk to her. Give her shit just to see her face turn red with embarrassment.
I sent her the first text at dawn this morning after a conditioning jog around campus, knowing she was probably still in bed but wanting to message her anyway. Not having a legit reason to message her, I went with:
Did you make it home okay?
I stop running when the phone in the pocket of my athletic shorts buzzes, pacing around the cement jogging trial to keep my muscles warm but wanting to see if it’s her.
Jameson: We got home two days ago, weirdo… But more importantly
My phone buzzes again.
Jameson: DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?!?
Oz: Yes. 5:47 and I wasn’t expecting you to actually answer, so you can’t get mad. Don’t you have your phone on silent when you sleep like a normal human being?
Jameson: NO!
Oz: Since you’re up, want to join me for a run? I know where you live…
Jameson: Don’t even think about it. I will murder you if you show up at my door. Murder.
Oz: Or I could climb into bed with you. I’ve gotten used to sharing a bed with you and your tower of cockblocking pillows.
Jameson: Those pillows did their job. Wait. Why am I awake? Why are YOU awake?
Oz: I’m standing on the jogging path near campus, texting you.
Jameson: The sun hasn’t even come up yet…
Oz: It’s just coming over the rise. I should keep moving. I have to get to the gym in 5
Jameson: When’s your next wrestling meet? Match? Rumble? Throw down…? WHY DID YOU WAKE ME UP
Oz: Lol it’s called a match, and it’s Thursday, so we leave late Wednesday night.
Jameson: Sigh. Where is it?
Oz: Pennsylvania—Penn State
Jameson: WOW! I mean, I’m really tired so all I can say is WOW but… WOW
Oz: LOL. Will you be at the library today?
Jameson: Yawn. Who wants to know?
Oz: Me
Jameson: Well in that case
Oz: Yes? I’ll text you after class tonight, yeah?
Jameson: Sure, but only because you caught me at my weakest. I’d say yes to anything right now to be left alone.
Oz: ANYTHING?
Jameson: Dream on pal. Anything but THAT
Oz: One of these days you’re going to change your mind Jameson Clark.
Jameson: I’m going back to sleep.
Sebastian
“So you leave tomorrow night, huh?” James asks while tapping on her keyboard, her lithe fingers flying over the small black letters at a rapid pace.
I look up from the ethics textbook flipped open in front of me. “Yeah. We have to be on the bus at nine. Which is going to suck. We lose an hour with the time change.”
The room is quiet as we both go back to our homework. But then…
“Do you ever get nervous?”
My eyes stop running along the rows and rows of text, and I pause to consider her question. Do I ever get nervous? Hell yes. All the time in fact—the adrenaline rush before a match combined with everything I have riding on my wins has had me nauseous on more than one occasion.
But no one has ever asked me, so I consider how I want to respond. I go with a simple, “Yes.”
“When?”
I pause again. “When my opponents are the same weight class but bigger. Bulkier. Or smaller. Or come at me with a chip on their shoulder I can see when they come onto the floor.” And now that I’m on a roll, I stare absentmindedly at the painting hanging on the far side of the room. “Some guys are so desperate to win you can see it in their eyes. The hungry ones with everything to lose with each loss.”
Like me.
The unspoken words hang between us.
“What’s your record?”
“This season? We just started, but I’m eight and oh.”
Undefeated, badass mother.
Impressed, Jameson’s pretty blue eyes get wide as fucking saucers and a small gasp escapes her lips. “Sebastian, that’s amazing.”
Sebastian.
My name sounds like praises from her lips.
I sit up straighter in my chair, a little more cocksure than I was ten seconds ago. I mean, it’s not like people aren’t telling me on a regular basis how fucking amazing I am, but a compliment coming from Jameson Clark somehow feels like winning at life.
She doesn’t dole out compliments on the regular.
She doesn’t suffer fools, and she’s not easily impressed.
“It really is amazing.” I puff out my chest and posture. “You should see me in action sometime.”
“I have.”
This is news to me. “You have? When?”
“I mean, there’s a chance I googled you—after you demanded that I google you, of course.”
“You actually stalked me online? I’m in shock.” Why am I having such a hard time imagining her at her computer searching for shit about me? Possibly in the dark, hopefully touching herself inappropriately, preferably wearing something lace. And see-through.
The thought has my dick twitching.
“Would you stop it? It was not stalking. You told me to google you.
I don’t stop.
“Yeah, but when was this alleged stalking? Be specific.” I tease, using air quotes.
She looks horrified. “Please stop calling it that.” Hesitates. “And it was right before we left for Utah. I wanted to know what level of egomaniac I was dealing with.”
I push the textbook across the table and out of my way, reclining back in the chair my ass has been planted in for the past hour. “So what, pray tell, did you discover during this research?” Again with the air quotes.
A grin widens my face when her face turns scarlet, the skin beneath her sweater a bright, furious pink.
“Well,” she begins deliberately, clearing her throat, each syllable measured. “I know you’re from Illinois—same as me. I know you have a sister, and that in high school, you were a star.”
James hesitates, blowing out a puff of air. The long, wavy hair hanging in a cascade lifts off her face. “You’re here on a full ride. I know you’re a heavyweight wrestler at six foot one, but you’re two twenty-eight pounds of solid muscle with a body fat percentage of seven.”
“True facts.”
“You’re considerate—and as much as I hate to admit it, you’re funny. And you care more about grades then you want people to know, but for the life of me I can’t figure out why.”
I grab my yellow Iowa water bottle as she sucks in her bottom lip and nibbles nervously before raising her blue eyes to study me across the table. “Um…you smell good. Like fresh air and peppermint.”
My brows shoot up.