Dammit, she has a point. Resentfully, I direct my attention back to the action, to the collegiate athletes in front of us. Two young men grapple on the center mat while their coaches hover near the ground, getting low and shouting out directions. Referees lie flat on the mats, arms spread wide to catch every move, whistles at the ready for any point or penalty.
It’s loud. Chaotic.
Exhilarating.
My heart pounds as one Iowa wrestler after another fights for victory in the center ring. The lightweights Gunderson and Pitwell. Bower. Middleweights. Some insanely good-looking Hispanic named Diego Rodriguez.
Zeke Daniels.
The crowd goes bat-shit crazy when Oz begins the warm-up set for his match, the cheers deafeningly loud while he goes about the simple stretching of his hamstrings. Arms. Bending at the waist and touching his toes.
My hungry eyes fly to his fantastic…round…squatter’s…ass. That ass. Those thick, powerful thighs.
Without even thinking, I lick my lips, the blush creeping up my chest, neck, and cheeks as Oz goes through the groom check. I press my hands to my face to cool it and resist fanning myself with the program we were handed on the way in.
“You should see yourself right now.” Allison laughs. “Seriously. You look like you want to rip your sweater off.”
I want to point out that my cardigan is cotton, not a sweater, but the words get caught in my throat because I do—I do want to rip it off. I’m burning up, and it’s not from the temperature of the auditorium.
Anxiously, I watch the match begin, hear the ref’s whistle blow from a false start. They begin again. Hand fight. Grapple. A few hips are thrown before Oz gets his opponent in a headlock—then in seconds they’re both on the ground.
It looks like they’re fish flopping around, and—
“Does it bother you that everyone can see his balls through that singlet?” Allison asks.
“Oh my god, Allison, you can’t just say shit like that!”
“What! Why? I’m just saying what you’re thinking. Be honest. I mean…that junk is right. There.”
“Right, but I don’t need to hear about it.” Because now all I’m going to be doing is looking at it.
“Face it, James: every girl in here is checking out his cock-a-doodle-do.”
A nervous, inappropriate laugh bubbles up within my throat and I’m helpless to stop it. “Stop it Allison!”
My roommate bumps me with her hip. “You’re so cute when you get all hot and bothered. That’s it, isn’t it? You want him to make sex with you and this gets you all turned on.”
Make sex with me?
I give one jerky nod because if I’m being honest, yes—I totally want him to make sex with me.
“Shit. I should totally text Parker and see where he’s at. I’m getting horny.”
“Um…”
“Calm down.” She shoots me a look, typing furiously on her cell. “Not from staring at your boyfriend, from the room full of peen.” A shrug, as if that explains everything. “I’m a hormonal teenager stuck inside a twenty-one-year-old body, James.”
Evidently, so am I.
Sebastian
I’m drenched with sweat.
Hot.
Keyed up, I walk, arms braced behind my head, circling the mat at a slow pace to cool off. Slow my heart rate.
Every match is a high akin to riding a shockwave of adrenaline and testosterone, my body conditioned, primed to perfection, and powered on high, slow to decompress.
So I walk.
Out of the locker room, hair still damp from a quick shower, I pace the long corridor of the athletics building. Return to the gym and avoid the custodians rolling up the equipment, despite the crowd.
I walk, measuring every step. Sidestep school spirit and concession debris—poster board signs, foam fingers, streamers, popcorn.
Measure every cleansing breath, until—
James.
She’s being led through the throng of fans by blonde-haired Fuck Buddy—sorry, Allison—who’s strong-arming my…who’s strong-arming James by the forearm. ‘Led’ is too loose a term; she’s being hauled toward me, and grudgingly.
I slow my gait and grin. Chug from the water bottle clenched in my grip.
Watch as Allison gives her one final nudge. Jameson stumbles forward, head hanging low, pulling at the yellow cardigan layered over her black Iowa tee shirt. Snug boot-cut jeans. A low, sleek ponytail draped over her left shoulder secured by a thin yellow ribbon. A ribbon tied with a prim little bow.
A fucking bow.
I hone in on that bow, dissect it in the most erotic way possible.
Something about it suddenly makes me fucking stupid. Gets me hot in a way no tight, low-cut top or skimpy panties could. I imagine untying that bow and watching it drift to the floor; I imagine dragging it across her bare breasts.
A startling surge of adrenaline comes back full force and before either of us know it, I’m pushing through the crowd, closing the distance between us. My arms wrap around her narrow waist. I effortlessly sweep her off the ground. Twirl her around. Press my mouth over her startled lips. They’re warm and pouty and juicy—exactly how I like them.
I suck on her lower lip and tug with a growl.
My hands crave her, itching to roam her body. Run under her conservative sweater. Untie that carefully tied ribbon.
Instead, I lower Jameson until her feet are planted firmly on the ground.
“Woo, oh boy!” Jameson fans herself with the program in her hand. “Rule number twelve: no manhandling in public. You have no self-control.” She breathes.
“Good luck with that one,” I quip, going in for another kiss, because there’s just something about Jameson Clark I can’t keep off my damn mind. I cannot stop thinking about her. Cannot keep my hands from touching her.
Literally.
And Christ—I don’t want to.
“Ready for dinner?”
She attempts a nod and I grin.
I’m riding this roller coaster all the way to the fucking end.
Jameson: I don’t know if I told you, but thank you for the tickets to the match. And thank you for dinner.
Oz: You’re welcome. Knowing you were in the crowd tonight gave my adrenaline the biggest rush; I can’t believe how fast I pinned McPherson.
Jameson: Who’s McPherson?
Oz: The kid from Wisconsin. I was on fire tonight, and it’s because you were there watching me.
Jameson: You really were incredible.
Oz: You know what else is incredible? Your lips. I could have stood on your porch tonight and made out with you forever.
Jameson: That was really sweet…and hormonal.
Oz: Hormonal? Nah, that’s not it at all. It’s you. If you said ‘Oz, get in your car and come climb through my bedroom window’, I would do it without hesitating.
Jameson: My bedroom is on the second story…
Oz: Exactly.
Jameson: LOL what else would you do?
Oz: The better question is, what wouldn’t I do?
Sebastian
Oz: Hey sexy.
Jameson: Sexy? You talking to me?! *points to self*
Oz: Who else would I be talking to?
Jameson: Hmmm, good question…
Oz: What are you up to?
Jameson: Just getting ready for girls night. My roommates want to Netflix and chill.
Oz: You’re definitely staying home tonight?
Jameson: Yeah. Hayley wants to watch Ten Things I Hate About You. She’s hating on men right now—some guy won’t text her back. Why, you asking for a reason? ;)
Damn. I was hoping maybe…
I palm the phone in my hand and stare down at it, oddly disappointed that she’s staying home with her friends. It’s been days since I’ve seen her; work and school and wrestling have driven a wedge into my social calendar, not to mention whatever obligations she’s had, and—
I miss her.
I miss her like fucking crazy.
Jameson: Now that we know I’m having girls night, what does Oz Osborne have planned for tonight after his big WIN against Princeton?
Oz: Looks like I’m staying in, too. Roommates are gone and I have the place to myself tonight. Maybe I’ll watch the MMA fight on HBO. Maybe I’ll study. idk
Jameson: Must be nice having the house to yourself. What does that feel like?! The only time I’m ever alone is during the day when my roomies are at class.
Oz: Freakishly quiet. Zeke is usually pre-gaming on a Friday night before getting completely plowed; he went home to see his cousin. Or maybe it’s his…who knows. I’m not sure where he’s been lately, but he’ll be back tomorrow for a party.
Jameson: lol. I’m not so sure about him. Yeesh.
Oz: Yeah, he’s kind of a dick.
Jameson: Kind of? ;)
Oz: Hey James?
Oz: Are you sure you can’t
Jameson: Am I sure I can’t…what? Did your phone die again?
Fuck it. I’m just going to put it out there.
Oz: Are you sure you can’t ditch your friends? LOL
Shit. It sounds really insensitive after I hit send. I should have added a goddamn wink face or something.
Jameson: I’m looking at Hayley and she’s shoving Ben & Jerry’s into her face with a shovel at an alarming pace. I’d say for the time being, I’m stuck here.
Oz: When can I see you again?
Jameson: Honestly? Not soon enough.
Jameson: I can’t believe I just sent that. Groan.
God, this freaking girl.
Oz: I really fucking miss you.
Jameson: I miss you too. Is that weird? It’s only been a few days since I’ve seen you.