Rude.
“What are they looking at? Is it my puffy coat?” I complain, pulling at the zipper, nervously dragging it up and down along its track. “Sue me for being cold all the time.”
Oz raises his finger and bops me on the tip of my nose. “You’re really something, do you know that? Adorable.”
This time, I roll my eyes and cross my arms with a pout. “Super.”
He puts an arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. “We’re going to have a great time, I promise.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m still going to be mad at you for not asking me first. Talk about high handed.”
“You’ll get over it.”
Somehow, I doubt that.
Sebastian
“Last night before we leave for Utah. Are you packed yet?” I hand a piece of gum to Jameson across the table. She reaches for it and our fingers touch, sending a volt of electricity straight down my spine. It sizzles.
Weird.
That’s never happened before.
I discount it, cracking open my textbook and powering up my laptop.
“I don’t have much to pack, mostly just winter clothes and some under layers. No biggie.” She taps her pen on the table. “How bout you?”
I nod. “Yup. I have a duffle that’s always packed for away matches, so I’ll just take out my suit and throw my winter stuff into that. It’ll take me a whole three minutes.”
“Your suit?”
“My suit. You know—dress pants, suit coat.” At her confused expression, I elaborate. “We’re required to dress up when we’re guests on another campus for wrestling matches.”
Jameson giggles. “You keep your suit stuffed in a duffle bag?”
“Sometimes, yeah. Why?”
Her forehead creases. “Doesn’t it get wrinkled?”
“Um, yeah?”
Her head hits the solid tabletop with a thud. “Ugh, I can’t even with you.” She raises it, eyes smiling. “Who irons it out for you?”
“Me, myself, and I.” I shoot her a devilish grin. “It’s not like I have someone to iron it for me, but sometimes I do wear an apron when I press it.”
Jameson’s head tilts to the side as she studies me, her gaze lingering on my mouth. I can’t tell what she’s thinking right now, but I can only hope she’s picturing me in my imaginary apron.
Naked.
“You do not wear an apron.”
“No, but now you’re picturing me in one, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know, it depends. Is it one of those old-fashioned frilly ones that tie around your waist, or the barbeque grilling ones?” Her elbows hit the table and she leans in. Her pale blue sweater pulls taut over her round, fantastic boobs.
“Which do you prefer?”
Jameson pretends to mull it over. “On you? The manly barbeque kind, but not with a cheesy saying on it. I wouldn’t want it to detract from your—” She clamps her lips shut.
“From my…?”
Her head gives a little shake.
“Come on, say it. You wouldn’t want it to detract from my hard…body? My stiff…muscles?” I lean back in the leather desk chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “Would it kill you to flirt with me?”
“That’s not flirting, that’s blatant—”
“Foreplay?”
A jerky nod. “Is that what you’re calling it? You’re driving me crazy.”
“But not the ‘I want to fuck you’ kind of crazy, huh?”
She looks nonplussed. Chagrined. “Is sex all you ever think about? You’re relentless.”
“No, it’s not all I ever think about, but I swear, something about those goddamn sweaters of yours make me stupid.”
“I’m certainly not going to argue with that,” she says primly. “You do sound stupid.”
“Does it bother you when I talk like that?”
“Yes.” But she’s shaking her head no.
I lean in with a chuckle. “Is that a yes or a no?”
“Yes, it bothers me.”
“Why?”
Eye roll. “We’ve been over this.”
Have we? I don’t remember.
“Well let’s go over it again.” Because it’s fun bantering with you and it’s sexy, and I like to see you squirm in your chair. It gets me turned the fuck on, especially when your breathing escalates and your tits rise inside your cardigan.
Of course, for once I keep my damn mouth shut.
With a sigh, Jameson closes her laptop with a decisive snap. “I can’t decide if I should trust you or not, and it drives me crazy that you only see me as a challenge. Crazy.”
“You know it’s more than that. Why would I be coming on this trip just to try to have sex with you when I could hire a hooker for less than what I paid for you?”
“Hire a hooker?!” she damn near shouts, eyes bugging out of her skull. “Would you really do that?”
“Well no. One, because I would never have to; I can get laid any time I want. And two, I can’t afford it. My point is, I’m coming on this trip because we’re friends, Jiminy Cricket, not so I can put the moves on you.” I manage to keep a straight face when the lie spills out of my mouth, totally convincing.
“Coming on this trip? You say it as if you were invited.” She snickers. “You’re the worst kind of hijacker, and for the life of me, I still can’t figure out why.” I open my mouth to speak but immediately snap it shut when she continues, “Yeah, yeah, I know—you said it’s because you wanted to see what it was like to be with someone who didn’t know who you were, but don’t you and your Neanderthal friends frequent seedy places like the Florida coast? Beer bongs and bikinis? MTV, loose girls, and STDs?”