He kicks out. I knock his foot aside and grapple him. He grunts, his taped hands still curled into fists, thumping on my back. I twist us and throw him down on his back, locking my knees on either side of him to keep him down. He bucks against me, trying to get a hit in, but I pin his hands against the mat.
“Give up,” I tell him, wheezing. “You’re done here.”
“Get off me.”
“Not until you say you give up. I win. You owe me a drink.”
“You arrogant bastard,” he writhes like an eel, almost throwing me off, his face red with exertion, “just get off—”
“Say it.”
His gaze darkens, and he turns his face away. “Fuck you. You win.” Not for the first time I notice that he has ridiculously long lashes for a guy. Long and thick and dark.
“Good.” I blink, the heat pooling in my chest flowing lower, and I fling myself off him with a silent curse. “Race you to the showers.”
“Go ahead, J. Show off.”
Flipping him the bird, I stalk to the showers, shaking my head at myself. It’s just the thrill of winning over Jet, not an easy victory on any given day. And the exercise, all this rolling together and—
I turn on the cold water and hiss as it hits me, f
inally driving all these strange thoughts from my head.
“Jet!” I close the apartment door behind me and peek into the kitchen. Where the hell is that motherfucker? “Jethry-boy.”
“You called?”
A door inside the apartment bangs open, and a cloud of steam billows out of the bathroom. Haloed in that steam is my roommate and best buddy, Jethro the-Pain-in-the-Ass-crack Connors. Clad in a tiny black towel, he saunters past me and into his bedroom, giving me a very clear view of his muscular back and ass.
And why am I staring at Jethro’s ass?
Motherfucker.
“Where were you? I waited for you for ages.” I stomp after him and focus my gaze on his drawings decorating the wall instead. “Hey, assface.”
“Me? You were with a chick, in a fucking bookstore. And you were supposed to meet Ellen. Which I don’t really get. I thought the only thing you two shared was a scandal.”
Yeah, and he doesn’t know the details, thank fuck.
He doesn’t need to know how fucking scared I am that photo might be splashed all over the internet one day after all. If my parents ever found out…
He sniffs. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to get under Ellen’s skirt again? I thought you were over her.”
“We’re just friends.”
He nods. “You’ve never really cared about her, except for wanting to tap that sweet ass. However, you’ve been going on and on about that girl you saw on State Street a couple of times. Did you manage to find her? Is that where you were today?”
“Fuck you and your shrink degree, Tully.” I navigate between his bed and a chair piled up with clothes to stand in front of him.
“Uh oh, someone’s in a bad mood.” He picks up a T-shirt from the chair and sniffs it. Throws it into a corner. “Girl didn’t run after you, did she? Didn’t scrawl her phone number on your hand, as per usual?”
“No, fuckwit. That’s not it.”
Fuck, he’s totally right. I’m pissed because I finally found the girl who caught my eye, found out she works in this bookstore and nope, she didn’t run after me, or scrawl her number on my hand.
Never had this problem before.
This girl at the bookstore… I saw how she stared at me. She liked what she saw. Hey, I won’t even pretend to be humble. I look good, and I keep fit. My sis, Ev, often teases me that I’m like a rock star. I get any chick I set my sights on. They come begging for it.