Wes dips his head, his breath warm against my ear as he replies. “The splashing and shit is going well. I got a new PR for hundred-meter freestyle in practice yesterday.”
“Congratulations.”
He has a great mouth. A seriously great mouth. His lips are fuller than mine, with the bottom one a little plumper. I want to suck on it.
“Sol?”
My gaze shoots to his, and I flush with heat as I realize I was straight up staring at his mouth. Wes is watching me like he’s confused, his brows slightly furrowed.
Yeah. Me too.
WES
I’m not sure what’s going on. Sol is acting even more strange than usual, but I can’t figure out why. Around us, the Den is a heaving, sweaty mass and the music is so loud, I can’t think.
Taking a sip of my lemonade, I glance at Sol. He looks delicious tonight. His black t-shirt clings to his muscled chest and biceps, and his worn jeans hug his ass to perfection. He’s currently staring into his soda as though he’s trying to read his fortune in it, and I’m not sure why he’s still here. I mean, he invited me, but I figured he was being polite. I certainly didn’t expect him to stick around or fetch me drinks.
“You don’t have to babysit me,” I say, nudging his arm with mine as I lean close enough to be heard. “It’s not my first frat party.”
Sol looks at me, his blue eyes wide. “What?”
“You can go. Enjoy the party.”
He blinks at me, and I swear my IQ instantly halves at how pretty he is.
“I should get going,” I say, pushing away from the wall.
Before I can take so much as a step, Sol reaches out and grabs my arm, just below the elbow. I raise my eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, but he continues to stare at me, his grip loosening until it’s around my wrist. But he still doesn’t let go.
“Stay,” he says.
The words form on my tongue to ask him why, when his thumb rubs a small circle against my skin. I glance down at where he’s still holding my wrist, and when I look back at him, his attention is focused wholly on my mouth. I’m pretty sure I’m not misreading the signs, but it doesn’t make sense. Not from him.
The thumping music, raucous laughter, and surrounding chaos fade away, everything zeroing in on where his thumb is still stroking the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist. Then he lets go and the sound comes rushing in, instantly unbearable, and I’m filled with a desperation to get somewhere where I can ask him what the hell is going on without having to shout.
Pressing my lips together, I grab his wrist and pull him towards the door and into the round entrance hall. The music is marginally quieter, but still not enough to have a conversation. Although, if I’m reading the look on Sol’s face correctly, a conversation isn’t what he wants. My pulse speeds at the thought. Looking around, I’m almost frantic as I try to think of somewhere to go. Outside is literally freezing, the ground floor is heaving, and there’s no chance of finding a bathroom without a queue.
“Hey, Sol?”
I turn to find Zak Aldridge striding towards us, halfway through pulling his sweater off over his head. He balls it up and chucks it at Sol, who catches it, his nose wrinkling in confusion.
“Do me a favor and put that in my room for me?” He winks. “Not on my bed, though.”
As he continues walking, disappearing back through the doors to the party, I turn to Sol to find him an adorable shade of pink that I suspect has nothing to do with the heat of the party.
“Want me to help you?” I ask, bemused and beyond intrigued at where this might be going.
Sol looks down at the thin gray sweater he’s still holding and sucks in a breath. “Sure.”
I might not be a Wolf, but I know all about their ‘Den’. Erik, Parker, and Colton are all on the swim team, the latter two already talking about taking the presidential and vice-presidential rooms on the third-floor next year. The first and second floors are standard rooms, and which is where Zak’s room will be.
Following Sol up the stairs, not even trying not to admire his ass, I’m pleasantly surprised when we turn off at the first floor.
“Zak’s not on the second floor?” I ask, eyeing the doors as we head further down the corridor, the music fading with each step.
“He’s had this room since freshman year,” Sol explains. “He says it’s perfect, so why would he change it for more stairs.”
“Smart man.”