Lucas demands attention without asking for it, making me track him as he rounds the bend of the track. It’s like I’m hypnotized by his muscles bunching with each stride. He makes running look easy. His legs pump effortlessly and his skin glistens with a sheen of sweat.
He looks like a damn god. It’s no wonder everyone worships him.
The rest of us are lesser beings. We should be thankful he graces us with his presence.
Heat blooms in my face and I will it away.
Come on, Gemma, I think, can’t get flustered over a boy jogging.
Except I am. God, I so am.
I shake my head at myself.
The pack circles the bend in the track again, Lucas leading the bunch. His attention flashes to me and the corners of his mouth curl up as he picks up the pace. He shoots me a wink.
“Let’s go!”
The guys all answer him with yells that must make them feel like they can take on the world. They follow Lucas as he runs off.
Alec is the only one that overtakes Lucas in the straightaway. He pumps his arms in the air and I lift my camera to snap the frame. A fond smile curves my mouth as I check the back of the camera.
My brother’s so competitive. He can’t let the captain beat him in a race.
I settle into a rapid-fire rhythm of capturing action shots. The team completes two more laps before they move onto the field for practice. After running some drills, they start a practice scrimmage.
I don’t think it’s warm enough, but Lucas peels off his shirt. Half of the guys follow for a shirts and skins game.
What? Don’t they have like—practice jerseys for this?
Lucas seeks me out. He blows me a kiss and flexes for the camera, showing off tan skin, broad shoulders, and sculpted abs. He adjusts his shorts, the indent of muscles at his hips visible.
Oh my god.
Lucas peeks at me with hooded eyes and cocky smugness. I press the shutter and let out an unsteady breath.
It’s impossible to deny his physique and athleticism as the game gets underway. Lucas snaps the ball in a spiral through the air and calls out plays. The ripple of muscles in his arms and shoulders as he throws the football is alluring. I lose track of how many shots I’ve taken, absorbed in documenting the grace and strength of his body as he moves around.
I take a break to scroll through what I’ve captured so far. There are almost 350 pictures on my memory card.
One image on the card calls to me. I zoom in on it. I already know I’m going to make it a black and white. Lucas is about to throw, arm poised as he skillfully grips the ball.
Those hands were on me. Touching me. Making me come.
You’re mine, sweetheart. Don’t forget that.
Heat bombards me, my skin buzzing with a hot-cold feeling. When I raise my eyes to the practice, Lucas is watching me.
It’s like he knows all the thoughts spiraling through my head.
I gulp and fuss with my leather jacket, wrapping it tighter around my body.
The fire doesn’t leave my body. It only burns hotter because Lucas keeps looking over at me.
He doesn’t even have to pay attention to the game. His team is winning. He’s that good.
I make a feeble attempt to distract myself, playing around with the shutter speed and aperture. It doesn’t work for long. I blink through the viewfinder when Lucas moves into the foreground.
Lifting my head, I find him jogging over to the fence with a gleam lighting up his eyes, making them appear bluer. That sparkle spells mischief.