He snaps his fingers and points one at me. “Yeah. I thought troop, but I knew that was wrong.”
“I want to make sure I broaden my horizons. Find new people to hang around with.”
“You know it's okay by me if you hang with us jocks. I’d be okay if you even wanted to date a football player.”
“Well, I won’t. I went through that horror house and I don’t need to revisit it.”
Once was enough, thank you very little, Travis F.
“I don't know why you think a guy who plays chess will be better to you than one who plays football.” Jack sounds mildly annoyed.
I shrug and pull out my favorite jean skirt. I wore this all summer long. It was the right length between sexy and sporty. I might as well go with something tried and true. Plus it has pockets, which means I can stuff my ID and keys in the skirt and forego a wristlet or purse. “Maybe they aren't, but I haven't ever dated a guy who played chess before.”
“I’m all for you exploring new shit, but guys are dicks regardless of whether they wear a jock strap or a pocket protector.”
“That's a ringing endorsement of your gender.”
He walks toward the front door. “If you decide to take a vow of celibacy that'd be great, but I’m not that na?ve.”
“Maybe I should hang around with Masters,” I joke.
Jack opens the door and steps into the hall. All the traffic stops and stares at him. He smiles and nods to the bangable girls, which it appears encompasses all of the females in the hall. “I thought you didn't believe him.”
“Jury’s still out.”
5
Ellie
“Hi, Eliot,” Masters murmurs as I wait for the food service employee to spoon a very bland piece of chicken onto a plate.
“Masters.” I guess we’re skipping over exchanging names. I felt him at my back before he even opened his mouth. He carries a certain crackling energy with him. Tonight he smells freshly showered, which is as dangerous as the slightly sweaty, early morning Masters. I shudder lightly.
“Anything wrong?” There’s light amusement in his voice. I’m sure if I turn around he’ll be grinning. Since my defenses are weak from the lack of food, I don’t even peek at him.
“The food here is lousy.” Of course, I say it at the exact moment the server hands me my plate. “But this looks great.” I give her a big smile that she doesn’t return. Masters muffles a snort while I hurriedly grab my plate before the server tips the tray on my head.
“It’s the hall closest to the athlete dorms, so there’s a lot of low calorie choices for those in training. But you can ask the grill to make you anything.”
I turn then, because I have to, and see Masters has a giant cheeseburger, French fries, and a glass of milk taller than my head.
“Now you tell me.”
He plucks the tray from my hands and says, “You should have had breakfast with me. I could’ve shared all kinds of important Western State secrets with you.”
I’m forced to trail after him like a puppy as he makes his way to the back, which has about ten tables shoved together and forty guys. It’s a good thing I’m not carrying my tray, because the sight of half the football team sitting together makes my hands sweaty.
I use the only diversion I have available—Masters’ butt. It’s a work of art and I’m not even into men’s asses. It’s hard and round, and even though he’s wearing cargo shorts, I can still see the flex and release of his glutes. The more I think about Masters flexing and releasing, the tighter my body gets.
No way is Knox Masters, all six-foot-six-inches of prime NFL bound manhood, a virgin. He’s got the wingspan of a god and his hands are big enough that I think they could actually span my waist, which is in no way tiny. When we walked in here, my brother looked almost small at six-four and two ten. I’m not sure what Masters weighs, but he’s solid everywhere. His thighs look like tree trunks, and his shoulders are so wide they blotted out the sun when he virtually accused me of creeping on him at six in the morning.
The door to the stadium was open!
Then he spent the whole time pretending he wasn’t a football player even after I’d hinted broadly that I knew who he was. I should punch him for that.
Now he’s playing another game.
Bodies don’t come harder or finer than his. Sure, there are great forms everywhere in college, particularly among the athletes, but Masters is of a different caliber. Already people are whispering Heisman and First Round in connection with his name. Panties probably decorate the sidewalks as he walks to class. Women all around the campus have to be offering themselves as tribute on the altar of his purported virginity on a nonstop basis.
Jack sits in the middle with his arm around an empty chair. His brows furrow when he spots Masters carrying my tray.