“Nah… I’ll find room.”
She points to my bicep on display with my arm propped on her door. “Um…you look like Popeye.”
“Do not.”
She laughs and the sound shoots straight between my legs. “Do too! I think you even have an anchor tattoo under here somewhere.” She pulls at my shirt again, and I flinch as her fingers brush my ribs. Her eyes flare. “You’re so ticklish!”
I drop my arm, back up a step, and point at her. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Ryder, a friend of ours, and the son of the UFL’s owner Cameron Kyle, saunters up wearing a Bad Religion shirt and a frown.
“Ryder, tell Killian he should come with me to run a quick errand and then come to Clifford’s party tonight. And tell him he’ll have plenty of time to work out between our errand and the party so he can have the best of both worlds.” She shrugs like it’s just that simple.
“Or maybe Axelle should skip the party tonight”—I give the guy a fist bump and nod at Axelle—“and hit the gym with me instead.”
Ryder’s eyes widen. “Dude, never tell a woman she needs to hit the gym, man. That’s bad juju. Bitches talk, and before you know it you’ll be taken off the fuckable list of every chick on campus.”
“Yep, he’s right.” She swings her feet into her car and shoves the key into the ignition. “You’ve now been scratched from my list.”
I clear my throat, but it makes more of a choking sound. I think she’s kidding, but was I on her list? Even if only a proverbial one? Damn, just the thought and… I can’t feel my legs.
“Oh crap!” Axelle rests her head on the steering wheel. “I think I forgot my phone in class.”
I blink away the visual of my name getting slashed from her list. “I’ll grab it.” I move to head back to room E34 when she stops me.
“No, you stay here and let Ry convince you to come to the party tonight, and when I get back, we’ll go run that errand.” She pinches my cheek, and I know I’ll do whatever she asks. I watch her jog-walk back to her classroom, mesmerized by the sexy sway of her hips and the cute way her left foot kicks out a little, making her gait uniquely hers.
“Breathe, brother.”
I peer down at Ryder, who’s almost my size, minus about three inches and fifty pounds of muscle. “Does it look like I’m not breathin’?”
He shakes his head. “Dude, just come to the damn party. Better to be there than stuck at home, worrying something’s going to happen to your precious princess.”
“Fuck off.”
“Yeah, you keep that act up. No one’s buying it except you…and maybe her.”
I freeze and glare at his blond spiked hair. “First of all, you’re an idiot. Second, if you’re at that party tonight and anything happens to her, I’ll break all your fingers.”
“Come to the party. Have a drink. Hell, meet a girl. Act irresponsible for once; make some mistakes. You live like a priest, man.”
“Got shit I wanna do.” I shrug. “Partying and making mistakes will stand in the way of where I’m going.”
He throws his head back, laughing.
My skin itches in irritation. I’d never expect him to understand. He’s been practically handed everything his entire life. Whatever. I don’t have time for this shit.
“It’s one night!”
A growl rumbles in my chest. “I’m not going.” I’ve made the mistake of being around Axelle when she’s “dating” someone, and the torture is so bad I’d beg for disembowelment.
“Fine,” he moans.
Axelle comes bouncing across the lot with a bright smile and her phone in hand.
“I’ll keep an eye on your girl,” he mumbles.
“So?” Her head swivels between us. “Are you coming?”
Ryder lifts an eyebrow, and I scowl at him before nodding to her. “Sure. But let’s make it fast.”
She squeals and wraps her arms around my neck, pressing her soft body deep into mine. Pure fucking heaven. I give her a quick squeeze and back away as I always do. Sometimes I wonder if I didn’t break away first how long she would hang on for.
She jumps in her car. “Follow me!”
Ryder grins and shakes his head. “See you kids tonight.”
I don’t have the balls to say I’m not fucking going. I’ll text Axelle later, tell her I fell asleep or training went long. Either way, there’s no damn way I’m going to this party tonight.
*
Axelle
Shit. Bringing Killian might have been a mistake.
If the look of disgust on his face when he pulled up wasn’t a sign, his brooding silence and perma-glare send a pretty clear message.