According to the athletics department and school regulations, I should live with the guys; eating, training, studying, breathing with them, too, but when I accepted the scholarship, I applied for special consideration and requested permission to live off campus. There was no way they’d have let Em live with me and a bunch of guys in one big house. Em and I were a package deal. If they wanted me on the team, they needed to give in to my request.
Dad said I was pushing my luck and blowing my chance at making something of my life. He didn’t believe they’d allow it, but they did. So, we share a shitty little apartment. They listed it as a one-bedroom, but it’s more like a one-room, one-bath apartment. Pretty sure they call them studios or something because it makes them sound so much cooler than saying ‘I’m renting a kitchen with a bed’, and a screen. Can’t forget the screen. The screen makes all the difference. Three panels of flimsy material held together by splintered wood divide the room in half. The sofa sits on one side facing the television, the bed is on the opposite side.
Privacy.
Good thing Em and I don’t mind the lack of it. At least the bathroom door closes.
I pull the car over to the side in front of the ice-cream shoppe and turn off the ignition. Em raises an eyebrow at me.
“What?” I ask as I climb out of the car, shutting the door behind me. I jog around the car, lowering my face against the rain falling in light drops as Em follows.
Ducking under the low-hanging blue and white striped awning, I push open the door, the bell jingling above my head and hold it open for Em to walk through.
The shop is like some sort of time portal and once you step through the front door you’re transported back to the fifties. It’s like a gelato has exploded in there. All pastel colors; pink, blue, green, yellow, purple. There are frills and chrome details, and neon lights on the wall. Blue and white checked tiles, green-covered stools at the counter, a jukebox in the corner playing Elvis. It’s sickening, like the ice-cream, and I kind of love it.
“Surprised is all. I counted at least eight things on the way here that should have grabbed your attention,” Em answers my question once we’re out of the rain.
I frown and tilt my head in confusion, stomping my feet on the mat to dry them so I don’t drag wet footsteps over the sparkling floor.
I saw nothing on the drive that was distracting.
“Annie, Remi, Sophia,” Emerson counts off using her fingers. “And Delia.”
“And you wonder why I got the scholarship and you didn’t. How did you graduate high school if you can’t count? That’s four, not eight.”
“Oh no, it was eight.” She smirks and then cups her breasts with her hands and winks.
“You sure you’re not a dude?” I ask and she scoffs. I’m messing with her, because sometimes her mind is dirtier than mine. She always surprises me.
She leans in close and I’m prepared for what she’s about to say next. I press my lips together to hide my smile and give my head a slight shake wondering whether I should mess with her more. What sort of friend would I be if I didn’t?
Em lifts on her toes. Her tits brush my chest and the blood rushes straight to my dick. “Why don’t you kiss me and find out?”
“Sure. I’ll kiss you.” I lower my face to hers. Her breath halts and her eyes widen.
“You wi—?” Pressing a finger to her lips, I cut her off. She gasps, her lips part and her eyes lock on mine.
My lips quirk up in a smirk as I nod my head and drag my finger down her lips, over her chin, and trace the column of her throat. Heat floods my body as she swallows, her throat moving under my touch. I skate my finger down her chest, between her breasts, biting back a groan as she arches back, chest heaving, and continue dragging my finger down the bare skin of her stomach, flicking the waistband of her sweats.
I press my lips to her ears. “I’ll kiss you.” I pause, almost stopping because we’re pushing the friendship line. But I can’t resist, so I drag my finger lower, gliding over the front of her sweats, tracing her hip bone. “Right.” Until my finger hits the center of her thighs. “Here.”
Em’s breath quivers and she leans into me.
“What do you think?” I whisper. I’m toying with her, proving my point. She won’t let Austin in her pants. Yet, burying my face between her legs has merit. Could be fun.
I wouldn’t turn her down if she said yes.
Her hands come up to my chest, clutching my shirt for a split second, then she pulls back and rams the heels of both hands into my chest. “No.”
I chuckle.
“You’re an ass, Colt.”
“Worth a shot.”
I move to the counter and eye Em for longer than normal as she contemplates which ice-cream flavors she wants, imagining what she’d taste like, feel like on my tongue.
Shit. Messing with her messed with me.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath but all I’m aware of is the heat in Em’s eyes when I dragged my finger down her body, the way her tongue came out to wet her lips, the way she leaned into my touch, the goosebumps on her skin.
I gulp and reach down to adjust my shorts. Months at FU, multiple dates, so many ball bitches and nothing. Nothing. Not so much as a flicker of desire.
But here I am, hard-as-fuck in an ice-cream shoppe standing next to my best friend.
I’m so screwed.
8
Emerson
He’s like a freaking celebrity or something. I stand off to the side of the room as the crowd swarms around Colt. My chest aches and my lungs tighten. He hates the attention, but it’s part of being the best shooting guard at FU in the last ten years. The reason for them winning the championship. So, he sucks it up, shakes some hands, laughs at some terrible jokes, flirts with the fluffle-heads, all while keeping me in his sights.
I’m still on edge after the ice-cream shoppe incident, but I try to push those thoughts and feelings aside. They have me riled up and unsettled. I’m not sure how to deal with them. Can’t deny I felt some spark of longing, a craving for something. Imagining Colt kissing me there sends tingles through my body. It might help me overcome my fear of the opposite sex.
It’s not too different than my idea of getting Colt to shove his tongue down my throat. Except he’d be putting his tongue somewhere else. I clench my thighs and swallow.
It’s crazy. I’m being crazy.
Friends don’t kiss friends. He told me so himself. By that token, friends sure as hell don’t go down on each other.
Colt moves through the crowd, angling his body so he can see me. It’s no secret I hate these parties, more so when he gets dragged away from me, because I worry for him, and me. I’m wary of everyone around us. One eye on me the entire time, he keeps his arm slung over a ball, securing it to his hip. I attempt to bring my breathing under control. He’s a few feet away, not far. He’s calm, and I’m okay hiding in the corner, rubbing at the pain in my chest.
If he can’t keep me close, then the ball becomes his comfort. No one would dare knock the ball out of his hands. Me on the other hand, I’m easy to shove aside, to push out the way to get closer to the man. To Colton James. I’m expendable, replaceable. I’m no one to everyone, but he’s everything to me.