And now I work with them. Eep!
I may have had a mini—and by mini, I mean total, full-blown—freak-out when I realized the hot auburn-haired—genetic, not from a box like mine—guy my new roommate was video chatting with was the JT Taylor.
Annnd, when I realized said new roomie was his stunt partner, PF Dennings, I might have done a bad impression of Meredith Blake in The Parent Trap being confronted with two Hallies.
It wasn’t my fault, I swear. How else is a person supposed to react when presented with the fact that she was unexpectedly living with cheer royalty? I mean, covering my mouth with my hands and jump-bouncing my gaze between the two of them seems like a perfectly acceptable reaction to me.
Not going to lie—it still hurts my heart a bit that they aren’t my Red Squad teammates. However, coaching alongside them this summer has gone a long way to healing that hurt.
Epic…that’s really the only adjective I can think of to describe the experience.
“Did you get all the footage you needed?” JT asks, motioning to the GoPros I have set up along the perimeter of our practice floor.
“Yup. I can edit the content later,” I confirm, thinking of my unofficial favorite part of my job here helping revamp NJA’s social media presence.
“Okay then.” JT finger snaps at me as most of the NJA senior level athletes head for the locker rooms at the back of the gym. “Let’s have some fun.”
“Wha—” I mumble around a mouthful of Gatorade.
“I’m about to make all your dreams come true, Q.”
I see Kay roll her eyes at JT dialing up his flirt level.
“Why am I scared to ask what you mean by that?” I move cautiously in JT’s direction, waving at Mason, Trav, and Savvy, making their way onto the floor now that practice is over.
“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Unless you’re suddenly scared to get tossed around.”
“OHMIGAH! We’re stunting together?” I screech and just don’t care.
JT nods, and I drop to the mat, immediately starting to stretch, watching as Mason hooks an arm around Kay as soon as he’s close enough. Then, he lays a kiss on her mouth that’s so hot it has my toes curling inside my cheer shoes.
Sighs chorus at the sight, my own included.
While I admit it’s been fun keeping my and CK’s relationship a secret, I can’t help but feel irrationally angry at a whole bunch of people I’ve never met over all the damage they inflicted on the man I’m falling for.
After folding over in a straddle split, my gaze finds its way back to a canoodling Kaysonova.
I have to admit, I am looking forward to the day that will be CK and me—kissing each other no matter where we are. That day is coming soon, seeing as most of our roommates are moving back into the apartment when camp for the football team starts.
#CHAPTER31
* * *
“Ah, traitor!”
I carefully set aside the tablet I’ve been using to tweak some of the graphics for my video game as Quinn hustles into the living room. I expected a reaction like this out of her when I put on Bones without her. Honestly, I think I was practically begging for it.
“Don’t act like you haven’t seen this episode before, Red,” I say, tracking her progress toward me and noticing the hitch in her gait.
“Irrelevant, Christopher.”
There’s my girl.
Shit!
Those kinds of thoughts are dangerous. I know we’ve been messing around for the last week, and sure, we’ve done some couple-ly things, as Quinn would call them, but I’m under no delusions that this is anything more than a friends-with-bennies type situation. Quinn is no more my girl than she is JT’s or Grady’s, as has been speculated on the Gram.
Though…I can’t help finding myself agreeing with some of the comments I read. A hunky (their words, not mine) male cheerleader or future NHL-playing hockey player makes much more sense as Quinn’s match than a shy computer nerd.
That fact is one of the main reasons keeping us a secret has been so important. There’s no need to worry about the others feeling pressured to choose between us when we inevitably end if they never knew about us in the first place. Eviction would be nothing compared to the excommunication from the group, something I truly fear.
Quinn flops onto the couch, toeing off her flip-flops and kicking her legs up to rest in my lap with a groan.
“Sore?” I lift one of her feet and knead the arch.
“Oh, god.” She tosses her head back, much the same as she did on the pool table last night. My dick, which had already perked up at the sight of Quinn in her tiny black cheer shorts and NJA-emblazoned sports bra, goes from half-mast to full-fledged at the guttural sound.
“Feel good?” I dig into the ball of her foot.
“Mmm, if you keep doing things like that, I envision lots more blow jobs in your future.”
“Is that so?” I massage up the length of her calf, her skin warm and soft over the hard muscle.
“Mmmhmm,” she hums, eyes squeezed shut, dark lashes fanned across her flushed cheeks.
“And what do those clairvoyant abilities of yours see if I tell you I turned up the temperature on the hot tub once I saw the video of you stunting at practice?”
Quinn’s head lolls on the back of the couch, her dark eyes slowly peeling open to hazily blink up at me. “You didn’t.”
I smirk. “I did.”
Her gaze flits to the wall of glass leading to the balcony. “Then I’d say…” She pushes up, folding forward, stretching an arm out toward me. I suck in a breath as she walks her fingers up my thigh, slipping them beneath the hem of my T-shirt. “How do you feel about joining me for a dip?”
“I’d say”—I gesture to the board shorts I have on—“why else do you think I’m wearing these?”
“Oh, Superman.” Quinn giggles and bites down on her lip. “I love that you think you’re going to need your bathing suit.”
Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Quinn is eyeing my Superman-printed board shorts like they’re the enemy.
“You do realize you were the one who gifted me these for Christmas, right?” I step out of the way so she can set the tray with the charcuterie board she quickly put together on one of the lounge chairs surrounding the hot tub.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She waves a dismissive hand at me. “I’m an excellent gift giver. Now take them off.”
I run my gaze over the practice gear she still has on.
“Fine.” She huffs, throwing her arms up before wiggling to remove her top. Then, as if I’m not already struggling to breathe at the sight of her full tits topped with dark hard nipples, she hooks her thumbs in her shorts and shoves them down her legs.
Kicking the material to the side, she straightens and assumes her favorite superhero hands-on-hips pose. There’s zero care that we are outside, the warm evening air blowing gently around us, the fading light of the early evening sun casting a glow on her tanned skin. It’s not like anyone can see us. None of the other buildings around are as tall as ours.
I wish I could bottle up some of her confidence for myself. If I had just an ounce of it, we might have a fighting chance.