Out in the End Zone (Out in College 2)

“Compared to inside, it’s ghostly quiet.”

“True. So where do you live? You’ve probably told me but I forgot,” I asked conversationally.

“A few blocks away in the studio apartment above my grandmother’s garage. How’s that for swanky?”

“Super swanky.”

He chuckled and there it was again. That extra twinkle or spark or something. I tilted my head to get a better look at him. Mitch was a good-looking guy with sharp, angular features, chiseled cheekbones, a square jaw, and a straight nose. And he was fit and toned like a gymnast. Which made sense since he was a cheer…person.

“Are you a cheerleader still?” I blurted.

Mitch narrowed his gaze slightly. “You are all over the map tonight.”

“Sorry. That was random,” I acknowledged with a self-deprecating shrug. “Is cheerleader the right word, or is it cheer person or—”

“I suppose either works and yes, I’m on the squad this year. It’s my last hurrah, so I’ll have to enjoy every second I can ogling sexy men in uniform,” he said with a dreamy sigh. “I’m assuming football players are equally pervy about the cheer squad at your school. And vice versa. All those hunky boys in tight tights checking out the girls…and the guys.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Mitch scoffed. “I doubt everyone on your team is straight. Chances are beyond high there are at least a couple of queers. It’s the one-in-ten law of nature. Don’t bother refuting it.”

I raised a brow. “I’m not arguing, man. You’re probably right. No one is out that I know of, but it’s not my business either way. Love is love.”

Mitch fixed me with a thoughtful stare, then nodded slowly. “Yes. That’s true.”

The quiet unnerved me after a few moments. I gestured toward the house. “We aren’t really kicking anyone out of the bedroom, are we?”

“I’m doing my best to avoid it. Yes, it’s incredibly tacky to fuck on someone else’s bed during a party, but people do it all the time. The problem is, they’ve been in there for a while.”

“Why didn’t Chelsea bang on the door?”

“She did, but Rory is—it’s not that easy. It’s sort of a dual screw thing. A physical action and a personal ‘fuck you,’ ” he explained cryptically.

“Chelsea and Rory?” I asked, furrowing my brow.

“No.” He glanced over at our hostess, who’d been enveloped into a larger group of friends standing nearby. “Let’s change the subject. What were we talking about? Closeted athletes? You know, I’ve had at least three boyfriends in college who started out so deep in the closet, they were practically in Narnia. The Chronicles of Narnia and don’t tell me you’ve never read them.”

“The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, right?”

He beamed and nodded. “Yes, and six other books. All of them so wonderful!”

“Now I’m confused. Are we talking about closets, athletes, sex, or books?”

Mitch snorted. “If I have a choice, I’d rather talk about sex than books.”

I shot him an amused sideways glance, then chugged the last of my water and squashed the bottle in one hand like a piece of paper. His gaze shifted from my hand to my eyes and this time, I felt a corresponding tug in my groin. No joke. My dick actually twitched against the zipper of my Levi’s. This was what happened when someone brought up sex. Okay, so I was the one who brought it up—but still.

“Everything comes back to sex,” I said sagely.

He did that arched-brow trick again and gave me a shrewd once-over. “Is that so?”

“Oh, hell yes. Humans have sex on the brain all the fucking time. If we’re not doing it, we’re talking about it or watching it. There are actual studies averaging the hours we think about sex every day.”

“Hours? Come on. Are you that big of a horndog?”

I squinted as though mulling his question seriously, then nodded. “Well, yeah. I guess I am. You probably are too.”

“True. I am.”

“See? Derek Googled it once. Men think about sex every seven seconds. Boom! You just thought about it. Admit it.”

Mitch grinned. “Guilty.”

I held up my hand for a high five and chuckled. “So…what sexy thing were you thinking about?”

“This conversation has taken an interesting turn,” he commented sarcastically. “Fine. I’ll give you a hint. A blowjob, a hand job, a rim job, or just plain ol’ screwing. Take your pick.”

I narrowed my gaze and teasingly asked, “What’s rimming, again?”

“Google it,” he suggested innocently.

I held eye contact as I pulled my cell from my back pocket. “Siri, what is rimming?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t understand. Would you repeat that, please?”

Mitch busted up laughing. “You can’t ask Siri. You’ll be there all day.”

“Then why don’t you just tell me?”

“It’s anal oral sex, genius.”

“Oh.” I let the visual take shape in my head as I slipped my cell into my pocket and clandestinely adjusted my cock. “Got it. And that feels good?”

“Ah-mazing. You should try it sometime.” He winked, then took another sip of water.