Tomboy

“Sure,” she said, managing to pull from deep reserves somewhere in her toes to make herself sound like she was in total control at the moment as opposed to having a squadron of butterflies zoom around inside her every time Zach looked her way. “I have to give you your wet suit anyway.”

His eyes rounded with surprise. “Wet suit?”

“It’s October,” she said. “Kinda cold for an outdoor dunking booth without one.”

“Blackburn, I am buying all the tickets for that one,” the center Ian Petrov said with a laugh. “Be warned, I was starting pitcher for my high school baseball team.”

Zach closed his eyes and mumbled something that sounded a lot like fuck me while the other men laughed.

“Come on guys, let’s get you set up in your booths,” Harper said, her eyes beaming as she gave the four men a collective and very appreciative once-over. “Which one of you wants to give away goldfish?”

While they walked out toward the back parking lot where the booths were set up, she and Zach headed toward the staff break room. It looked the same as always, two small circular tables, a little kitchenette in the corner, a fridge in another corner, and a huge dry-erase board on the wall with a thermometer drawn on it, showing the progress on their fundraising efforts. Whenever there was an all-hands meeting, the room fit twenty. Still, it seemed small with him in it. The scent of his soap surrounded her, the anticipation of knowing he was there brushed against her skin, and there were so many horizontal surfaces that it gave her all sorts of ideas that she most definitely did not need to be having.

Desperate for some air, she went over to the table with the wet suit on it and picked it up. “So, this is on loan, but since your height and weight stats are on the team’s website, we figured it should fit.”

“What about my hoodie?” he asked, taking the wet suit from her grasp and dropping it back on the table. “How does that fit?”

“Yeah, sorry,” she said, the words coming out breathy. “I need to wash that and give it back.”

Damn. He was close enough that she’d barely have to reach out to touch him, trace her fingertips down his muscular chest, tug up his shirt, and twirl her tongue around his pierced nipples.

As if he could read her thoughts, he moved nearer, winding the end of her braid around his finger. “That’s not what I want to know.”

Electricity snapped in the air around them, stealing her breath as every nerve in her body focused on him.

“I spent the entirety of the plane ride home with a hard-on,” he went on, desire darkening his eyes until they were nearly black. “I was wondering if the hoodie went low enough to cover your ass, or if it would stop just short, giving me the perfect view of the bottom of that sweet butt of yours.”

“It goes down to my thighs.” Brilliant. A response for the ages, girl.

“So I’d have to ask you to pull it up for me.” He lowered his hand to her soft cotton shirt, inching it higher and higher. “I like that, too. That way I could have a nice long look at you from all angles.”

The mental image of that—of standing in front of him only in his hoodie, lifting it ever so slowly, showing a new sliver of skin a breath at a time had her squeezing her legs together in an effort to find relief. One night. That was what they’d agreed on.

“Zach,” she asked, just barely hearing the urging of her better judgment anymore. “What are you doing?”

He stroked the pad of his thumb over the skin above her jeans. “Asking you very important questions.”

Her entire world collapsed into that small place on her body where he was touching her, leaving a trail of want behind. “Why?”

“Because.” He dipped his head down and nipped her earlobe. “I want to fuck you again, and at some point, I want to fuck you in that hoodie.”

She was supposed to have gotten him out of her system, but she hadn’t, and if they did this, she wasn’t sure she would. There was something about Zach; hidden under all those layers of attitude and defensiveness, she recognized some place deep in herself.

“It was supposed to be one time.” Honestly, she didn’t know if she was talking to him or herself at that point.

“Is that all you want it to be?” he asked, his voice rough and urgent.

“No.”

“Then why can’t we?”

It was a question she might have been able to answer if he weren’t so close, but he was, and her body overruled the logic of her brain. She gave in to the urge to touch him, to feel his warm skin, lifting his shirt and skimming her palms up his unyielding chest.

“This isn’t a good idea.” But God did it feel good to touch him.

“You’re right. It’s a great one.” His hands were on her ass, cupping her through her jeans. “Does that door lock?”

“No, but the bathroom does.”