Campus God (Campus)

Air escapes from my lungs in a relieved rush.

When he folds his arms across his chest, the grooved and corded muscles that make up the wide expanse of his back constrict. He’s all solid and carefully constructed strength. A wall of impenetrable steel, from the broad set of his shoulders to his traps, deltoids, and lats.

Why does he have to be such a good-looking jerk?

So tall and powerful.

And the lip ring…

A reluctant shiver works its way through me before settling like a dull ache in my core.

I yank the shirt over my head before forcing my arms through the holes and pulling it down my body. It’s a few sizes too big, but it’s better than the cold, wet sweater I’d been wearing. As the material settles around my body, I’m once again inundated with the masculine scent of him. Unable to resist, I bring the soft cotton to my nose and inhale another lungful.

Not wanting him to catch me, I release the fabric and smooth it down just as he swings around. Everything in me stills as his gaze rakes over my length. I’m like a rabbit frozen in place as a predator decides whether to make a tasty meal out of me. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

Self-preservation and past run-ins leave me bracing for the unexpected. Instead, he swings toward the dresser before yanking open a drawer, grabbing a maroon T-shirt, and covering his chest.

Only then does he glance over his shoulder and meet my gaze. “Ready to go?”

More than ready.

I nod and fly past him to the door before practically ripping it off its hinges. It’s so much easier to breathe in the hallway. The air isn’t nearly as thick or oppressive as inside the room. My heart pounds a painful beat as I race down the staircase.

No matter how swiftly I move, I’m uncomfortably aware of Crosby’s intimidating presence silently stalking me.

As I rejoin the crowd, my feet stutter with the realization that he could have easily given me a shirt from the dresser. Instead, I’m wearing the one off his back.

4

CROSBY

My attention stays riveted to the girl with the long, caramel-colored hair standing on the other side of the living room. The very same female who is now wearing my shirt. In a weird way, it feels like I’ve marked her as my own and she now belongs to me.

Brooke would, no doubt, have something to say about that.

And none of it would be good.

The thought is enough to make my lips twitch. I probably shouldn’t take such perverse pleasure in pissing her off, but I can’t seem to help myself. It’s just too easy. A few carefully placed comments and she goes off like a shot.

I like the way she looks when she’s all riled up. Her eyes light with fury as the edges of her mouth sink. There are times when I wonder if I’ve pushed her too far and she’ll rip me to shreds, times when a strange, combustible energy fills the atmosphere and my cock stiffens as all the blood drains from my brain.

“Hi, Crosby.”

I blink back to the present and realize that Shandi Miller has sidled up next to me while I wasn’t paying attention. With a knowing smile, she flattens both palms against my chest before stroking them down to the waistband of my jeans.

“Hey. How are you?” Gaze focused on her, I bring the bottle of beer to my lips and take a long swig.

Her heavily made up eyes lower to half-mast as a sly smile tugs at her lips. “Better now that I’ve found you.” Her voice is nothing more than a purr that holds the promise of enough pleasure to make my eyes cross.

She presses closer until I can feel the tight points of her nipples against me. Shandi doesn’t have a shy bone in her trim little body. She’s a girl who knows what she wants and goes after it with single-minded determination. You have to respect a woman like that. My guess is that she’s trolling for a hookup. Since she’s one of the girls I fuck on a regular basis, I would normally be up for a couple hours of no-strings-attached sex.

But not tonight.

Tonight, my thoughts are filled with the curvaceous girl who is pointedly ignoring me from the other side of the room. Even though I know nothing can happen, that doesn’t stop me from wanting her.

From craving what will never be mine.

My thoughts tumble back to earlier this evening when she’d knocked into me, spilling the drink down the front of her shirt. The golden liquid had turned the delicate material practically sheer before becoming plastered across her breasts like a second skin.

I’ve spent years fantasizing about what her tits would look like beneath her clothing. Now I have a visual to tuck away for later use. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one taking mental snapshots. From the corner of my eye, I watched a few guys do double takes, ogling her with hungry gazes. Unable to stand the idea of a bunch of jerkoffs drooling over her, I grabbed her hand and towed her up the staircase to Easton’s bedroom. Could I have given her one of his shirts to wear for the remainder of the night?