All Played Out (Rusk University 3)

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He doesn’t look angry. His face is relaxed and easy, but he’s so good at putting on a show that could just be what he wants me to see.

“Don’t be. I’m just reminding you why you have no need to be embarrassed in front of me. You said we were complete opposites. That you don’t care what people think. So don’t start now. But if you’re too nervous, just say the word, and I’ll take us back to the party. Or I’ll go back to the party and leave you here to check this item off your list alone.”

I swallow. I don’t want to be alone. But I’m not sure I’m brave enough to do this with him either.

“Will you go first?” I ask.

He stills behind me, and his jaw clenches. I watch his neck work as he swallows, and I wonder what he’s thinking. His voice is deeper, almost hoarse, when he says, “Sure. I can do that.”

He pries my hands off the lock, and in a move that sends shock waves across my skin, he places a casual kiss on my fingers before releasing them.

All of a sudden I feel that same suffocating sensation that made me lash out at him with harsh words, but this time it makes me want to lash out in a different way. I want to place my hand on the sharp edge of his jaw and turn his face toward me. I want to bring my mouth to his and find out just how hot the heat between us can get.

But this time I control the impulse. I push it down, try to temper it with logic, but for every reason I think of why I shouldn’t kiss him, I think of another why I should.

With a victorious “Got it,” he undoes the latch and pulls the metal rod that the canvas fencing is attached to out of a divot in the ground. He folds the heavy fabric back, letting it rest on another part of the fence, and gestures at the pool.

“After you, my lady.”

There are only a few feet of concrete between the fencing and the water, so I step in and to the left, and he follows. The water is clear and still, glowing from the reflection of the moon.

“Me first?” Torres asks.

He’s already almost naked. All he has to do is slip off that loincloth and anything he has underneath it, and he’s done. Before I even give him an answer, he hooks his thumb under the band of his costume, and begins pushing it down his hips.

I gulp in air, and order myself to look away, but I can’t. I just can’t. Luckily, he’s wearing a pair of tight, black shorts beneath, and I’m able to finally pull my gaze away while he’s still covered. I hear him lay the loincloth over the fence in front of him, and I turn farther away, lest I be tempted to look back again.

I realize I’m still clutching the spiral to my chest, terrified to let it out of my hands. So while he removes his last article of clothing, I lean over the fence and drop the spiral onto the grass.

I keep my back determinedly to Torres, but even so, I know the minute he moves away from me. I can feel it.

Which is absolutely absurd. It’s impossible to feel a person’s presence. Feeling directly implies touch.

And yet . . .

There’s a splash behind me, and no longer able to contain myself, I turn. I watch his head break the surface of the water, rivulets running over his face and shoulders. He reaches up and wipes his eyes, and then he’s grinning at me. Wild and carefree and so, so handsome it’s hard to breathe.

It’s easy to understand why Dylan warned me away from him. There is something impossible to resist about his charm and when he focuses it all on one person? I can imagine he gets just about any girl he wants.

And improbably . . . that girl is now me.

I can’t really see anything beneath the water. To my eyes, he’s no more naked now than he’s been all night. But even so, an illicit thrill runs through because I know. Even if I can’t see.

Before I can ask him to turn around, he does, wading over to the side of the pool and leaning his arms against the edge with his back to me.

He doesn’t say anything to prompt me into action. Nor does he seem impatient. He behaves almost as if I’m not even here.

And that is the thing I don’t understand about Dylan’s warning. Sure, he’s been blatantly flirtatious. And shameless was a very apt description. But he’s never been pushy or rude, except for the moment when he stole my spiral, but even that had been oddly . . . thoughtful. And it makes me wonder . . . is he different with me than he is with his friends? Or just different with girls he’s interested in? Maybe the thoughtfulness is an act to put me at ease.

Well, if it is . . . it’s working.

With a deep breath, I reach for the buttons on my shirt and begin to undo them. The first brush of air against my bare skin makes me shiver. It’s not cold outside, despite it being the end of October. Texas doesn’t have a traditional winter so much as it has one long summer with occasional cold fronts to break up the relentless heat.

When I get the shirt all the way unbuttoned, I shrug it off and lay it over the fence beside Torres’s loincloth. I blush furiously at the sight of the dark shorts on top of his costume. They’re longer than boxer briefs, but they’re still constructed like them. And I can just imagine how snugly they would fit over his muscled thighs . . . over all of him. I look back over my shoulder, but he’s still exactly as I left him, his wet, muscled shoulders glinting in the moonlight.

Quickly, I shove the plaid schoolgirl skirt over my hips, and it pools at my feet. I step out of the garment and pick it up, tossing it on top of my shirt, and then I pause. I could just jump in like this. Admittedly, I’m not a skinny-dipping expert, but I’ve seen enough movies to know one doesn’t have to be completely naked for it to count.

But then my bra and underwear will be wet when I go back to the party. And since my shirt is white, there’d be no hiding it. I’d either have to wait for my undergarments to dry or just say screw it and go back anyway. It would take a long while for my things to dry. Dylan would no doubt wonder where I am. She’s probably already wondering.

No. Bra and underwear need to go, too.

With one last glance at Torres, I reach behind me to unclasp my bra, shimmy off my underwear, and throw them both on the pile of clothes.

Then I turn to face the pool.

I look at Torres’s back and wonder if he can feel me the way I thought I could feel him earlier. Does he know I’m standing here facing him, completely on display? One peek over his shoulder is all it would take to know all my secrets. But he doesn’t peek. Not once.