Snatched

“A tutoring session, obviously,” he jokes.

“Oh, good. I like tutoring you. Especially when I see your big cock,” I say, then realize I said the words out loud.

Now Finn laughs properly, loud and echoing down the hallway. I try to wither and die, but fail.

“Glad to hear you enjoyed it,” he says, voice lower and a little growling, but in a way that makes my chest tighten.

I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of being carried, and knowing I’m safe.

Chapter 5

I’m not in my bed. My bed isn’t this comfortable. And my sheets are the cheap ones from Target, not these fancy smooth linen type things. And my ceiling is popcorn, not solid. And there’s no view of the Harton stadium from my window—

I sit bolt upright and yelp into the near-darkness. The room I’m in is lit only be the emergency lights in the yawning Harton football stadium that stretches out below it, at least fifteen floors down. It smells like men’s deodorant and shaving cream, and has the stark feeling of a hotel room.

I squint into the dim, then fumble around in the bed— this has got to be a king sized bed, it’s like I’m sleeping in a small European principality. My hands finally land on my phone, but it’s dead. What happened? My senses seem to be coming back to me in a weird order; it’s only after I’ve confirmed that my phone is useless that I look down and see I’m wearing an enormous Harton t-shirt and, thankfully, my own underwear and bra underneath that. As my eyes adjust, I see my dress and shoes are on an otherwise-empty desk just across from me.

“You okay?” a voice asks. A male voice. Finn. It’s coming from the floor next to me, where he must have slept last night.

“Finn?”

“Oh, you remember my name. I had my doubts there, toward the end.” His voice is groggy, even lower and sexier than usual. I look over. I make out the half-smile on his face as he says this, though his eyes are still in shadow.

“What happened?” I ask, trying to stop the 20/20 specials I’ve seen on the dangers of college drinking from flooding my mind.

Finn rubs his eyes and scoots back so he can lean against one of the nightstands. He’s not wearing a shirt, and his body is just as beautiful as I remember it. Tan skin, chiseled muscles, every piece of him carved from stone. I shiver.

“The last of that booze hit you around the time we left Football House,” Finn says. “I tried to take you home, but you lost your keys somewhere and your sister didn’t come to the door. So I brought you here.”

“And where is here?”

“My dorm room,” he says, like this should be obvious. Really, it should have been— I’ve seen photos of the football players’ dorm rooms. They’re all massive like this, they all overlook the stadium, they all have kitchens that the players never use since the nutritionists plan and deliver almost all their meals. I look outside at the stadium, at the way the lights cast ghostly shadows across the yard lines. I’m trying hard as I can to draw up memories of the night, but after seeing Finn in the hall, after feeling him pick me up, it all becomes something of a blur.

“Nothing else happened,” Finn says, as if he knows what I’m wondering. “Though I did put you in that shirt, since that dress looked like it’d be miserable to sleep in with all the sparkle things. Also some asshole spilled a beer on you while I was carrying you out of the party.”

“Oh. Yeah, the sequins,” I say, face flushing. He saw me in my underwear, then. I’m embarrassed, but simultaneously relieved that I wore a cute matching set. “Thank you,” I say.

“Keep it,” Finn says. He has his arms propped up on his knees, and his eyes search my face, like he’s waiting for me to say something.

“Um, I should go… I mean, I’m going to go, I can call an Uber or something, but… um, I’ll have to wait till I know my sister is home, since I don’t have my keys. If she’s out with Bradley it’ll be later this morning. I mean, I could go to his place and track her down, if you want me to go—“

“It’s fine,” Finn says calmly. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t want you here.” He rises and walks to the tiny kitchen, then returns with a coffee mug of water. He hands it to me.

“Thanks,” I say, and sip the tap water.

“How do you feel?” he asks, sitting at the foot of the bed.

My stomach warms and I feel my heartbeat quicken. “Fine,” I mumble, suddenly tongue-tied. I sip more water.