The Hook Up (Game On Book 1) (15 page)

Strong legs wrap around me, her heels digging into my back to spur me on. I’m going out of my mind.

Sliding my hands up to her back, I swing her up into my lap. Her arms come around me as if they belong there. I fill my hands back up with her plump, irresistible ass, squeezing as I find the sweet spot on her neck with my mouth. She’s fragrant here, smelling of spice and Anna.

“Take me,” I demand against her damp skin, my tongue slicking over the silky surface before I suck. “Take me.”

Her hands grasp my shoulders, and then she’s riding me, her hot pussy clasping my dick so hard I shake. I clench her ass, trying not to hold her too tightly for fear of hurting her. But it’s a struggle. I want her too much, and my hips surge up to meet her on the down stroke. She makes those noises, those little whimpers that get me so hot I’m sweating, my breath a rasp against her neck. Her full breasts jiggle and slide against my chest with every thrust. I’m in heaven, and I don’t want it to end. It can’t end.

MAYBE I’VE MADE a mistake letting Baylor into my home. It’s a personal thing, showing that part of myself, exchanging stories about our family. Maybe it was too much for him. Or maybe the novelty has worn off, and he’s come to remember that he dates perfect looking jock groupies. I don’t know. I miss decisive me, when it was easy to walk away. Now I’m stuck in class trying not to look over at Drew Baylor, who has been hunched in his seat for the past forty-five minutes.

Okay, so I might have been the one to send him packing after we had sex in my bed. But it had been intense, too intense, and I’d needed to collect myself in private. And, yes, I was the one who made it clear that I wouldn’t see him until our next Philosophy class.

And though it’s probably safer if we don’t look at each other during class, his behavior now is odd. He’s withdrawn, not talking. By the time class is over, I’m convinced that we are too. It’s shocking how much this hurts.

Drew leaves first. I find myself following. I might be overreacting. How would I know anymore? My inner radar has gone AWOL. But I buck the fuck up and decide to find out.

He’s already out of the lecture hall and descending the wide front stairs.

“Baylor.” I don’t say it loud, but he hears.

His long stride stutters and then he turns. And because I’m following him down the stairs, we both come to a halt at the same moment, face to face. I’m a step above him, which makes us almost even in height now. I hadn’t noticed it before, being a paranoid freak and all, but now that I get a good look, he’s pale beneath his tan, and his mouth is pinched and white around the edges.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “You look terrible.”

His mouth flattens further. “I’m fine.” He glances toward the quad as if to find safety. And I go cold. He’s never looked to get away from me before.

“All right.” I move past him. “See you.”

I don’t get to take another step before he grabs my hand. “Anna…”

He lets me go when I look down at our hands, and instantly I want his back.

“I have a headache,” he grumbles.

My lips twitch, a strange aching relief pushing through my veins. “And big, strong men don’t admit to weakness?”

The corner of his mouth curls, but he won’t meet my eyes. “Something like that.” Then he goes so pale that I move closer.

“Hey,” I say softly, as I search his face. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?”

He gives a bare nod. “Migraines. I get them.”

“I do too.” And they suck. I touch his arm, and the skin under his forearm is like silk. I have to stop myself from stroking him. “You need to lie down. You shouldn’t have come to class.”

“I can’t skip class,” he says with a sigh. “And I can’t go home. I’ve got practice in an hour.”

“Practice? Drew—”

“It’s what I do.” He presses his fingers to his eyes. “Sometimes it sucks. But that’s part of the job. I’ve downed about ten ibuprofen, I’ll be okay.”

“You’re going to have guys slamming into you while you have a migraine?” I need to let this go, but my head hurts for him.

Instead of being annoyed, he gives me weak smile. “Feeling sorry for me yet? Because I think I can manage a tear or two.”

“Stop trying to deflect.” I take hold of his elbow. “Come with me.”

“I don’t know, Jones. As much as I want to, I don’t think I can perform at top level—”

“Drew, shut up.”

Meekly, he complies.

I could take him back to my place but there isn’t enough time. So I lead him toward the student union. The sun is high and bright as we walk across the quad.

“Put your sunglasses on,” I tell him as we walk.

“You want me incognito?” He’s already pulling them out and putting them on. And looking way too good wearing them.

“No, it’s for your eyes—” I shut up as I catch his grin. “Stop fucking with me.”

He laughs. “But fucking with you is fun, Jones.”

“Did you seriously just double entendre me?”

Another laugh. “I don’t think that question was grammatically correct, Jones, but yeah.” He slings an arm around my shoulders, hugging me close, and kisses my temple. I’m engulfed in his warmth, feel his affection. Flustered, I pull free to open the door to the dining hall.

“What are we going to do here?” Drew asks, holding the door for me.

I don’t even need to duck under his outstretched arm. “Getting supplies.”

Despite his paleness, he wags his brows. “You’ve got my complete attention now.”

No. I’m not going to smile. Not even a little.

I smile. “You have a one track mind.”

“Not true, Jones,” he says in a voice only for me. “I have a few choice tracks in regards to you. But yeah, they eventually lead to the same place.” The wicked look in his eyes tells me exactly where that place is. Not that I have any doubt.

Fighting a grin, I roll my eyes and head toward the food court. Only to get inundated by people. That is, people swarm Drew. Honestly, I don’t know how he stands it. Sweat immediately prickles my lower back and my shoulders hunch. I’m jostled about as guys come up to slap Drew on the shoulder or give him a high-five.

The brush of Drew’s fingers against mine tells me he’s trying to grab my hand. I evade him and step away. He doesn’t look happy about that, and I point toward the salad bar. “I’ll be there.”

I leave him frowning before he turns and talks to his fans.

At the salad bar, I find a small condiment container and fill it with olive oil.

“What’s with the olive oil?”

I almost drop the container at Drew’s question. “For someone so big, you can sneak up on a person surprisingly well.” Now that he’s here, I feel the warmth and energy of him at my back. I pop on a lid. “And you’ll have to wait and see.”

He leans his head over my shoulder to peer down at me. “Your protests of innocence are wearing very thin at this point.” He says this lightly, but I hear the strain in his voice. Is he upset that I left him behind?

Those people didn’t come to see me. So why do I feel guilty for doing it? The back of my neck grows tighter. I force a smile. “All right. I’ve earned your skepticism. But you’ll soon be sorry for it.”

With slow care, he eases a lock of my hair back from where it dangles over my forehead. “I trust you, Jones.”

“Come on,” I say a bit too thickly. “We’re headed to the second floor.”

Drew’s expression goes flat and distant. And my heart skips a pained beat, but then I realize it’s not for me. He’s not even looking my way. It’s to get us out of here quickly. Because he simply strides forward, his hand just touching the small of my back, and not a soul comes forward. In truth, they part for him like the Red Sea.

“How do you do that?” I ask out of the side of my mouth. “It’s like a super power.”

He snorts. “You learn fairly quickly how to broadcast ‘back off’ when you need to.”

Unfortunately, some people are always going to be oblivious. And to my horror, a familiar face breaks from the crowd. I haven’t seen Whitney Summers since graduating high school. In truth, I didn’t know she went to this university. Not that I’d have cause to keep track of her whereabouts—we hate each other.

Thin, toned, and tan, with long blond hair that hangs in a thick sheet down the middle of her back, she’s always reminded me of Barbie. An unfortunate stereotype, but there you go. She beelines straight for Drew.

Having no option other than walking into her, Drew stops.

Whitney’s big blue eyes blink up at him. “Drew Baylor. I thought it was you.”

“You were correct,” Drew says.

She ignores me completely. Not surprising. She’d been a world-class bitch to me for years. Smiling wide, she offers Drew her hand. “Whitney Summers. I know your friend Thompson.” Her smile grows. “And Rolondo.” A giggle now. “And Simms.”

Jesus. Is she implying what I think she is? Drew and I exchange a look, and it’s clear he’s wondering the same thing. His mouth twitches. “Um. Yeah. Well, nice to meet you.”

He moves his weight onto the balls of his feet, as if he intends to walk around her, when she leans closer to him. “I just thought I’d introduce myself,” she says. “You know. Say hi.”

“Okay. Hi.”

Whitney flips a long length of her hair behind her shoulder and continues to smile at him. “Maybe we can grab a cup of coffee sometime.”

Great. Perfect. I get to witness Drew being propositioned in living color. I don’t dare look up at him. I don’t want to see his expression. I just can’t react. Not when Whitney treats me as though I’m not here.

Looking at her, I feel the same impotent rage as I did in high school. How was it that someone like this, someone petty, shallow, and boring could hold the student body in the palm of her hand? And what was so lacking in me that I had been shunned? I was never unattractive or a jerk.

In truth, I don’t understand how the world works the way it does. Grandpa Joe used to tell me that meanness never pays off. But I’m pretty sure whoever made up that saying never went to high school.

Standing next to Drew, I grit my teeth and fight the urge to run away. Or smash my fist into Whitney’s pug nose. Maybe he’s aware of my annoyance, because he touches the small of my back. I feel it like a brand of heat along my spine. “If you’ll excuse us,” he says to Whitney. “We have somewhere to be.”

Her smile falls flat. She catches my eyes, and a calculating look twists her face. “I know you.” Her head tilts as she peers at me. “I think.”

Oh, very nice. “You do. We went to high school together.” And junior high, and grade school, but whatever.

“Oh. Ann, right?” She laughs a little, like she’s embarrassed by her gaffe, but she isn’t fooling me. And she’s looking up at Drew, not me. “Some people aren’t as memorable as others.”

I tense, ready to lay into her. But Drew halts my response by laying an arm over my shoulder. The hold is proprietary and clearly marks us as a unit.

“Well, I don’t think I’ll forget you now,” he tells her, his tone not at all nice.

Not that Whitney notices his sarcasm. No, she beams.

And though I know Drew means well, I hate that he has to witness this. That he has to defend me. The way people react to us are as polar as true north and south.

Heart hurting, I stand rigid in his embrace and stare down Whitney. “Considering you’ve called me Anna Banana-pants since the third grade,” I add coolly, “you’re either extremely dense or a liar.”

Her mouth falls open as a flush works over her face. She hadn’t expected honesty.

Drew gives my shoulder a light squeeze as he looks at me. “Weren’t we going somewhere?”

“Yep.”

He guides me around Whitney, neither of us saying goodbye to her. A muttered “bitch” follows us as we walk away, and Drew leans close, his breath buffeting my ear. “Kind of the pot calling the kettle, eh?”

A reluctant smile pulls at my lips, even as I step away from his hold. “You’d never convince her of that.”

“I’m sorry she was rude to you.” He frowns, concern darkening his eyes. I hate that.

I shrug. “Likely, she was flustered by your grand presence.”

His scowl grows. “Making excuses for her, Jones? She doesn’t deserve it.”

No, she doesn’t, but the alternative of telling him that she and everyone else I’ve known for most of my life behaved that way on a constant basis is unthinkable.