The Hook Up (Game On Book 1) (6 page)

I wonder if all my happy parts are somehow connected to his smile because they flare at that expression, going warm and tingly. Which annoys the hell out of me.

Then he moves, walking away from the group of people surrounding him without a backward glance.

Disabled as I am by my uncooperative body, I stand unmoving as he comes for me. His big body cuts through the crowd like a blade. God damn, but he looks fine, his long striding legs encased in worn and faded jeans that hug his thick thighs. His moss brown t-shirt clings to his chest like a love song, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders and the leanness of his waist.

In a room filled with boys, Drew is a man here. Bigger, stronger, and just
more
. In an odd way, he doesn’t belong here either. But the difference is they want him to belong.

His eyes stay locked with mine the whole time. It’s unnerving. And enough to make my toes curl in my beloved Vogs.

He stops just before me. Way too close for a casual acquaintance. Even with my added height, I have to tip my head back a little to meet his gaze.

“Anna Jones,” he drawls, “fancy meeting you here.” That he appears pleased makes my insides dip.

“Not by my own volition,” I mutter.

His lopsided smile grows. “Who suckered you into coming?”

“Iris, my roommate and soon-to-be resident on the missing persons list.”

A light laugh breaks from him, and his eyes warm. “I don’t know… I’m kind of grateful to her.”

“You can thank her when she stops sucking her boyfriend’s face off. As for me, I’m leaving.”

Baylor’s brows snap together. “Now? You just got here.”

“How do you know? I might have been here for hours.”

He shifts his weight onto one leg, bringing him closer. “Jones, I knew the second you walked in the door.”

“Bull.” I say it reflexively.

But he grins. “I shit you not.”

My skin is too tight, my flesh too warm now. “How is that even possible?”

Another small laugh leaves him. “Seriously?”

And then he does it. His gaze travels down to my chest, lingering there as his nostrils flare, before slowly trailing back up to my face. When my glare registers, he merely gives me a sheepish look as if to say he knows he’s busted but isn’t really sorry for it.

Not that I can totally blame him. My boobs are swelling over the edge of my top. I have the desperate urge to hike the cami up, but I resist and cross my arms under my breasts instead. The action lifts my cleavage higher. A dare. I think. I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing anymore.

Color tinges the high crests of his cheeks and those hot eyes glide back down. “Okay,” he says thickly, “now I know you’re messing with me.” Somehow, he’s now less than a foot away. The fan of his lashes casts shadows on his cheeks as he peers at me. “But I’m willing to be tortured.”

My arms drop. Nerves flutter in my belly. Yeah, I’ve been with guys. And I like sex.
Love
good sex, elusive as it is. But flirting with Baylor? I can’t handle it. He’s too much. He makes my mouth dry and my hands twitch with wanting to run them over his taut chest.

The truth is I don’t understand why he persists in talking to me. I’m nothing like his usual women. I’m not even nice to him. Something I refuse to feel guilty about.

“I wasn’t offering,” I say. Not precisely true. Which is why I need to leave. I turn, ready to hunt down Iris, when he moves to touch my elbow with the tips of his fingers. Pure instinct has me evading his reach. I know without doubt that if he touches me, I’m done for.

He frowns at the action, his hand dropping. But it doesn’t stop him from speaking. “Stay.” His voice is a soft caress that rubs over me.

“I’d rather go.” It’s both a lie and the truth. I can’t think straight when he’s near.

“I can’t believe that.” He dimples. “I mean, we get along so well.”

He says it with just enough dry humor that I fight a smile and shake my head. “Let me guess, you’ve never approached a girl who turns out to be not interested in you.”

Baylor cocks his head as though taken aback and then gives his neck a scratch. “Well,” he says slowly, “no, I haven’t.” A wide grin breaks over his face, all charm and dimpled hotness. “I can see that bothers you.”

“Wrong. It simply reinforces my original impression of you.”

“As what? Honest?” He leans in close. Close enough to notice that his breath doesn’t smell like beer, and that his eyes have a ring of deep brown around the gold irises. “Here’s the thing, Jones, I don’t understand how you can find that a problem.”

I blink and force myself to focus on something other than his eyes. “You don’t see how never being told ‘no’ isn’t a problem?”

His smile deepens. “Stop being obtuse. You’re talking about my irresistibility. I’m talking about my honesty. Two vastly different topics.”

My lips twitch. Damn it. “I don’t recall saying you were irresistible.”

“Besides,” he goes on as if I haven’t spoken, “I can’t see what sort of culpability I have in girls wanting to get to know me. It’s not like I’m bribing them or lying to have my ‘wicked way’ with them. It is what it is.”

I stare at him a long moment, one in which he grins his stupid grin and I fight the stupid urge to return it.

“You know what? You’re right.”

“Finally!” he says to no one in particular before smiling down at me.

I give him a bland look. “So let’s put it this way.” I step into his space, glaring up at him. “I could not care less about football. I don’t give a shit who you are or what you do or—”

My tirade dies when he leans so close that our noses practically touch. The look in his eyes isn’t angry. It’s triumphant. “Exactly, Jones.”

Two words and he’s knocked the wind out of my sails. His not wanting me to fawn all over him is the last thing I expect. I start to frown. Maybe I even do. I can’t stop myself from saying, “Well, hell.”

And he bursts out laughing. A rich, full laugh that’s so infectious, I respond to it, snorting a little as I try to keep from laughing too. Our eyes meet, and the air between us abruptly shifts. Base heat swamps me so fast that I lose my next breath. Maybe he does too because he goes absolutely still. A lion about to pounce. I blink back, the gazelle caught out in full sunlight.

But then a lumbering form comes up to us, and a big hand slaps down on Baylor’s shoulder. “Battle, my man,” says the hulking guy who has to be one of Baylor’s linemen. “Sandra here wants to say hello.”

It’s like I’m not even there. Not to The Hulk, who actually bumps me back with his arm as he gestures to some eighteen year old with over-bleached hair and a coy smile. Not when she slinks up to press herself against Baylor’s arm. “Hey, Battle,” she breathes—
breathes it
, because I’m not sure I heard any actual consonants—“will you sign my shirt?”

Of course she’s wearing his jersey, the number eleven splayed across her breasts. It’s no shocker when she points directly to that area, in case he wasn’t sure where he should sign.

I want to roll my eyes but don’t. She’s not the problem here. Baylor isn’t even the problem. I am.

“Well then,” I say. “I’ll leave you to it.”

I turn and flee, hearing him call my name. But I don’t look back.

I nearly reach the hall when he steps in front of me, halting my progress. “Hold up.” Baylor’s lips pull in a pout, which should look emasculating but simply makes him hotter. “I thought we were having a conversation.”

“I think it was more like bickering,” I say, and when he starts to smile, I hurry on. “And it was clearly over.”

His lush mouth flattens. “Why? Because of that interruption?” He gives a little jerk of his head in the direction of his number one fan.

I shake my head. “Don’t let me keep you, honestly.”

Instead of backing off, he takes a step closer, and his voice lowers. “But I’d rather be talking to you.”

My heart is beating so hard now I feel it in my fingertips. I don’t know where to look or what to do. My gaze settles on the leather cord he wears around his strong neck. I’ve never seen him without it. A small rectangle of polished wood hangs from the cord, dangling just below the hollow of his throat. My fingers itch to touch the pendant, to trace along the cord up to the stubble that starts just below his jaw. I lift my hand to do just that when a masculine shout snaps me out of it.

“Baylor!” Yet another one of his teammates seeking his attention. The freshman is still there, waving to get his attention.

I glance that way. “You’re obviously busy.”

A frustrated breath escapes him, and he runs a hand through his hair. “What was I supposed to do? Tell her to get lost because I’m trying to impress another girl? Pretty counterproductive to act like an asshole, if you ask me.”

I’m kind of stuck on the whole “impress another girl” part. In fact, the moment he said it, my heart stopped altogether and heat rushed my face. Why me? What is he thinking?

My throat closes in on me, and I swallow hard. “Sorry, but you’re paying attention to the wrong girl.” I edge toward the hall and freedom. “I’m not interested.”

A flush of color washes over his cheeks, and his eyes turn bronze. “Bullshit.”

When I flinch, his voice softens and slides through my defenses like a spoon into pudding. “You may think I’m a moron but I’m not blind. I’m in danger of developing a permanent neck kink from checking you out. And if the number of times you meet my eyes is anything to go by, then you are as well.”

My cheeks must be flaming red by now. I’m too shocked to reply, but it doesn’t stop him from edging closer. Close enough that his low murmur rings crystal clear in the small space between us. “Why don’t you tell me what the real problem is and we can address it?”

Address it. Like I’m something he wants to figure out and fix. Something he wants to keep. The whole idea is so foreign to me, and so terrifying, that I end up snapping. “Why don’t you just let it go? Some games you aren’t going to win.”

He scowls but when he opens his mouth to reply, I talk over him. “Disappointment is good for the soul, Baylor. I’m sorry but I have to go.”

This time he doesn’t get a chance to stop me, or maybe he just lets me go. I leave as fast as I can without actually running, and another friend approaches him. Which is all good. And maybe if I tell myself this enough, I’ll believe it.

THAT WENT WELL. Anna Jones’s gorgeous ass sways as she walks away from me. A perfect counterpoint to the swish of her little black skirt and the bounce of her red curls. I want to grab her and press her up against the nearest wall so that I can taste her tart mouth. I wouldn’t even mind if she bit me, just as long as her tongue soothed it afterward.

Fat chance of that. I stay where I am, defeat and disappointment—yes, thank you, Miss Jones, I’m well aware of that emotion now—crashing into me like a bad hit.

“Shit.” I rub my ribs where the phantom pain spreads wide.

It’s even worse when I see Gray sauntering over. Gray is my teammate and best friend. We met when we were fifteen and attending the Manning Passing Academy. We are both from Chicago, though from different areas, and had played against each other before but had never talked until then. When my parents died, Gray was the only one I could stomach being around because he had lost his mother to breast cancer the year before. Which means he knows me better than anyone alive. This is going to suck.

Gray’s obnoxious grin is wide and pleased. “‘Crash and burn, huh, Mav?’”

I glare, itching to punch that stupid smile off his face. “I never should have introduced you to the glory that is
Top Gun
. You don’t deserve it.”

When he laughs, I roll my eyes. “How long have you been waiting to use that line on me?”

“About four and a half years, give or take.” He slings a meaty arm around my shoulder and attempts to pull my head down for a noogie. I duck away and slap the side of his head lightly. Though it takes restraint not to bap him harder. I’m not in the mood. Not that Gray cares. He’s still grinning.

“What’s the matter? Red didn’t respond to the ‘Battle’ cry?”

“Fuck off, Gray.” There isn’t much heat to my request. My mind is still on Anna, and my body is itching to follow. Shit, I’m so screwed. Something pathetically close to a sigh lifts my chest as I stare in the direction she took—fucking fled—to get away from me. Like I was a disease she needed to stay clear of.

Which is unfortunate. Because it’s still there, that insistent clamor in my head that says:
Her, her, her!

Not so great when she seems to have a cry in regards to me that goes:
Run, run, run!

I don’t understand it. I wasn’t lying to her, and I don’t think I’m deluded, when I said that we’ve been virtually eye-fucking each other for the past month. Fortunately, I didn’t call it “eye-fucking;” she’d probably have my nuts in a clench if I had. Not that I’m entirely opposed to her touching my nuts…

“Shit.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Then pinch it harder when I realize that Gray is still there watching.

“Dude,” he says, “let it go. This is getting embarrassing.”

“Why?” I snap. “Because I have to work for it? For once?”