He slams the faucet on as I bite my lip and try not to look at his nude back.
This is where I fail.
I mean, it’s okay to look, right?
Droplets of water and liquor travel down the wide slope of his perfect shoulders into narrow hips, sculpted muscle framing his spine. If I didn’t look I would be a sociopath.
My jaw drops as Eric scoops water into his meaty palms and runs them down his chest, beads splashing around him with every stroke. He pauses as he catches me staring in the mirror. A knowing smirk appears, making me whip to face front, lips going very thin as I see movement in my peripheral eye-line.
“What are you doing? Are you writhing? You’re not going to make me look!”
“Stop being such a girl.”
Appalled I go to object, locking eyes with him in the reflection to discover he’s actively trying to crack me up, hamming an exaggerated performance of a male stripper for my benefit. With sulky lips his fingers twirl over his pecs. He pretends to lift and lick them like they’re breasts, his tongue craning to reach his erect nipples and missing entirely.
“Fuck,” he mutters, “Can’t reach!”
“Very funny,” I smile, because it is.
Suddenly he winces and makes these guttural moans, quiet ones so only we can hear them. “Oh yeah. This water is so hot. So wet. Just like water is…because it’s made to be wet and slippery. So moist!”
I burst out laughing, “Oh my God, stop it!”
“Yeah…uh huh. Look how tight.”
“Tight?” I gasp with laughter.
“My muscles are tight! Not the water! Come on, what are you thinking? But look at these abs!” He turns around, no longer in the reflection.
I step back.
He walks closer and slams the dryer with his elbow, flexing that bicep, wagging his eyebrows. The air blasts out with gusto and Eric arches into it, thrusting his chest and running his hands down it, then dragging them through his hair, wet tufts of underarm fuzz glistening. He sways his hips, purposefully going for the laugh as he lifts a leg to a beat only he can hear.
I’m practically crying from laughter.
“This air is filled with…heat and it’s got me dancin’ so hard. Oh yeah, the air is hard! Rock hard air!”
I slap the wall, doubled over.
He finally breaks, cracking up and reaching for his abandoned shirt. “Oh shit,” he mutters on a grin, shaking his head at himself. “Something is seriously wrong with me.”
Unable to stop laughing I croak, “My stomach is cramping!”
“Where’s my dollar? Don’t you want to stick a dollar right here?”
“Screw that,” I gasp, grinning, “You’re supposed to tip me.”
“Did you say tip? I’ve got a tip for you.”
“We really need to use the bathroom!” a female voice calls through the wood.
Wiping my eyes I call out, “Hang on! Almost done,” and hurry around him to gather myself. I pull my ponytail free and fix it as best I can. “Screw it, right? It’s not gonna get any better than this.”
In the reflection I see him coming at me, so I spin around and back into the wall as his hazel eyes hold me prisoner. His smile is gone, voice deeper than before. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“Wren.”
His gaze narrows like he’s memorizing it. Then his lashes drop to my lips and flick back up. “You look beautiful. Don’t get in your head. Own it and nobody will give a shit that your hair’s damp. And no, I’m not going to tell my team something happened in here when it didn’t. I might be a slut, but I’m no liar. And I’m certainly not a prick.”
Suddenly I’m alone here, pressed to the wall as he strolls to unlock the door, waiting for me to walk out first.
Confused I ask, “You’re not going to put on your shirt?”
“We need to sell more tickets, don’t we? I’m gonna inspire the girls to open their wallets. Time to show ‘em what I’m workin’ with.” He makes his pecs dance, wiggling his eyebrows.
“You’re going to drive them crazy.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears.”
“Tragic.”
“If you say so.”
We walk outside.
Instantly every woman who sees him freezes to ogle our half-naked quarterback.
It takes me two seconds to read their expressions as their mascara flicks my way.
They think he’s naked because we fooled around. Everyone assumes the slut here isn’t him—it’s me.
And on the clock no less.
Eric announces, “Ladies, you mind if I’m shirtless?”
A chorus of no’s fills the air.
My heart starts pounding, face bright red.
CHAPTER 6
ERIC
“J ust keep moving,” I tell Wren, “I’ll handle this.”
An unsure glance locks onto me. Instantly I’m inspired to protect her. I know what people are thinking. Only an idiot couldn’t see it. Grinning and loud, I announce to anyone listening, “Nothing happened in there. I’m topless because my shirt’s a wreck, it’s hot as fuck out today.”
Wren smiles with relief, disappearing into the mass.
To remove the remaining doubt from the faces of my buddies I tell Tony, “You’re right. Those legs are locked, key long gone.”
The group laughs, mostly at me. Mott resembles a cave man, all grunts and jerking shoulders. “Looks like Cocker’s gonna have to work harder to win that bet.”
Tony snickers, “Yeah, right?”
Chuckling I notice our diminished numbers. “I didn’t take the stupid bet, you fucks. And where’d everybody go? Party over so early?”
“Fuck you didn’t!” Tony barks.
Shooting him an amused negative I grab my forgotten mug and down my beer. “Guess we don’t get those shots after all, huh? Mike make more of ‘em?”
But Tony won’t drop it. “A bet’s a bet!”
My face goes bland, “Are you crazy? You think I’d bet on something like that? I thought you were joking.”
Mott confirms, “Can’t take it back now, Cocker.”
“Ever hear of sarcasm? I don’t bet on having sex with women. Jeezus, if my sister heard about that, my whole family would descend upon me, an uprising of Biblical proportion, with me in ashes at the end of it.” I give a nod to a half-full pitcher. “Hand me
