The Locker Room(48)
Of all people to spot us rubbing our bodies together.
“I . . . I—” I’m so fucked.
Oh God, I don’t think I could have committed a bigger offense in the library. Considering the rules, I think Mrs. Flower would rather see me in non-fiction with a panini press than making out with my boyfriend.
I might cry.
How did I let this happen? If I lose this internship . . . Fuck. Only last week I felt bad for a couple who Mrs. Flowers found making out. Her fury is something I swore I’d never cause. And here I am. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I can’t deal with this. My eyes burn, my throat gets choked, and for the life of me, I can’t find any voice to deny what we were doing.
“Mrs. Flower, I’m so sorry,” Knox says, using his best southern charm. I glance in his direction, watching as he slowly pleads with the frail gargoyle in front of us. “I was having a bad day. I don’t get much time with my girl, and I was seeking her comfort in a place I shouldn’t have. This is not on Emory.” The way he uses my full name sends my pulse racing, so does his defense, and how he gently links our hands together like a united front. “She told me to go, to meet up with her when she’d finished her shift, but I was irresponsible and impatient. Please, don’t take this out on her.”
If I already didn’t want to jump this man and hump his face off, I sure as hell do now.
Mrs. Flower gives Knox a slow once-over as she folds one bony arm over the other, a purse to her chapped lips, and a questioning look in her eyes.
“Mr. Gentry,” she spits out in her perfect disciplinarian voice. “I’m surprised to find you like this. Your team has always been very respectful of these walls.”
“I know, Mrs. Flower. We pride ourselves on taking our studies seriously. I was having a crappy day, lost my judgement, and made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
The stick arms unfold.
Her face cracks into a smile.
And light resurfaces to her normally dead eyes.
I think I’m looking at a completely different woman as Mrs. Flower walks to Knox and pats him on the arm . . . nicely. “You’re forgiven, just make sure you tell Coach Disik I said hi.”
Errr . . . what?
“Not a problem.” Knox winks at her, and she returns the gesture.
What the . . . what?
I’m still in shock when she faces me. Her smile turns into a thin line of distaste as if Knox is the prized meat, and I’m the onion garnish. “Emory, I suggest you get back to work.”
“Yes, of course. So sorry.” I curtsy and bow my head like a moron, because I have no idea how to react to the situation. Knox follows closely behind.
Once the old witch is out of earshot, he says, “Sorry about that.” He grabs for my waist again but I swat him away.
“Are you insane? Do not touch me right now.”
He chuckles and says, “Come on. That was fun.”
“That was not fun.” I glance toward her departing frame. “I’m pretty sure she has a closetful of dead intern skulls from past semesters. I am not one to tempt fate again.”
He chuckles again. I’m so glad he finds this so funny. My palms are still sweating from being caught . . . and for doing a curtsey. “Fine, no more kissing in the library, but I need to talk to you, so when does your shift end?”
“Eight.”
“Okay, meet me outside when you’re done, and we can go for dinner at the Bear Den.”
“Fine.” He gives me a chaste kiss and then takes off. I want to be mad at him for putting me in a terrible position with Mrs. Flower, but from the looks of it, Mrs. Flower might be a big baseball fan, dating Knox might work in my favor.
But I would never tell him that, of course. The man’s ego is already inflated enough as it is. I shouldn’t forgive his non-apology, because what if I lost my role here? But I do. Because he came through for me when I needed him to. Despite our bet, and the stupidity of denying ourselves what we really want, he’s committed. Damn the man, but I like that. I like that a lot.
Chapter Nineteen
KNOX
The waitress places a pepperoni pizza in front of us, gives me a little wink and then takes off.
“Did she just wink at you?” Em asks, handing me a plate.
“I think she did,” I say, giving her a napkin.
“Does she think I’m your sister?”
“I sure as hell hope not because that means I’ve been eye fucking my sister ever since we sat down. Not to mention the dirty dreams I have of you all the time.”
With the large spatula, she picks up a piece of pizza, the mozzarella stretches across the table as she places it on her plate, and she says, “Dirty dreams, huh? Am I naked?”
Is she naked . . . pssh.
She’s naked in a whole bunch of compromising ways.
“What kind of question is that? Of course you’re naked.” I grab a piece of pizza, but being more barbaric, I skip the spatula. “You’re always naked. Naked upside down, naked with legs spread wide, naked on hands and knees, naked jumping up and down—one of my favorites—because dreaming of those tits jiggling is pure perfection.” I kiss my fingers and flick them in the air. She snorts and shakes her head. “What about me? Do you picture me naked? Do I have a cannon of a cock?”