The Locker Room(56)

“No.” Dottie holds out her hand. “Like really likes boobs.”

“Ohh-kay,” I drag out, not sure where this is going.

“Two weeks ago, Lindsay invited him back to the dorm after class, when we were both gone. They started to get handsy, and he asked if he could see her boobs. Naturally, our very provocative friend said yes and whipped her shirt off along with her bra.”

“Nothing new there,” I tease.

“But then our good old freshman friend sat there, staring . . . for five minutes.”

What the what? “No touching?”

“No,” she groans past her arm.

“None,” Dottie continues. “And when she tried to move things along, he stopped her and slowly circled his finger around her areola but never actually touched it.”

“Like he was using some weird spiritual force,” Lindsay adds.

“But no actual touching.”

“No.” Lindsay shoots up from the couch. “And he had the biggest boner I’d ever seen while doing it.”

“Tell her the best part,” Dottie urges.

She groans again. “After staring for five minutes, he left, and then the next day”—she takes a deep breath—“he gave me a pencil sketch of my boobs. It was so realistic, I even got turned on by the gesture.”

“And she ended up having sex with him three times that day.”

“I’m so ashamed,” she groans.

“What?” I laugh, louder and harder than expected. “But you think he’s immature?”

“Yes,” she shouts. “Because now every time I see him, he gives me a boob sketch. I think it’s hotter and hotter, and I end up fucking him again. Who has time to sketch boobs? That’s so immature. And let’s not even talk about what’s wrong with me and why I like it.”

“You like it because he’s worshipping your body. Any girl would like that, even if it’s in a weird sort of way.”

“You don’t think it’s immature?”

“It’s different,” I say. “But different can be good. Look at me and Knox, our relationship is all kinds of weird, but it works for us. You do you, boo.”

“This is annoying,” Dottie says, looking between the two of us. “I need to find someone to be weird with.” Oh, Dottie. Our sweet, diabolical, and charismatic friend. Her someone weird will eclipse Lindsay’s and my men in weirdness. He’ll have to be a man of steel to welcome her strength and passion.

“It will happen, just give it time.”





Chapter Twenty-One





KNOX





“Look at those sweatpants. How can you even deny yourself?” Carson asks, looking Emory up and down. “Holes, dude, there are holes. That shit is sexy.”

“So sexy,” Emory says, trailing her finger up her leg, around said holes, and then to my chin where she tilts my head and presses a sloppy kiss across my lips.

We’re lounging in the loft, skipping a party this weekend, even though we’re leaving for Christmas break next week. Finals are wrapping up. I have one left and so does Emory, but when I asked her if she wanted to study, she said she was good, as she feels confident in the material she’s studied. Probably because after our date last Friday, we’ve really only talked on the phone, rather than seen each other. Oddly, I’m okay with that, because every night, I talked with her for over an hour.

“Stop trying to get me to break the bet,” I say in between kisses.

“You’re an idiot.” Carson chucks a throw pillow at me. “If I was dating Emory, I would have given in to that bet after the first day.”

“Because you have zero self-control.”

He pops an Oreo from my stash in his mouth. “That’s true.”

Changing the subject, Em says, “So, Garrett, your freshman, he likes to draw boobs.”

Carson laughs out loud, tipping his head back. So does Holt, who sets his phone down momentarily. “Fucking Garrett. The dude loves tits.”

“Yeah, my roommate’s.”

“Those are your roommate’s tits he’s been drawing?” Carson sits up, looking shocked. “Damn, Ealson, how come you never introduced me?”

“Because she’s with Garrett.” Em rolls her eyes.

“Are they exclusive?”

Holt smacks Carson in the stomach. “Don’t be a douche and steal a girl from your tit-drawing teammate. He earned the right to draw those things.”

“How? He’s a goddamn freshman with fumbling hands. You should see him behind the plate. I swear he’s Coach’s charity case. I don’t know how he got on the team.”

“Probably slipped Coach a tit drawing,” I say, making my two friends laugh.

“Coach probably has a drawerful of Garrett’s drawings. That dude is lonely as fuck.”

“Aw, really?” Emory asks. “What about Mrs. Flower? There seems to be something between them. Her husband passed away, so maybe it could be a new love connection.”

I shake my head. “Coach will never make a move. He’s old and set in his ways. He lives and breathes baseball, so there’s no way he’d make room for a woman in his life when he spends all his time harping on us.”