The Locker Room(9)
“Does the jungle juice need to be refilled?” I ask, eyeing the Gatorade cooler propped up on the counter where people stand in line for a cup.
“Orson just refilled it,” Holt says over the booming music.
I take a sip of my beer because jungle juice is not for me—I get shitfaced every time I drink it and end up flashing my ass. Every time.
Being one of the designated party houses on campus has its pluses and minuses. We never have to go anywhere when it comes to partying, but we always host, which means making sure our rooms aren’t used for fuck closets and our shit isn’t stolen, because believe it or not, people are assholes.
Jason Orson is our designated party planner. A sophomore with a knack for stupid ideas, he’s in charge of every party at the loft. And the reason I’m shirtless, looking like Rambo, is because Jason had the brilliant idea of throwing a jungle party. Whatever the hell that means.
I will admit though, seeing everyone’s interpretation on the jungle theme is rather entertaining. There are some random trees, vine ladies, animals, and then the baseball team who went the Rambo route with cut-up shirts tied around our biceps and heads, Army pants, and war paint brushed all over our bodies. It’s not the worst getup, but we turned the heat off—since people will be in and out—and my nipples are lined up to cut glass.
“Is your girl coming tonight?” I ask Holt, who keeps scanning the crowd.
“She said she was going to be here, not sure when.”
“Is she finally giving in to your annoying texts?”
He lifts his beer to his lips. “I think she’s humoring me, but I plan on changing that tonight.”
“Hey,” Carson says, stepping up next to us. “Did you hear that Kavinsky was called up to pitch tomorrow?”
“No shit,” I say. Frank Kavinsky was our number-one pitcher when I was a freshman. A workhorse obsessed with tea—he swears by it—he’s made his way quickly through the minors with his wicked cutter and solid work ethic. I only had one year with him, but I learned a lot, and I’ve tried to follow in his footsteps, following his work ethic and positive attitude.
“Looks like all that tea helped.” Carson chuckles. “We still have some of that crap in one of the cupboards if you guys ever need some of his special tea.”
“I’m good,” I answer, looking to the side to find a familiar face walk through the door.
Long brown hair, straight and flowing past her shoulders, with the sweetest pink lips I’ve ever seen, Emory Ealson makes her way into the loft wearing a black crop top, black skirt, and whiskers across her blushed cheeks. Is she a cat? In the jungle?
Doesn’t matter what she is, all that matters is her tits look amazing in that top, and her legs look damn good under that extremely short skirt.
Carson knocks me in the arm. “Isn’t that the girl from our class?” I nod, licking my lips. “Damn, she’s hot.”
“Don’t even fucking think about it.” I turn to him, laying my claim.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Settle down, man. You practically pissed all around her the other day. I get it. Just don’t make things awkward for us in class.”
“That happened once.” I roll my eyes. “You think you would have forgotten about that by now.”
He taps the side of his head. “I never forget that shit, especially when she poured my morning smoothie all over us.”
“At least we smelled like fruit.” I shrug my shoulders, even though I made a mental note never to get involved with a crazy person again. When she wouldn’t stop licking her lips while talking to me—as if I was a juicy steak ready for the taking—I should have known she’d go psycho on me.
Lesson learned.
Carson nudges my shoulder. “Are you going to go talk to her?”
“Got to be patient, man. Can’t look desperate.” I casually sip my beer.
“If you don’t talk to her soon, Romeo will swoop in.” Carson points to Brock “Romeo” Romero who has his eyes fixed on Emory as she makes her way through the crowd to the kitchen.
“Shit,” I groan, causing Carson to laugh as I move toward the kitchen, making a beeline for Emory.
I bypass a few people trying to get my attention, but instead of stopping to chat like I normally do, I give them a quick smile and hustle to Emory, stepping right in front of Romeo as he’s about to step up, giving him an old-fashioned cockblock before he can make a move.
“Didn’t know I’d see you here,” I say as a greeting, making a quick glance toward Carson, who’s laughing with Holt, both aware of how I boxed out Romeo.
Whatever. Romeo is a sophomore, so he can suck my taint for all I care. I have seniority.
Not even looking up at me, Emory reaches for a cup and says, “My friends dragged me here.” When she goes for the jungle juice, I stop her, pulling her gaze in my direction.
“Plan on stripping down for everyone to see you naked tonight?”
“Huh?” she asks, a cute crinkle to her nose.
“I suggest you stay away from this stuff unless you want to get seriously drunk.”
“Is that so?” She eyes me suspiciously. “Well, I have to study tomorrow, so I prefer not to be hungover.”
Her voice is so sweet, with a touch of sass to it. I like it a lot.