He levels me with a look that says, Really? You’re pulling that bullshit?
“Then we’ll dance.”
I sigh. There’s no getting away from him.
“Knox! I just got in today!” A bubbly blonde with Hollywood looks saunters over. Her assets are on full display under a tight bandage tank top that plunges low in the front. She’s wearing denim panties—shorts so short and cut so high they look like underwear. It’s a popular look around here. Most of the girls are wearing a lot of fringe and denim. We could be at Coachella, minus the desert and the bands.
“Hey, Kitty.”
She places a hand on his chest, right above his heart and her perfectly manicured nails flex against his navy blue T-shirt. The urge to rip her hand away takes me by surprise. I want to snarl at her, that chest belongs to me. I engage in a momentary fantasy of pushing her five feet back and making a slashing motion across my throat.
Fortunately for both of them, Masters steps back.
Kitty’s gaze drops to our joined hands. A confused look crosses her face as if she’s never seen him hold a girl’s hand before. I know, I want to say, it’s weird for me, too. “Is this your…cousin?” she stammers out.
“No, this is my—”
Before he can finish the sentence, Hammer shows up and drapes an arm around both of us. “This is Jack Campbell’s sister, KittyKat. He’s our new tight end transfer. Good hands. She’s a friend of the team.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Kitty’s smile comes back. She holds out her hand. “I’m a friend of the team too.” She winks.
That’s fine as long as she stays away from Masters. Ellie, no, this is your way out. I get my wits together and reach for her. “Actually Kitty, Masters told me he wanted to dance.”
“He did?” she says, wide-eyed.
“Masters?” He frowns. “Is that how you think of me?”
I don’t have to answer that strange question because Hammer interjects with a look of surprise that matches Kitty’s. “You want to dance, man? Since when?”
Masters places his arm around my shoulders. “Ellie is making a joke.”
“It’s not a very good joke,” Kitty says uncertainly.
Masters nods solemnly. “Which is why I’m going to take her to this corner over here and give her some instruction on joke telling. You go dance with Hammer and show him the moves you learned over the summer.”
Kitty and Hammer both nod enthusiastically and disappear inside.
“I wasn’t making any jokes.”
“Trust me. My dancing is a bad joke. You don’t want to see it.”
He lets me go once we make it past the keg line and I wander to the back corner of the porch—away from the music, the crowd, the Kittys of campus. But I can’t seem to shake Masters so I climb up on the top railing and settle in for a night of people watching, which is better than being inside the muggy house watching a bunch of drunk guys play Madden on a big screen.
The back of the house juts up against a small green space shared by about six or seven other houses—the infamous Playground where the football team lives. When Jack got the invitation to move into one of the houses, we’d known then that the Western coaching staff had high hopes for him.
Knox leaps, one handed, onto the railing.
“How high can you box jump?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Like my moves, do you?” He flashes a smug-as-fuck smile and flexes his biceps. My body tightens in an instinctive response. At least I blame it on biology. It’s natural for me to be turned on by a big, strong guy. Generations of women have succumbed to the big brawny male. It’s why a specimen like Masters exists. “I can do just shy of five feet. Not as good as JJ Watts, but I’ll get there. So, why are we hiding back here?”
“I’m at a party with over a hundred people. I hardly think that qualifies as hiding.” Masters hasn’t shaved and the scruff around his chin only serves to make him look a hundred times hotter. I remind myself that hairy chins can mean hairy butts and hairy backs, but sadly, that does nothing to quell my biological response to him. I take a sip of my Coke to hide my agitation and hopefully cool myself off.
“It’s dark here. There isn’t another person within ten feet of you. I think that qualifies as hiding.” He leans closer, his muscled forearm resting too close to my ass for comfort. I try to slide over an inch but a tree branch stops me.
“This thing is a hazard.” I bat at the branch. It causes a few leaves to fall, but doesn’t give me any space to move away. Between his body and this unruly forest, I’m stuck.
“Hammer’s too busy to cut it down. Besides, I think people fuck back here. He probably keeps it to provide cover.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that from personal knowledge?”
“Personal? As in, have I made the mistake of checking out some noises back here, thinking that an animal was rooting around in garbage, only to find one of my teammates getting his pipes cleaned? Then yeah, from personal knowledge.”
“Still sticking with that virgin thing, are you?”
“I am.” He lifts a bottle of something to his lips and drinks. His big hand nearly engulfs the container filled with clear liquid. Probably vodka. I tear my eyes away from his bobbing Adam’s apple because even that is sexy. “You don't believe me, do you?”
“No, I don’t.” I tilt my head as if a new perspective can reveal the truth. “I don’t know why. I look at you and think it can’t be true.”