WREN

The door opens and its female occupant walks out and spots him, blue eyes flitting up and down with aroused interest. Then she sees me, just as wet as he is. She wants to know how this happened. And how she can take my place.

But Eric doesn’t notice her, he’s too busy grabbing the door and holding it open for me. “Here ya go.”

“Thank you.”

I head inside and turn to close it, but have to step back as he walks in after me. “Okay if I clean up, too?”

I stutter, “Sure, yeah, come on in,” before I have a chance to think. “Wait, no! You can’t be in here with me! They’re going to think we’re doing something that we aren’t!”

His eyebrows fly up and he lands his palm on the wall, leaning on it, wet white cotton clenched against his disciplined muscles. “You think so?”

“Of course!”

“You sure?”

“I’m very sure. Now get out of here.”

Thoughtfully he nods, pushes off the wall and pokes his head outside. “We aren’t making out! Instead we are merely cleansing the stickiness off our hot, tortured bodies, okay?”

The girls laugh and he shuts the door, locking the door and jerking his chin toward the waiting basin. “Sink’s right there, Sweets.”

I grumble, “At least you dropped the…well, you know.”

“The tits part? I wanted to keep it, because they deserve the title, but my sister would clock me if she ever found out I’d said something like that.”

“But she wouldn’t mind you suggesting in front of an audience that I want to pull your head between my legs?”

“I said yank, not pull.”

“You said tuck.”

“Did I?” he smiles, leaning against the wall by the sink while I splash my face a few times, then wring out my hair. “Emma would think that was pretty funny. You don’t wear much makeup, huh?”

“Extremely self-conscious now, thank you. And I bit off my lipstick, which is usually all I wear. Not that it’s any of your business. Do you have to watch me do this?”

“What’s your name?”

Peeling my shirt away from my bra and stomach, I step around him to the intensely powerful Xcelerator hand-dryer, holding the fabric under its cacophonous blast. “In case you think you’re being sly, I know what you’re doing.”

He pushes off the wall to rinse off his face next. “Oh yeah? Clue me in.”

“You’re in here so that you can tell your teammates you and I had sex and I’ll never be able to deny it because nobody will believe me.”

He laughs and dips down to rinse liquor from his hair. Flinging back his head he shakes the thick, chocolate locks out, looking absolutely breathtaking with water dripping off his long eyelashes as he grins at me.

What’s crazy is he looks this good all the time. When the camera cuts to him after a bad play and he’s pissed…gorgeous. Coach talking strategy with him on the sidelines when Defense is on the field…stunning. Throwing a ball, flying in the air like his guardian angels are holding him up there…mind-boggling. Especially then. It’s always beautiful to watch someone do what they’re meant to.

They did a study last season and found out that the number of females watching football since he went pro, doubled in Georgia. And I bet a bunch of those fans don’t know rule one about how the game is played. They’re just staring at him, bodies silently humming, I want him. Give me just one night. Then I’ll be happy.

“You must think I’m a real dick, huh?”

Trying to angle my head under the dryer, looking awkward as hell, I lock eyes with him to frankly admit, “Yep. I do.”

“Why?”

“Because you know why.”

“My friends?”

“Your reputation. Don’t play dumb.”

“Don’t play dumb? So you think I’m smart.” And there’s that lopsided grin.

Steeling myself against his charm, I state with a business-like tone, “Truth? I suspect that despite those muscles you are extremely intelligent.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, to have done what you have, raised our team from the gutter, that takes strategy and smarts. And while I respect Coach, he was there before you so…it must be you.”

His eyebrows twitch, expression shifting as he rakes his hair back with both hands, biceps enormous. “You’re a fan.”

“Of the team not of you. I have a boyfriend.”

Oh God. The loud dryer went silent just as I made that lame announcement, and now it’s echoing off the walls, so unnecessary to have been said. So I hit the button again, blasting white-noise and hot air into the room, none of it coming from me this time.

Eric reaches back and tugs his wet t-shirt off from his stunning torso, a sexy groan of relief rumbling from his chest. “Oh yeah, so much better,” he mumbles to himself, seemingly without ulterior motives.

I blink away thinking, Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. What am I doing here alone with this guy?

Eric casually announces, “If you’re a fan of the team then you’re a fan of me. We are one atom, uncut. Inseparable.”

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.