The Chase

All three of us gape when we notice whose room Brenna is exiting.

She freezes like a forest animal that just heard a twig snap. She’s wearing nothing but her camisole and black bikini underwear. Her jeans are slung over one arm, and her hair is ’80s-rock-level disheveled.

She meets my eyes and shakes her head in warning. “Not one word.”

I don’t think I’m capable of words. My tongue is on the floor, rendering me speechless.

Brenna is doing the walk of shame out of Mike Hollis’ room?

This is unfathomable to me.

Hunter opens his mouth, but she silences him with a low growl.

“Not. One. Word.”

Fitzy shakes his head in resignation, turns around, and closes his bedroom door.

“I’ll call you later,” Brenna murmurs as she passes me on the way to the stairs.

I nod wordlessly.

She’s gone a few minutes later, the sound of a car engine telling me she arranged for a ride home.

“Wow,” I say.

To my surprise, Hunter follows me into my room and throws himself on the bed. His abs bunch up and ripple as he gets comfortable. “That was unreal,” he says drowsily.

I stare at him. “Is there a reason why you’re lying in my bed?”

“Not really.” He rolls onto his side, thrusting out one long, muscular leg. He cuddles with my pillow and lets out a contented sigh. “‘Night.”

Unbelievable. He’s fast asleep within seconds, but I don’t even have the energy to kick him out. It’s too early in the morning, and I’ve only gotten about four hours of sleep.

So I do what any tired twenty-one-year-old woman would do. I crawl into bed with the half-naked man who’s taking up residence there.

Hunter makes a soft noise and then flings an arm over me, drawing me closer. At first I resist, going stiff. Then I relax, allowing the tension to seep out. It’s been so long since I’ve spooned with someone, and it’s…

Dammit, it’s nice.

12

Fitz

Monday is the first day of the new semester and I’m up before the birds. The sky is a navy-blue brushstroke across a black canvas. A tiny glimmer of light begins to peek through the darkness as I stare out the kitchen window waiting for my coffee to brew. I’m looking forward to my classes today. I’ve heard nothing but phenomenal things about Cinematography for Games, and Fundamentals of 2D Animation sounds bomb.

I’m a double major in Fine Arts and computer programming—which my old man never fails to lecture me about. He thinks it’s an unnecessary burden, that I should focus only on the latter. “Computers are the future of art, Colin,” is his go-to argument.

He has a point; graphic design does operate mostly in a digital sphere these days, with people drawing directly on their computers or tablets. I’m guilty of it of myself.

But for me, there’s nothing better than feeling the firm surface of a sketchpad under my hand, hearing the scrape of a pencil or the rasp of charcoal moving across the page. Drawing on paper and painting on canvas is so ingrained in me that I can’t imagine ever relying solely on technology.

I’m sure eventually museums will display only digital screens instead of canvases, and maybe it makes me a dinosaur, but that notion is a real bummer to me.

Since my first class isn’t till ten, and practice isn’t till eight, I have plenty of time to monitor the beta progress of my game. I take my coffee upstairs and settle at my desk. Or, what Hollis likes to call Space Command Central.

My gaming setup is a bit intense for a college student, complete with three hi-def monitors, a programmable keyboard, a fully customizable gaming mouse, and a graphics card that cost more than I’d like to admit. But frickin’ worth it.

I reach for the black-and-neon-green headphones hanging off the external speakers and slide them on. I watch a couple of streams, then check the private message board I set up for my beta group. Access to the game was by invite only, so the only people playing Legion 48 are the ones I chose and approved. On the chat feed, there are a few requests for cheat codes that make me roll my eyes. I skim those and search for usable data. The point of this version is to get the bugs fixed so that the final product is fully functional.

Nothing jumps out at me. I sip my coffee as comments and questions pop up on the screen, the feed scrolling itself with each new line of text. I’m not surprised to see so many of the players online this early. Chances are, they never even went to bed.

When I hear footsteps in the hallway, my head jerks warily toward the door. Someone enters the hall bathroom and closes the door. A few minutes later the shower comes on.

I wonder if it’s Summer. Part of me hopes it isn’t and that I’ll be able to escape the house and go to practice without seeing her at all. Every interaction she and I shared yesterday had been beyond awkward. And don’t get me started on the night before, when I had to fireman-carry her drunk ass upstairs.

Her drunk, very fine ass. I’m talking smoke show, unbelievably firm, mouthwateringly round, I-want-that-ass ass.

I liked you.

I’ve been trying not to dwell on the three words she’d hurled my way. She’d been wasted when she said them, and I don’t take much stock in alcohol-fueled declarations.

More footsteps echo outside my door. This time I know for sure who it is—Hollis. He’s mumbling to himself about how badly he needs to piss.

I’m suddenly reminded of Brenna making that same walk down the hall. Hollis couldn’t shut up yesterday about their hookup, acting like he’d scored a winning lottery ticket. I guess that’s not far off the mark, since I’m fairly certain this is the first time Brenna’s hooked up with one of us. Normally she avoids us like the plague, though I don’t know if that’s because she doesn’t like hockey players or because she’s smart enough to know what Coach would do if one of us ever touched his precious daughter.

Hollis, sadly, isn’t smart. Fearless, yes. But not smart. Because if Coach ever finds out what he did, he’ll tie him up naked and spread-eagled to the net and practice his slap shot.

“Eeeeeeeeee!”

I almost fall out of my chair as an ear-splitting scream pierces the quiet house. My blood runs cold and I’m on my feet in a heartbeat, lunging for the door.

My brain goes caveman on me.

Summer scream.

Summer danger.

Save Summer.

Fists up, I throw myself into the hall and then skid to a stop when the bathroom door flies open. A boxers-clad Hollis is unceremoniously dumped at my feet.

“No!” Summer shrieks. “You can’t just come in here when I’m in the shower! That is UNACCEPTABLE!”

Oh boy.

She stumbles out, her blonde hair soaked and dripping water all over her wet, golden skin. Soapsuds run down her bare arms, and it’s obvious she grabbed the wrong towel because this one is too small—the top of it barely contains her breasts and the bottom barely covers her thighs. If the white terrycloth slides one inch in either direction, we’ll all be in trouble.

My mouth goes bone dry. Her legs are impossibly long and they’re so fucking sexy I can’t help picturing them wrapped around my waist.

I gulp. Hard.

Meanwhile, Hollis looks dazed. “I was just taking a leak,” he protests.

“I was in the shower!” she screeches. “And I locked the door!”

“Lock’s broken.”

“Now you tell me that!”

He rubs his eyes. “Don’t see the big deal here, babe.”

“Don’t call me babe.”

Hunter’s door swings open. “What the hell is going on?” His eyebrows shoot up when he takes in the scene. “What did you do?” he growls at Hollis.

“I didn’t do anything,” Hollis grumbles.

“He walked in on me in the shower!”

“I was just pissing! It’s not like I got in the shower with you.”

“That’s not the point!” She points at the bathroom door. “See that room? It’s a sacred room! It’s a temple, Mike! It is meant for one person, and one person alone. Like solitary confinement.”

“So is it a prison or a temple?” the bonehead asks.

“Shut up,” she snaps. “And listen to me, Hollis. Unlike you, I don’t have a penis.”

“Well, thank God for that.”

“Hollis,” I warn in a low voice.

He slams his mouth shut.

“I am a woman,” Summer continues. Her fingers tighten over the top of the towel to keep it in place. “I’m a woman living with three men, and I have a right to privacy. I have a right to take a fucking shower without you barging in and pulling your dick out!”

“You didn’t even see my dick,” he argues.

“That’s not the point!” She throws her arms up in frustration.

And just like that, the towel drops.

Oh sweet mother of Moses.

I catch one glimpse of full, creamy tits with pale pink nipples. One incredible, tantalizing glimpse, before Summer slaps a hand and forearm across her chest. She manages to catch the towel before it falls, using her other hand to hold it over her lower body.

Hollis looks stunned.

Hunter’s eyes are on fire.

Me, I’m doing everything in my power not to look at her. I focus my gaze on a random spot above her head and speak in a surprisingly steady voice. “It won’t happen again, Summer. Right, Hollis?”