“Told you, you’d be begging for it.” He chuckles “Your ass will be mine for two hours. I won't touch you if you don't want me to and won't call afterwards unless you'd ask, but you're taking a chance on me, valley girl.” He strolls out of the locker room before I have the chance to reply.
“I'm not a valley girl. I'm not a Barbie,” I whisper, staring at the now closed door.
On TV, a very sweaty and bruised Ty is giving an interview to a hot girl who nods enthusiastically at him, holding a microphone to his lips:
Mental foreplay is one of the most important things about this sport. I wanted to get into his head, and I did. I kept him on his toes throughout, and it paid off. Psychological preparation is half of my job, and I excelled today, as I always do…
I'm pretty sure he only denied me this kiss because I asked him not to kiss me the last time I saw him.
And now I'm positive that if I'd let my guard down, he will crush me. Just like he does in the ring.
Chapter Seven
“Izzy.”
“Sissy,” she answers, but without her trademark squeal.
“Where’s your skinny ass today?” I blow a cloud of soap bubbles I hold in my hand while in the bath. Izzy sounds tired and not her usual, cheerful self.
“New Zealand,” she grumbles.
“What, no summary?” This is unlike my sister, who previously described Paris as “chic, beautiful and impossibly romantic,” London as “gorgeously cultural and interesting” and New York as “the reason why foreigners still have faith in America."
“It looks like a sleepy Midwest town begging to be hit by a zombie apocalypse. Speaking of the apocalypse. Heard about Nana pulling a surprise wedding?”
“Yeah. Hopefully she isn’t rushing into this because Simon knocked her up.” I bite my lower lip, and Izzy oinks a laugh.
“Okay. My love life is in the toilet, along with a few of my last meals. Bad case of food poisoning. So let’s hear what’s up with Mr. Fight Club.”
It’s weird how Izzy never had much luck with men. In fact, guys don’t even approach her that much. I’m probably getting hit on more than she does. Guess being frighteningly gorgeous comes with a price tag. She pays for her beauty with extreme solitude. No one thinks they stand a chance.
“Let’s see. Tyler had the chance to kiss me in the lockers today…but didn’t."
“So you’re saying my chipped nail varnish is still seeing more action than your vayjay?”
“Well, he also asked me out and I said yes, but he is going all hot and cold on me. He didn’t even take my number, and I have to get a move on with my assignment. Oh, which reminds me—Shane called you. You need to get back to him.”
I step out of my bath and start preparing for bed.
"Ah...yeah, I saw." She sounds solemn all of a sudden.
"It's a school thing. Don't ignore him. You know he's a good friend of mine."
"Just tell me what he needs. I'll help him through you. I don't have time to talk to him."
"Bullshit." I start playing with all the moisturizers and beauty crap that's on our marble countertop while listening to my twin.
The peaks and perks of the Jack-and-Jill bathroom we share: Face mask. Botanical pore cleaner. Cheek refiner. Eye miracle cream. Lip miracle balm. By the time Izzy's done with these, she's applied enough skin care products to prep the Statue of Liberty. I try and use moisturizers in the summer but, alas, always end up neglecting the tedious routine. Izzy, however, is all about the beauty regimens.
"Just, please, I don't feel like talking to Shane. Let me know what he needs and I'll get it done. I promise. Now, back to Tyler. I googled him. You hit the friggin’ motherload, sissy,” Izzy approves.
I squeeze toothpaste onto my toothbrush with slightly too much force. “Trust me, he is just an arrogant tool who shoves his you-know-what into anything he can squeeze it into.”
“Sounds fun to me. Let me know if he has any single friends. Your twin sister is heading home soon and she’s in desperate need of some action.”
I laugh. Just as I slip into my blue Cookie Monster pajamas, the doorbell chimes, and I’m so startled by the visiting hour, I accidentally bump my head into my bathroom door. It’s freaking 11 p.m.
I’m not expecting anyone. I hope it’s not Shane.
Izzy is still on the line when I peer through the peephole.
“Holy hell. I gotta go.” My heart flips, practicing its Cirque du Soleil moves in my chest. How did he get past security? Oh, right. Being a local celebrity, he was probably ushered straight to my floor.
“Who is it?” Izzy demands.
“It’s him!” I squeak. All systems in my body clash simultaneously. Am I excited? Yes. Am I scared? Yes. Am I wearing my least sexy and inviting pair of pj’s? Abso-f*cking-lutely.
“Is it really him, or is it like the scene from Taken? Because I can totally call the cops. Cough twice if it’s a kidnapper.”
“Izz, it’s him.”
“So jealous. I’d cut a bitch for a steamy booty call right about now. Do him, Blaire. Do him for the both of us. I hear twins sometimes have a physical connection that allows them to feel the pain and pleasure of their sibling. Have a chain orgasm and teleport it to me, okay?”