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“Fine, nor has it made me forget how inappropriate this line of questioning is. The company I do or don’t keep off the field, or away from my sporting colleagues, is totally irrelevant to this article. I’m not about to pander to your obsession by pretending it is.”
“Obsession? What are you talking about? I’m not obsessed.” I tried my best to keep the shrill indignation from my voice.
“Oh really. Is that why you’re on some kind of crusade?”
“Again, I’m not on any crusade.”
“And yet here we are, dancing around this pinhead. Again. Stop wasting my time asking about this. I’m not going to change my response, but if you continue to pursue it, I will pull the pin on this whole thing. I don’t care what Coach or Dean Rogers says.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“How can you be so sure? I’m the team’s star player; they wouldn’t want to risk me walking.”
“How arrogant do you need to be?”
“It’s not arrogance, it’s pragmatism. You have to play the hand you’ve been dealt in life. I know that more than most. But like you said, I’m a ‘Master of the Universe’, I have plenty to work with, so like I said, drop it.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re an asshole.”
The whole time we’d been talking, he’d also been unpacking and repacking his back pack. He shoved the last item into it and shrugged it onto his back.
“I’m not forcing you to hang out with me. In fact, if I’m such a fucking drag, why don’t you make your own way down from here? Surely you must have enough to write your little fluff piece by now, and we can go our separate ways.”
“What? You’re not leaving me here.”
“No, I’m not. I am, however, suggesting that we make our own way down. No biggie.” He started toward the trail we’d come up for the last part of the hike. Oh. Hell. No.
“Could you maybe try not to be such a dick for just one minute. I mean, for fuck’s sake.”
He spun around looking totally enraged. I didn’t know whether to be fearful or turned on. My body decided that it could handle both emotions at the same time.
“I’m being a dick? Do you even hear yourself? Do you know how many times during our interactions you’ve called me some variation of dick, douche, asshole, etc.? Well, I’ve lost count, but it’s a lot. And exactly how many times have I pulled you up on your rudeness? None. It’s funny, really—the roles you have painted for us in your head—because if you think again, you might start questioning who is who out of the two of us.”
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“Why do you keep asking me that? You’re a wannabe journalist, slash social justice crusader, or whatever it is you think you are—I’m willing to bet that you have exemplary English comprehension skills. I’m also pretty sure you know exactly what I meant by what I just said, but just so that we’re both clear, I mean that you’re a solid bitch and I can’t bear the thought of spending another moment with you.”
“Well that’s one thing we agree on, as the feeling is one hundred percent mu—”
I was rendered silent partly by the feel of his velvet-soft lips, partly by the sheer shock of the unexpected move. As soft as his lips were, the kiss was anything but. In fact, it was a brutal assault, not just on my mouth, but on my psyche. I didn’t know what to think about either thing, but it seemed that thinking wasn’t required, especially not my particular brand of borderline-neurotic over-analyzing.
In any case, I couldn’t think. I could only do. My body kicked into some kind of autopilot or deep subconscious mode, and appeared to know what I wanted, and even needed before I did. Top of my list of needs and wants was Bear Hamilton. I wanted him a lot.
Once the stunned disbelief wore off, as with our verbal sparring, I was determined to give as good as I got. My tongue ravaged his mouth with the same ferocity as he was inflicting himself on mine. Though the sexual tension had been present between the two of us from the first moment we met, I never envisaged either of us acting on it, or even wanting to.
We were such opposites that even the attraction seemed weird—like we’d somehow gotten our wires crossed somewhere. I would be willing to bet that I was the furthest thing from someone the captain of the football team would normally find attractive, and likewise, the beefy alpha’s alpha was not even close to being my thing.
Nor was whatever we were doing right now. Kissing? Dueling? Some bizarre combination of both? I had no fucking idea; I just knew it was making me feel things I’d never felt with a guy before. Sure, I was turned on beyond belief, but I was also so angry I could barely see straight.
Even worse, I couldn’t tell who I was more pissed off at, myself or him. Him for being the arrogant douche I’d repeatedly told him he was, or me for succumbing to his “charms”. I thought I was angrier at myself. I should have known better, and done better, I should have risen above the sheer weight of physical desire between the two of us.
“Jesus Christ. Would you quit thinking so hard? You’re killing my vibe.” Huh?
I’d barely even noticed that he’d wrenched his lips from mine, and was attacking my neck, sucking hard. In fact, I was fairly certain he’d been giving me hickeys. Jesus fuck. What were we, high schoolers?
“What?”
“You heard me. You’re thinking so hard, I can practically hear it. Don’t. There’s no need. It’s just sex. What’s to think about?”
