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Chapter Four
Shane
“No?”
Tatum crossed her legs demurely, the mid-length skirt she’d worn slipping gently up her gleaming knees in the process, hinting at the smooth, velvet thighs that lay just beyond. Shane swallowed hard and struggled not to stare. “And what did he look like, Shane?”
Shane thought of Roger Avery, the local reporter for the KernersvilleCable, their little hometown paper. Tall and skinny with a grizzled beard that made him look like he was living in a tiny Unabomber shack, and rumpled clothes to match, Shane shivered and shook the thought away. “Nothing like you, that’s for sure!”
He’d probably said it too loud for his own good, but he couldn’t help it. Damn, but Tatum was fine. Ripe and soft in all the right places, slightly taller than him and surprisingly athletic given the way her sexy glasses and fancy valise made her look like a bookworm. Her sweater was classy but tight, clinging to her small, boyish breasts and making him wonder if she’d worn a bra underneath.
He’d only ever been with one girl before, his sweet, innocent Emily. Had only ever known her body, smooth and warm and soft and corn-fed, but only in the dark. Had only ever kissed her lips, soft but thin, but never any tongue. Now that he was at college, anytime he was close enough to study a girl, really, truly study her, he found himself fantasizing in the most scandalous ways. And no one he’d met on campus in the few weeks he’d been there was as sexy, sophisticated, silky, and smooth as Tatum.
Focus,Shane told himself, squirming on his locker room bench and surprised at how intimate it felt with just the two of them inside the sprawling men’s locker room. Normally so rowdy and manly, to see a girl amidst the towering lockers and discarded towels was almost as much a turn-on as Tatum’s bookish glasses and slithery skirt.
Tatum peered back at him, kicking the foot of her crossed leg gently up and down as if considering him carefully. “Well, here’s my confession, Shane. This is my first big feature for theStatesman, so we’ll both be charting new territory this week, okay?”
“You sure?” he blurted. “You act like you’ve been doing this a long time, Tatum.”
She cocked her head slightly, black ponytail swishing across her shoulders. “Is that another age joke, because if it is…” She wagged a playful finger.
“No, not at all. You just seem very confident, is all.”
Tatum seemed to give that some thought. Her eyes were rich and brown behind the glasses, warm as she peered back into his own. “Not confident, just curious. I don’t know much about sports, even less about baseball, but now that I’ve met you, I’m really looking forward to writing this feature.”
“You weren’t before?”
She shook her head again. “Not really.”
“But why do you want to be a reporter if you don’t like writing things?”
She chuckled, rich and quick, like maybe he’d finally caught her off guard. He liked the sound, and not just for the way it made her small breasts bounce and her thick nipples press against the clingy yellow sweater. “I don’t mind writing things, per se, it’s just I’m a digital media major and this was part of my curriculum, it just seems so old-fashioned compared to what I want to do online.”
“Which is?”
She seemed about to answer him, leaning slightly forward the way she did whenever she got excited, then thought better of it. Wagged that finger again. “Listen, Shane, I’ll be asking the questions around here…”
They chuckled, together, for the first time. Her chest heaved gently, making his fingers ache to touch those breasts and see just how ripe and red the nipples looked beneath. How smooth her thighs might look beneath the crinkly skirt and what color panties she was wearing. He wished for all the world he wasn’t so horny all the time, but ever since Emily had broken up with him just before he’d headed off to Sycamore State, all he’d thought about was being with someone new, someone different, someone less religious and chaste and fussy and bossy and pure.
Shane scrubbed the thought from his brain and nodded. “I suppose that’s only right. Is there anything you want to ask first?”
Tatum leaned forward again, a fresh waft of her vanilla-and-lavender-scented perfume in sharp contrast to the musky scent of manhood that usually permeated the locker room. “Two, actually.”
He smiled. Finally, they were getting somewhere. “Shoot!”
“First, can I take a few pictures?”
“Sure, of course, but … what’s the second question?”
Tatum leaned back as if satisfied with his answer. She glanced around the locker room, nostrils flaring gently, even adorably, as those smart brown eyes scanned the rows of lockers and jerseys of former players framed above. “Is there anywhere less … smelly… we could talk?”
Chapter Five
Tatum
“Dinneranda view? To what do I owe the honor, Shane?”
Tatum watched as Shane shambled up the stadium steps, lugging a cardboard tray heaping with foil wrappers in one hand and juggling two cans of cheap cola in the other.
