Page 10 of Studs Up
“It’s called a compromise,” he said coldly. “Or are you so godly you just expect everyone to get on their knees for you?” Monroe on his knees flashed through my mind, and suddenly, things were very, very hot. So hot sweat formed on my neck.
“I’m not the one with the god complex.” I stalked over to the thermostat and spun the dial back.
He battled my hand and tried to adjust it, but I batted him away. In a very mature move, he shoved me. But I think he forgot how much bigger I was, and I pushed him back against the wall. His eyes grew wide, and there we were, Monroe pinned between the wall and me. Neither of us moved.
There was this moment, a flash of something in my chest like an eruption of electricity that came out of nowhere. My body was confusing the fuck out of me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.
I had never been this close to him off the field. I’ve never felt his breath on my skin or looked so directly into his eyes. The heat spread to unexpected places, down my spine, and into my core.
“Don’t fucking touch it,” I said, my voice dropped far too deep. He swallowed hard.
Space. I needed space. The heat intensified, and it was hard to breathe. Stepping back, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.
He stared at me like prey, wondering why he hadn’t been devoured. Quite frankly, I was wondering the same.
Monroe snatched the largest Dopp kit I had ever seen from his suitcase and darted into the bathroom, immediately locking it. Like I was going to barge in on him. I didn’t want to have any part in what he was doing in there. My chest was screaming at me, and I didn’t know why until I sucked in a huge breath.
“What the fuck?” I murmured and looked at the bathroom door. Confusion forced me to sit down. I had never gotten so hot and bothered by a man and barely got excited by the women I’d been with. So the fact my cock was trying to force its way out of my pants like it had never been awake before was really perplexing.
I waited. He locked himself in there for thirty fucking minutes. What the fuck does someone do in the bathroom for thirty fucking minutes?
I just wanted to brush my teeth and get in bed. When he came out, he avoided all eye contact and ignored me.
Now that a giant ass didn’t occupy the bathroom, I took my turn.
On the counter, tucked into one corner, he had eleven, yes eleven, bottles of lotions and serums and something called healing clay.
No wonder he looked so pretty. My toothbrush and toothpaste looked like lonely fucks on the other side of the counter in their little corner.
In the four minutes it had taken to brush my teeth, rearrange his potions, and go to the bathroom, I returned to find the thermometer had been fucked with, and there was an irritating noise.
“What the fuck is that?” I demanded as I readjusted the temperature. He glared at me.
“It’s a noise machine,” he said with tight lips, watching me. “It helps me sleep.”
“Turn it off,” I said, pulling my sheets back and getting in.
“If I have to tolerate your arctic bullshit, then you can deal with my sleep machine.”
I glared at him. He glared at me. It was a standoff in which neither of us wanted to give up any ground. Then he turned the light off, and we were quiet.
Laying there and listening to him breathe wasn’t as awkward or disturbing as I thought. It was comfortable. Eventually, I fell asleep.
He didn’t sleep. At some point, I woke up when I turned over and found him fully awake. He sat on the corner of his bed for a long time, breathing with his head hanging between his shoulders. Then he paced, and all the while, I was wishing he’d go the fuck to sleep. But then he left.
That was against the rules, but fuck him. If he wanted to break them and get caught, all the better. Then I could have the room to myself. With that pleasant thought and the silence I wanted, I tucked my arms under my pillow and went back to sleep.
Except I didn’t. I woke up an hour later, and the room was still silent, and Holden’s bed was still empty. I shouldn’t care. I didn’t care. So I rolled back over and went to sleep.
Except I didn’t. Fuck me. Why the hell was this bothering me so much? It wasn’t even game day. It was just camp. Practice. No stakes in it for me. If he wanted to fuck up, then he could just go right on ahead and fuck up.
So, why was I still awake? He could have gone anywhere. Probably to get his rocks off behind a bar.
“Fuck.” I got my ass out of my nice warm bed and pulled on sweats and a sweater.
It turns out that for a guy who has been gone for two hours, he didn’t get very far. He was in the hotel gym on an exercise bike.
His shirt was draped over the handlebars, and he was peddling hard and fast as though he was being chased. Sweat trailed over each muscle and dripped on the floor. I tracked them as they traced his spine and disappeared into his shorts.
