Chapter Four #2
I smooth my hands down my sides, trying to get my shit together. It doesn't help. My heart is beating a thousand miles a minute, and I'm still not entirely sure why I'm here.
To kill him? To beg him? To kiss him?
Who knows?
I stomp toward the same door I went in last time, hoping security is as lax today as they were yesterday. To no one's surprise, the guard stationed outside takes one look at me and motions me in like he's not at all surprised to see me again. I guess there are perks to being infamous.
"They're in the weight room," he mutters, like I should know where that is.
"Uh…"
"Last door on the left," he sighs, his tone bored.
Jeez. How many hookups pass through here? Actually, scratch that thought. I do not want to know.
I sail through the doors, my heels clicking on the cement floor.
The hall is empty except for old equipment and the stench of stale sweat.
I keep my head down anyway, hurrying toward the door to the weight room.
And then I linger outside, unsure if I should just bust in like the police or wait for someone to come out.
After three minutes, I finally summoned the courage to bust in.
Big mistake.
Half of the team is inside. Shirtless. Dripping sweat.
No wonder football is such a popular sport. It's sweaty, Hot Guy Mecca in here.
I stand in the doorway, gaping.
Christ Almighty. It's a testosterone party in here.
"Uh, Hawkes? Your girl is here!" Dace, the same guy who busted us at the party, shouts, grinning at me from behind a weight bench.
Austin whips around on the treadmill so fast he damn near flies off it. "Shit," he growls, stabbing the button to stop it. His eyes lock with mine as he grabs a towel, mopping sweat from his forehead.
Why isn't he wearing a shirt? Why aren't any of them wearing shirts? Maybe I should hit the gym more if this is where hot, half-naked men congregate. A girl's gotta get her thrills somewhere.
He saunters toward me, breathing hard.
I scurry out into the hall like a fucking rabbit being hunted by a wolf.
He follows, leaning one shoulder against the wall. His gaze crawls all over my body in a way that should be illegal.
"Stop looking at my boobs, Austin."
His lips quirk into a grin. "You forget that my eyes are up here, too, princess?"
"Whatever. I'm not looking at you." If lying is a sin, I'm probably going to hell. He has an eight-pack. I thought those only existed in my fantasies. But my fantasies didn't do that body justice. Christ Almighty. I could break something riding him.
"So…you're back," he drawls, that damn panty-melting smirk stretching across his gorgeous face. "Miss me that much?"
"Yes. I mean no. Definitely not." I lick my lips, trying to get my head on straight, when his deep laughter booms down the hall. "I came to ask you to please call off the media."
"Why would I do that?"
"They know my name, Austin. They know where I live. They know where I work," I growl, throwing my hands up. "I'm going to get fired, and unlike you, I don't have millions in the bank. I need my job to survive."
"I still like my plan, princess."
"Oh my god," I groan. "Were you dropped on your head as a baby? Do you have a secret cocaine habit? Are you a sociopath? Because there is seriously something wrong with you."
He grins at me, sweat glistening all up and down his chest. "Yeah, there's something wrong with me," he agrees, his voice soft. "You."
I cross my arms to keep from touching him, to keep from tracing the line of muscle from his collarbone down his abs. "Oh, that's original," I say, far more breathlessly than intended.
"No, I mean it." He shifts his weight into the wall, the motion drawing my gaze to the flex of his bicep.
"You won't go out with me. Won't even give me a shot.
It's driving me fucking insane." His voice drops, as rough as whiskey.
"I've been hard for fucking days, princess.
Do you know what it feels like to chafe your own cock? "
I blink. "That's…not my problem?"
He grins wider, the heat in his eyes hot enough to scorch. "You keep saying that." He leans in, so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. "But you don't mean it."
I squeeze my eyes shut, counting to three like a child, but it doesn't help. He's everywhere—his scent, his heat, the weird gravity he has that makes me want to lean in and lick the salt off his skin. "I just want you to call off the media, Austin. That's it. This isn't difficult."
"If you want me to make all those photos go away, you gotta give me something to work with, Serena. The scandal isn't going away without a reason."
"Absolutely not," I say, but it comes out as a whisper.
He tips his head, studying me. "You know, for someone who pretends to hate me, you sure show up here looking for me often enough."
"I'm here because you're ruining my life!" I hiss, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one is in the hall. "I'm getting dick pics, Austin. Plural. Dicks, everywhere."
For the first time since I met him, his smirk falters. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Who's sending you dick pics?"
I sigh, exasperated. "Everyone, Austin. Everyone. The internet is a terrible place."
He goes still, his jaw flexing. "Yeah, fuck that." In one motion, he closes the distance, planting his forearm against the wall just above my head, caging me in. "Give me names, princess. They'll never send another one when I'm finished with them."
His protectiveness is infuriatingly hot. "It's not like I wrote them down before blocking them. God, you're frustrating." I try to duck under his arm, but he's too quick, blocking my escape.
He crowds even closer, the curve of his mouth brushing my ear. "Let me take care of it," he growls, a promise in his voice. "Just say yes."
I feel his lips graze the lobe, his stubble scraping my cheek.
"Stop," I manage, because if I don't, I'll melt into a puddle. I'm already struggling to remember that I absolutely cannot under any circumstances agree to date him.
"I will," he says, dipping his head, "when you say you'll go out with me."
"I—" That's as far as I get before his mouth slants down over mine, hot and hungry.
I gasp, my hands planted against his chest. His tongue teases the seam of my lips, and I open for him without thinking. His hands settle on my hips, anchoring me to him.
My brain short-circuits as his hands slide lower, kneading the curve of my ass like it's a goddamn stress ball.
I intend to push him away, really I do, but instead, my fingers curl in his hair, pulling him closer.
He's all force and need, kissing me like he wants to devour me right here in the hallway.
The worst part? I kiss him back. Hard. I don't even mean to, but my tongue tangles with his, and suddenly, I'm in his arms, my legs around his waist.
I don't even know how it happens! But he's pressed so tight against me that all I feel is him. His mouth is so hot and insistent, my thoughts are running in circles.
I should fight this. I should. I know I should. But the friction of his hard body grinding into me is so perfect that I can't even breathe, let alone remember why I was mad in the first place.
He kisses the hell out of me, then drags his mouth down my jaw and nips at my neck, murmuring my name like a prayer. "Serena." The way he says it—just a little desperate, like he needs this as much as I do—turns my bones to mush.
He's not even trying to be subtle about what he wants. His hands are everywhere at once—palming, squeezing, kneading. His mouth is so hot on my skin, it's almost unfair. When he bites down, just below my ear, I actually whimper.
My dignity is officially missing, presumed dead.
"Say yes," he breathes, pulling back just enough to catch my gaze. His eyes are so green it's insane, his lips swollen. "Go out with me, Serena."
I try to glower at him, but it's difficult when my entire body is humming, my chest rising and falling like I've run a marathon. "No."
He grins like the devil, slipping his hand between my legs.
My head hits the wall with an audible thunk. All I know is the dizzying heat between my thighs and the way his rough, possessive hands make me feel like I might actually combust.
"Say yes," he growls, stroking me through my panties.
I don't mean to. The word just slips out, traitorous and weak. "Yes."
He grins like he just won the championship. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
I glower at him, panting and dazed. "You're diabolical."
He laughs, the sound vibrating all the way to my core. He flicks his tongue against the seam of my lips, like he's tasting victory. "I know," he breathes. "But if that's what it takes to get you to give me a chance, then a motherfucker's gotta do what a motherfucker's gotta do, baby."
I groan. It's not a dignified sound, but I can't help it. My body is a molten mess, my mind a total haze.
He presses a kiss to my cheek, then to my jaw, then to my lips again, this one soft and almost reverent.
I push at his chest, trying to reclaim whatever is left of my self-respect. "I hate you."
"No, you don't," he says, cocky as hell, but his eyes are soft, sending my heart into overdrive.
"Don't be so cocky. I'll cancel before we even get to dinner." But it's an empty threat, and I suspect he knows it.
He leans in, brushing his lips against mine once more. "Try it," he murmurs, and then he's gone, striding back into the weight room like he didn't just turn my entire life upside down in under five minutes.
I stand there, pressed to the cinderblock, trying to remember how to breathe, how to think, how to exist in a world where Austin Hawkes is taking me on a date.
I have the unsettling feeling that I'll survive just long enough to regret it.