Sunday
Laughter echoes off the rafters as we stumble into the pool complex through the side door, shushing and shoving each other to get inside before campus security sees.
It’s dark, nothing but the emergency lights flickering from deep within the water, casting the room in an aqua glow.
Logan immediately rips his clothes off and cannonballs into the pool wearing nothing but his boxer briefs.
Everyone else starts to follow suit, stripping down to their underwear.
I turn my back, biting my bottom lip as I run an uncertain hand along the seam of my black blazer, unsure if I’m ready to shed the protection it provides.
I’m toeing a very dangerous line.
Isn’t that exactly why you’re here?
I wish there were still a part of me that could deny it, but I can’t. If seeing Nova and Willa were the goal, I could have done that any time. I didn’t come for my friends.
I came for him.
Just like he came for me too.
The air fills with the rustle of fabrics, the splashing of water.
I take a deep breath and carefully slip my arms free of the sleeves before letting the jacket fall to the floor.
I kick off my shoes. Sloshes and splatters and levity cocoon me as I slowly unbutton my shorts, trying to ignore the drumming of my heart—but there’s something else too.
A prickle at the base of my neck. An awareness that leaves my skin hot as I glide the denim over my hips.
In hindsight, white lace was probably a bad choice in undergarments.
Then again, I had no idea we’d end up here.
Yes, you did, a little voice in the back of my brain accuses.
Did I?
Maybe.
It feels inevitable that we’d end up back in this pool, back in the water, back in each other’s arms. Though that hasn’t happened…yet.
I leave the crop top in place, not sure I’m prepared to shed my final line of defense or accidentally flash Logan and Grant with what could easily be a see-through bra in about ten seconds.
I don’t look up as I turn around and walk to the stairs, but I feel his gaze follow me.
Even after all this time, I prefer not to jump in if I can avoid it.
I lightly touch my fingers to the rail, no longer needing it as a lifeline, more of a comfort as I slowly make my descent.
Cool water rises up my calves, my thighs, my stomach—a perfect excuse for the shiver that ripples up my spine, peaking my nipples, though I’d be lying if I said I thought the water had anything to do with it.
I finally glance up, right into those eyes shining almost turquoise in the glow of the pool.
It’s too much.
Him.
This place.
These feelings.
I jerk my arm from the rail and dive into the water, but it does nothing to wash away the heat of his gaze. My friends become shields as I emerge between them, keeping everything below my chin under the surface and out of sight.
“What now?” Logan asks.
“Should we play a game?” Nova offers. “Tag?”
I could kiss her for not suggesting chicken.
The sexual tension in the air is palpable enough as is.
I can’t be the only one feeling it. But we’ve all spent enough time half naked in this pool together to move past it.
Well, most of us. Nox sticks to my rules.
He doesn’t go after me. He doesn’t touch me—with his hands.
But he stalks me just the same, like a hunter chasing prey, watching and waiting for the right moment to pounce.
A game of Marco Polo seals my fate.
We start friendly enough. Nova tags Willa, who tags Logan, who tags Grant, who finally catches Nox.
He picks my voice out easily, twisting his ear my way every time I call out a response, but he doesn’t rush for me the way I expect he might.
He goes for Logan, tagging his friend easily, more at home in the water than any of us.
I make it three more rounds before Willa finally catches me.
The second I close my eyes, I feel the shift.
The temperature in the room ratchets. Water laps against my back. I sense a presence nearby. My nerves tingle as anticipation spikes through me. “Marco.”
“Polo,” the others respond.
Nox’s voice isn’t among them.
But I feel him, close, like a whisper against the back of my neck, making my hairs rise. I spin toward the feeling. “Marco.”
“Polo,” the others call back.
Again, Nox remains silent.
That tingle moves across my shoulder. I should ignore it. Ignore him. Chase my friends. Move on with the game.
Instead, I spin again, urged by nothing more than gut instinct. “Marco.”
“Polo,” he murmurs, warm breath brushing the side of my neck like a soft caress. I lunge for him, but he’s gone, nothing more than a ghost. Haunting me, just as he once promised he would.
“Marco,” I snap.
“Polo,” he teases from the other side now.
I throw my arm out.
He’s gone.
“Marco!”
“Polo,” the others call, louder this time, as if giving me one more chance to choose them, to flee.
I don’t.
Nova and Willa know me well enough to read my mind or maybe they’ve just been waiting all day to trap Nox and me together like they did all those years ago. Either way, water splashes a moment later. Hushed whispers battle with slapping feet, until finally a door closes, and there’s only silence.
But I’m not alone.
Far from it.
“Polo,” Nox finally whispers from right behind me, tauntingly close.
I dive. He kicks away. Water swirls around me like a whirlpool. I’m caught in the flow, in the pull. He’s a rip current dragging me out to sea.
“Marco.”
“Polo.” A soft exhale against my shoulder.
“Marco.”
“Polo.” A swarm of bubbles down my back.
“Marco.”
“Polo.” A splash against my neck.
I turn and step back, right into the wall.
Concrete scratches my shoulder blades. My spine flattens against the tiles.
I press my palms behind me and rub the grout lines with my fingertips, trying to ground myself as I breathe deeply.
The wet material of my top strains as my lungs swell, the pressure growing, almost painful as I sense him close in.
“Marco,” I whisper.
“Polo.”
My lips tingle with the barest brush of warm air.
I open my eyes.
He’s there. So close. He’s everywhere, filling my whole line of vision, so the rest of the world disappears.
I trace the achingly familiar arch of his freckles, speckled across his cheeks and his nose.
It would be all too easy to reach up, connect the dots with my fingers, and reform the picture of us.
A drop of water leaks from his forehead, down the bridge of his nose to his lips.
My tongue darts out, already anticipating the taste of him.
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. I look back into his mournful eyes.
“Say something.”
I shake my head.
I can’t.
“Let me say something.”
I can’t do that either.
I’m stuck, trapped in my own indecision.
As if he senses my urge to run, he lifts his hands to the pool edge on either side of me.
Droplets fall down my shoulders like rain, warm from where they first kissed his skin.
There’s no space between us but somehow he leans closer, the air buzzing from the polar charge of our cells, our bodies aching to close the distance.
“Let me touch you,” he softly pleads.
I can’t breathe.
With a gasp, I turn and push my palms against the pool deck, pulling myself free of the water. He lets me go, not forcing the conversation he promised he wouldn’t, keeping my lines in tack even though I know it’s killing him.
Disappointment curves his brows, but I’m not trying to leave.
I just need air, room to think. When he senses that I’ve settled for the moment, he lets his gaze wander, dropping down my throat, my chest, to the translucent stretch of lace across my hips.
Strain pulls at his gaze as he swallows, clenches his jaw.
Water drips across my skin. He traces every speck, watching them disappear into the swell beneath my crop top, around the curve of my abs, within the seam of my thighs.
A groan rumbles at the back of his throat.
“If you’re trying to torture me, it’s working.”
“I’m not.”
“It’s okay if you are.”
He leaves the opening.
I look away, to the aqua light flickering along the walls. It’s not about making him suffer. It’d be easier if it were. It’s about pushing and pushing and pushing to see if I can trust him not to break his promise again.
Nox lifts his hand and lets it hover above my knee.
Water trickles from his fingers, splashing against my skin, burning where it lands, not from any true heat, just from the awareness of his eyes, the fantasies playing within them.
He does it again, higher up this time. The droplets disappear into my panties as they drip down my thigh.
Fire follows in their wake. My nerves awaken, my body sensitive.
I inhale sharply when the next set of drips spills across my stomach, tumbles down.
I lean back without realizing, giving him more access.
I close my eyes, imagining the same as he is that each drip down my shoulder, over my breast, across my waist is his lips, his fingers, him.
My head falls back.
When the next droplet falls, I reach out and take his hand. I press his large palm to my stomach, ignited by his touch. I slide it down.
A latch click whips across the silence.
I snap my head to the side just as the door creaks open. A bright beam of light suddenly floods the room. Nox hauls himself out of the pool, not letting go of my hand as he threads our fingers together and silently yanks me with him.
“Who’s in here?” a voice calls.
Nox grabs our clothes in one hand, still pulling me with the other as he makes for the locker room.
The flashlight chases the sounds of our slapping feet, catching us for a brief moment before we disappear through the opening.
There’s no time to question or think, just follow as he leads me through a maze of rooms. He drops my hand for a second to search through his loose pocket for the keys, then opens another door.
We dart inside. He takes the extra second to close it softly behind us, careful not to make a sound.
Then he’s on me.
His lips find mine in the dark. He presses me back against the door, fingers clutching at my waist to drag me closer.
I throw my arms around his neck, unable to fight the pull for one second longer.
He wedges his thigh between my legs. I scratch my nails down his scalp.
His mouth roves across my jawbone, down my neck, tasting every bit of me he can find.
My panting fills the quiet. His hand sinks beneath wet cotton to knead me through my lacy bra.
“Nox,” I gasp into his mouth.
He snatches the sound from the air, kissing me as if he would die just to taste his name on my lips one more time.
His other hand sinks lower, down my abdomen, under lace, to the center of my burning.
I pull at his hair as he works his fingers and swallows my cries, possessing me in a way nobody else ever could.
Just as stars start to press at my eyelids, he kisses his way down my chest and drops to his knees, hitching one of my legs over his shoulder.
A bright beam of light trickles in through the blinds.
I realize we’re in an office of some kind.
Boots thud right outside the door.
Nox doesn’t hear or maybe doesn’t care. I slap my palms over my mouth to stifle my cries as he digs his fingers into my hips and swirls his tongue. The room disappears in an explosion of sparks as my entire body tenses, then goes limp. Nox catches me before I fall, cradling me against his chest.
“Come back to my room,” he whispers. “Please.”
I don’t know if this is reconciliation.
I don’t know if it’s closure.
I don’t know if it’s a big, fat mistake.
But I do know one thing. There’s not a single fiber of my being that wants to say no.
“Okay.”
He kisses me swiftly, grinning into my lips. I feel myself grin back. He throws his T-shirt over my head like a dress and shoves his legs into his pants, leaving the rest of our clothes on the floor. I suddenly realize where we are.
“What is Coach going to say when he finds a pair of women’s shorts in his office?”
“‘About damn time’ probably.”
Nox offers me a sly look before crossing the room to the exterior windows on the other side.
He slides one open and extends his hand.
I take it and climb through. We make it about five feet before he pushes me up against a stone wall, unable to keep his hands or his lips off of me for more than ten seconds at a time.
I’m just as bad, looping my fingers through his waistband, sliding them over the ridges of his abs.
It’s as if we both know we can’t stop to think, can’t let the moment pass, the dust settle.
I wish I knew if the urgency thrumming through my veins was because we’ve had so much time apart or because we both know we have such little time left.
That answer will have to wait until morning.
I’m delirious with need by the time we get back to his room.
We don’t even make it to the bed before he’s inside me.
I clutch at his shoulders and gasp into his skin, reveling in this connection I’ve missed for so long.
Because we fit so perfectly, I still can’t believe we fell apart in the first place.