John tried not to dork out quite as hard this time. He was waiting in his house, same as before, and heard Meghan’s tires on his driveway. He managed to wait until she rang the bell. Even if he was standing right inside the damned door.

Mother of... he thought. She looked beyond good. Her flowy, tucked-in white blouse showed off both her figure and her tan, while her denim shorts left little to the imagination except what she’d look like without them. If John’s shirt had been buttoned one too high at the party, then Meghan’s was now. John was fairly dying to see what she had on underneath that gauzy white top.

Meghan handled life a little better this time around. She still wanted to throw John up against the wall, but the sparkle in his eye was too good to pass up. Flirting and sexual tension - Meghan was ready for a hot summer night. John’s hair was styled with a little gel, he wore another v-neck, this time charcoal grey, with bright blue shorts. The outfit fit every muscuscled curve of his body - Meghan resisted the urge to trace those curves with her hands.

“Hi,” she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“Hey,” John barely avoided pulling her in for a real kiss. It was too soon. They’d only been on one date and he was nothing if not a gentleman. Meghan’s lips were soft and warm against his skin, making him ache from his brain to his crotch. “You look beautiful.”

Meghan rocked back on her heels. If a guy complimented her, no matter what he said, it was usually the equivalent of ‘nice shoes, wanna fuck?’ But when John did it, he meant. He told her she was beautiful like he’d never seen a girl up close before, or like she was the one he’d been waiting waiting for.

Unlike James, she thought meanly. James probably had a dozen lines he dropped on girls in rotating order, like bullets in a gun. Maybe they were even true, but John’s felt different. He had no idea he was attractive and so no right to expect a girl be attracted to him. Meghan was. Very much so.

“Not so bad yourself, John.”

They drove into Toronto, past the restaurant Koh Sahn Road from their first date, on the way to a nondescript parking lot. By the time John slipped the parking ticket into his back pocket Meghan was already out of the car. He’d have to be quicker next time. One flight of stairs down they were on Adelaide Street. He wanted to reach for her hand, and she for his, but there was hardly far enough to go.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he said.

John was really proud of his plan for the evening, made entirely online. He hoped the people who’d reviewed this place could be trusted with something as important as a second date with Meghan. As soon as they turned the corner, John had a pretty good idea they were right.

“Wow,” Meghan said.

The warmly lit, exposed brick facade of Gusto’s converted warehouse space glowed in the gathering dusk. A cozy patio full of happy patrons was sectioned from the street by wooden planters with fairy lights knit into the greenery. The second level was all steel and glass: windows for walls and no roof. John didn’t even have to give the hostess his name. She grabbed two menus and said, “Right this way.”

They climbed an enclosed staircase to the second floor, following the girl across a rooftop patio. The vibe was casual-industrial with functional ductwork and beams built into the decor. Meghan took her seat in a white metal chair at a small table of blond wood, tucked into the front corner of the veranda.

“This is so nice!” she said as John situated himself across. Their knees brushed beneath the table.

John was thrilled. Meghan had chosen the seat facing in, while he was looking at her against the backdrop of the buildings across the street. It was the closest yet they’d come to really being alone together, with the exception of car rides. He glanced up at the night sky, turning from blue to navy, and knew this was definitely a date.

The waiter arrived with a bottle of water and asked if they’d like to order wine. John looked momentarily helpless. Meghan figured that at 22, most guys barely knew the difference between red and white. Either that or he was still nervous to drink around her after his post-party hangover. She suggested the mid-price Proulx Petite Syrah from Central California and John nodded enthusiastically. They turned to their menus.

“Can you eat any of this stuff?” Meghan smiled.

John shook his head without reading. “Nope.”

“Well I’m ordering five things. You can pick out the veggies and I’ll eat everything else.”

“Ha,” he laughed. “You’re out of luck. I can have the grilled cornish hen with couscous and probably still workout tomorrow.”

Meghan looked up through her lashes and smirked at him. “Guess you’ll have to be home early then?”

“Uhhhhh no, I mean, we can...,” John stammered. Meghan giggled and he whacked her lightly with the menu. The waiter arrived with two delicate wine glasses and a bottle as they were tussling like kids on family vacation. John’s face was blush red, which only made Meghan want to giggle more. He was so... adorable.

GAH! she thought. Give me that wine!

Meghan tried and approved the vintage with a practiced sniff and sip. John watched her lips purse into a perfect little bow, just a hint of moist red stain, and her eyes flutter slightly as she considered the taste on her tongue. He wanted to be that taste. His something else fluttered, lower. This was a real date, a grown-up date, for which John was almost entirely unready. He didn’t even know what petite syrah was but if Meghan liked it, that was good enough for him. She lifted her glass and he did the same.

“Cheers, John.”

She was so pretty, all wavy long hair and creamy skin, sparkling in the low lightning like nothing could dull her shine. It struck John that everyone in the place was probably watching her the same way he was: half nervous and half confused how she ended up here with him.

“Cheers,” he echoed.

Meghan waited till John had his first drop. His face tightened a little like he didn’t know what to expect, then softened as the ripe, warm berry flavor came through. She imagined it flowing through him and loosening John up a bit. Wine made Meghan long-limbed and silly; just enough and she wanted to twirl and touch, too much and she wanted to sleep for a week. Tonight would not be too much - not of wine, at least. Best to keep her head.

“It’s delicious,” John said.

The wine and semi-privacy of their corner table allowed John to relax a little. He told Meghan about living on Long Island and trying to improve both himself and his team. Unlike other girls’ he’d dated, Meghan knew a lot about hockey. She also knew about the stress of being drafted first overall and playing for a struggling team in low-draw market.

“It’s not like I’m ungrateful or anything, I want to play there. And it’s not just me. All my teammates are trying to win too.”

“But you’re the name on the marquee.”

“Hardly,” John mumbled.

“And you’re the one people expect the most from.”

John shrugged. He wanted to be the go-to guy. He would have taken that responsibility onto himself even if it hadn’t been given.

Meghan watched his face as he looked down, lips pressed into a line, thinking. Sometimes it was hard to remember these guys were in their late teens or early twenties when the pressure landed on them: millions of big business dollars, the focus of the media. Most people would never experience that. In a regular job, even if you rose to the top, it took years of experience. Top flight hockey players had it around their necks before they walked in the door.

“Have you ever talked to Steven about this?” she asked.

“A little,” he said, taking a small sip of wine.

“Talk to him again. If you didn’t have such a low, manly voice,” she did her best baritone imitation, “I’d think I was talking to him right now.”

“Do I really?” John laughed, glad for the turn in conversation. Just because Meghan understood didn’t mean he should bore her like a brat all night.

She smirked back, having gotten the smile she was after. “I watched some of your interviews.”

John’s mind immediately produced a vision of Meghan, sitting in bed, watching him on her laptop. Of course it would be a hot night, her window open and a soft breeze tickling all the skin left bare around her tiny shorts and thin t-shirt. Her hair would be twisted into a knot, falling loose around her neck. Maybe she wore glasses. Glasses were sexy.

“Oh no. How’d I do?”

Boring, Meghan wanted to say. But all hockey players were boring when they talked about hockey, especially pre- or post-game. They were saying nothing on purpose and she’d heard every sports cliche in the book. At least some of them had faces worth looking at while they droned on about playing their roles and working hard. Mostly Meghan had watched John’s mouth move and thought that if he spoke softly, right up close to her ear in that low voice he could convince her of almost anything.

“Good. Most hockey interviews are the same. You, uh, get a little nervous around Kathryn Tappen though, don’t you?”

John blushed. Fiercely. He started to say something and stopped, blushing even harder.

“I knew it!” Meghan squealed. “Hi Kathryn,” she imitated John again, this time with his head ducked a little like a high schooler about to ask a girl to prom.

John wanted to die. All the guys thought NHL Network anchor Kathryn Tappen was gorgeous. He’d only met her a few times and really tried not to be a goober in interviews. Apparently he had failed.

“It’s okay,”Meghan said. “She was a little giggly too. You just flirted back.”

“I didn’t!”

Meghan nodded that she was right. “You even mentioned in the interview that you were single. Plus, you did that thing you do when you’re nervous.”

“What thing?”

“Tilt your head to the right a little,” Meghan demonstrated. It was just a slight twitch, a conversational habit, that she’d noticed.

“I don’t do that!”

Meghan raised an eyebrow in challenge. John tried to be defiant, but it couldn’t hold. If he had a nervous habit, Meghan would know - he’d been nothing but nervous around her since they met. John covered his face with one hand, shaking his head. It was such a Muppet move that Meghan burst out laughing. She reached across the table and pulled his hand down.

“I’m such a dork,” John sighed at his own mortification.

Meghan thought she was going to die from the cute. “You know, some girls are into that.”

The rest of dinner was easy, talking and laughing their way through typical conversation. John knew he’d been played and he loved it - Meghan had put him completely at ease. And she’d held his hand after he covered his face, just a few moments longer than necessary. Now he could hold her hand when they left dinner. That’s the way it worked, right?

When the wine was gone and the food mostly so, John paid the the tab. Meghan leaned her elbow on the table and asked where they were going next, but John shook his head.

“Oooh, mysterious,” she said, guessing how he’d chosen the activities for tonight. Dinner had been a hit. Maybe he’d taken another date there in the past. Meghan wondered what she would have looked like, what they would have talked about. If that girl would have polished off a huge plate of pasta without remorse. That made her smile: probably not.

John let Meghan go first down the stairs, admiring her long legs as she maneuvered her high sandals on the steps. The moment they were on the sidewalk he reached for her hand. Her fingers slid easily between his, small in his large grip. Meghan slowed, looking at their clasped hands for just a moment, then over her shoulder at John. He lifted his eyebrows slightly as if to ask is this okay?

Meghan rolled her eyes dramatically, a silly grin breaking across her face. She stopped so that John bumped into her side and when he did, she kissed him. It was just a brief press of lips, he didn’t even have time to close his eyes. Then she was tugging him along.

“There’s nowhere else to go,” he said, playfully planting his feet. “We can stay right here.”

Laughing, Meghan gave him another pull like an errant puppy on a leash. The back of his hand brushed her bare thigh, below where her shorts ran out. They both looked away, smirking.

The walk was much too short for John’s liking: in less than ten minutes they were in front of the Second City comedy theater on Mercer Street.

Oh God, Meghan thought as John gave his name at the will call window. Her heart rate was climbing. Of all the places.

John took the little envelope. He was pretty proud of the night so far - Meghan had kissed him. He had managed not to fall over immediately after. Here he was on a city street on a Friday night and he was holding her hand! If that Ellie Goulding song from the iPod commercial had suddenly come on, “Anything can happen! Anything can happen!” he would hardly have been surprised. Until he looked at Meghan’s face.

“What?”

She dragged him out of the way of everyone heading in the front door.

“Awkward date confession,” she said quickly.

“You don’t like comedy shows?” John’s boat was taking on water.

“No no, I love them.”

He saw another leak. “Your ex-boyfriend is in this show?”

Meghan scoffed. “No.”

“You auditioned for Second City and you were so bad they said never come back here? Now there’s a picture of you inside and we’ll probably get kicked out?”

“No!” She slapped his chest, laughing. “I just get a little... nervous in awkward situations. Like squirmy.” She grimaced at both the idea and the obvious fact that John was not getting it. “Okay. You know on ‘The Office’ when something really, painfully awkward is about to happen? And it’s the highlight of the show and everyone loves it? I sometimes have to leave the room. Just while it’s happening.” She shook her head. “Is this making any sense?”

John, relief sweeping through his body because the date was not ruined, answered honestly. “No.”

“Are the seats in the front row?”

“No.”

“Whew.” Meghan rocked back on her heels. “Okay. Just promise me that under no circumstances will I have to get up on stage. If they start picking people I am going under the chair, tuck and roll style.”

John could tell she was really nervous. Using his free hand, he made the bold move of sliding it up her arm, over the blousy sleeve of her shirt, until he reached her shoulder. They faced each other, mere inches apart, totally blocking out the world around them. Meghan’s green eyes looked back at him, fringed with dark lashes and wide with fear.

“I promise.”

Meghan nodded once. John could be very reassuring when he wanted - that heavy brow and low voice like a newscaster saying not to panic. Plus his hand was really warm against her shoulder.

“Until I volunteer myself,” he said, “and then tell them I’m on a date.”

“JOHN!” She slugged him again. This time he caught her tiny fist and pulled her into a hug that also held her still. They were both laughing. John found his hand moving behind her neck, sweeping beneath the soft fall of her hair all on its own. He hadn’t sanctioned that. Before he could recall the troops, he was pulling her in.

It was Meghan’s turn to be surprised by a kiss. John moved confidently, hand in her hair and everything, and this time he got his eyes closed before his mouth found hers. Stunned, she gasped and he kissed her open mouth like he meant it. John even used her hair to pull her away and break the kiss because he could not stop himself.

“Show’s about to start!” the doorman yelled.

Still wrapped up, Meghan clung to John. “There’s nowhere else to go,” she joked. “We can stay right here.”

His answer was completely serious. “Okay.”
____

Meghan considered the fine mess she’d gotten herself into. Their seats were in the third row, just a few spots from the end. She could make a run for it if she wanted to. True to his word John had done nothing to attract attention. Meghan didn’t think he was that kind of guy anyway. But he was the kind of guy who gave her his arm to claw and twist as needed. Meghan was pressed as close to him as she could get and still be in her chair; John’s arm was over the armrest and right across her laps. She held his one hand in both of hers just past her outside knee. That might have been enough cover but his shoulders were nice and broad and close, so Meghan took a few opportunities to cuddle right up and bury her face there. It’s just flirting, she told herself.

His clothes smelled like Tide. John would use a name brand detergent. He probably ironed his t-shirts too. His arm was warm and heavy, his hand strong. From her spot behind his shoulder, Meghan admired the perfectly straight line of his dark hair across the back of his neck. He turned a few inches and looked at her from the corner of his eye.

I would bring her here every night, he thought. She was all climbed up on him like a cat at the vet. It was more of a nervous thing, like she’d said, and Meghan was laughing as much as anyone else. The awkward stage moments didn’t bother John but he could see why they got to Meghan. And when they did she took it out on him.

He didn’t mind.

She laughed again, her body jostling against his side. The way his arm was pulled over her thighs, like she couldn’t get close enough and had to bring him over there, was incredibly sexy to John. He was protecting her from the big, bad... nothing at all, but still. It was like having your arm around the hottest girl at the party but better because she was holding you too.

As promised, John avoided all notice and they survived the show without being called on stage. The audience gave a standing ovation at the end of the performance, marking the first time in hours he and Meghan let go of each other. John clapped quickly and got back to it.

The air outside the theater was warmer than it had been inside. The change in temperature, plus the cars and lights and other city night noises combined to make Meghan a little woozy. Or maybe it was just that she’d lost her anchor. John’s hand was still in hers as they wove free of the crowd, angling back in the direction of the restaurant.

John was fixated on how obviously much Meghan liked to cuddle. He may also have been thinking about the huge chair-and-a-half lounger in his living room and the fact they had to drive back there before Meghan could leave. If he ever let her leave.

We have only had three kisses! John reminded himself. Great kisses, yes, but he wouldn’t be running for the finish line so soon. Not with Meghan. Well, not with anyone since he was John Tavares. On the flip side he wasn’t James Neal either. But she could still sit in the chair.

“That was really fun,” Meghan said. She’d laughed a lot but wanted to be sure John knew it had been a good date.

He knew. But he appreciated her saying so. “Do you want to get coffee?”

They went a few streets and ducked into a cafe. Most of the tables were finishing up dinner so they got a small booth at the back and ordered a french press to share. John admired Meghan’s face as she browsed the dessert menu. He’d been looking at the stage for most of the night and had forgotten the little wham! that he felt every time he saw how pretty she was. Next date he’d just plan a staring contest for a while until they started making out.

Meghan glanced up over the laminated card and caught John watching. The edge of her mouth twitched. That little hint of her shyness, of discomfort at being appreciated when guys were looking at her all the time, went right through John like an arrow.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted out.

Meghan felt her cheeks getting hot. “Thank you, John.”

“I mean, you’re way too pretty for me,” he added nervously.

Her heart was racing. They were doing so much flirting and so little else - dates with John were unlike any dates she’d ever been on. There was virtually no pressure. He just seemed as pleased as punch to be around her, as aw-shucks happy as he was grateful and surprised. It was endearing but a little unwarranted. Meghan put down the menu.

“Come here.” She leaned forward against the table. John did the same, expecting a kiss. Instead Meghan lifted her fingertip and brushed it over his lower lip, then down to the right just above the curve of his chin. A faint, slightly concave scar creased the skin there. Above his lip there were several more. Meghan let her touch linger at the edge of his jaw.

“I like your scars,” she said. “They’re really sexy.”

John could have collapsed and smacked his face on the table. He could have popped a boner and flipped the table. Instead he just blinked at Meghan, her hand still on his face.

Sexy. The word rang in his brain.

“Here you are.” The waiter arrived at precisely the worst moment. Not that John knew what he was going to say next but now Meghan’s fingers were slipping through the metal handle of the fancy coffee pot instead of over the web of nicks and dings his face had collected over the years. Was it possible she actually liked those?

Meghan felt the weight of John’s eyes as his mind spun inside his head. She busied herself with coffee. Somewhere around the ripping of the sugar packet, John regained his senses and set about his own coffee. Meghan watched: milk, light, no sugar. Just in case she ever needed to know what he drank in the morning.

“Will you be at the gym tomorrow?” John asked, fumbling for something to say that wasn’t ‘Please repeat what you just said about my scars, loudly and into this microphone.’

“Not tomorrow. I know Robs goes hard on Saturdays since you get Sunday off. I don’t want to see anybody crying,” she said.

“Yeah, it’s ugly. At least I’m keeping up better now. James is crazy though. He was mad and he took it out on us, showing off and making Gary us all push harder.” John shared this idly, without really thinking.

Meghan shook her head in disbelief. “When?”

“Today,” John said casually. “I’m still sore.”

She could have thrown her coffee cup. James had been angry after her first date with John, storming off from the pool after she told him about it, giving her the cold shoulder. But today, today he’d seemed fine - sorry, even, asking her to let him know if she wasn’t coming home. Apparently first he’d worn himself out on everyone else. “He was mad at me,” she said. “I stayed at my parents’ house last night and I didn’t tell him. I think he assumed I was….”

Meghan left the end off because it was obvious. But not obvious enough for John.

“With me,” he said. Then he looked up, stricken, and started backtracking. “I mean, he thought you might have, not that we were... I told him you didn’t. Stay over. I told him.”

“What?” Meghan’s voice was hard and flat.

Panic mode. If James called Meghan out it was one thing, but saying it to John was something else. That made John the person responsible. He didn’t want Meghan to think he was going around letting people believe they spent the night together. Certainly not James. John would never kiss and tell - or whatever people did at adult sleepovers. He was quick to correct James, like he was defending Meghan’s honor again.

“He... asked me if you had stayed at my house. I said no. I wouldn’t tell him we were... anything. ‘Cause we’re not.” John’s tongue tied itself into a knot.

Meghan was way back on the first thing. “He asked you?”

John nodded.

Meghan pursed her lips in a way that made John want to vault the table for more kissing. But this was not the time. “He asked you, or he accused you?”

John thought for a right answer that was also a way out of this. “Uh, he was worried.”

“So he was mad?”

“Not at you,” John made sure to say. “At me. If I was... if we were. Already. He was just looking out for you.”

Meghan felt a surge of anger that started at her brain and filled all the way to her toes. James didn’t ask things nicely when he was upset. He got mad. She’d seen it first hand.

John knew he was sunk. He pushed a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.. I just didn’t want you to think that I was saying you stayed over. I wouldn’t say that.” Unless you stayed over, then I might have to rub it in someone’s face, John thought. “It was okay. I told him I hadn’t seen you, he calmed down.”

“After he got in your face,” she clarified.

“A little.”

“Oh my God,” Meghan sighed. “I’m sorry, John.”

“It’s okay,” John tried to wave it off. “Happens all the time on the ice, it’s no big deal.”

She wasn’t having it. “It is a big deal. You guys have to train together every day, then there’s Olympic camp and… ugh. It’s only two months.”

The way she said that - “It’s only two months.” - hit John like a punch. Mid-June to mid-August, of course it was only two months. He just hadn’t thought about it that way. Summer would be over soon, - he would leave and hockey would start and Meghan, well, she didn’t play hockey.

Two months, Meghan was also thinking. Over before they knew it. She had forgotten the familiar race against time of the off-season because she’d been busy flirting with John. Two months. It was long time if they were terrible months and a short time if they were great. The number stuck in her heart as she looked at the boy across the table. Two months was just enough time to start something that no one could finish.

“Wow, that time’s going to fly,” John said.

Meghan shrugged. “Unless you’re not having fun.”

They finished coffee, each lost a little in their own thoughts. John touched the small of Meghan’s back as they walked out of the store, then took her hand again. They walked the few blocks back to the car in semi-silence, just thinking. When they reached the car, Meghan flipped on the radio and put her head back.

Two months. In two months, John would be completely in love with her. Not to toot her own horn but, look at the guy, she thought. He was ready. He was like a puppy waiting to be adopted who would love that lucky person until the end of time. Play it right and in two months a guy like John was yours forever. Except that he lived in New York and was gone half the time even from there. In the interview Meghan had seen where John got all flustered around Kathryn Tappen, one of the questions was about John being notoriously the most eat-sleep-breathe hockey player in the NHL. He’d laughed and said it was true. Two months and that lifestyle would smack them both in the face.

But those two months would be glorious.

Except for James. If he had some bug up his ass about her and John, two months could seem like ten years. He could make both of their lives very difficult. She lived with him for Heaven’s sake and while they’d been friends forever, Meghan knew James had an unreasonable, slightly douchebag bro side that only knew how to fight back. It did not give in. John would take the rest of his anger in training. Forget socially - John’s social time with Neal, and anyone Neal hung around with, would end like a bad breakup.

John snuck a glance at Meghan. Two months with that had to be better than two months without, regardless of the consequences. But if the consequences went past two months - if Neal hated him, and they both went to Calgary for Olympic camp, that worried John. A few months later the Olympics would roll around. He planned on that experience being one of the best of his life so far. Guys from opposing teams could forgive a lot - hell, he’d hung out with Del Zotto - but this wasn’t hockey he was talking about. And when he did talk hockey, the Penguins and Islanders were in the same division now. He’d be seeing James a lot this year. It was an unexpected risk, one John had not really considered until this morning. If Neal hated him - well, John could almost understand. Meghan leaned forward to change the song and John shook fear and James Neal from his mind. She was worth it. Her eyes gleamed in the dark, her skin looked so smooth. John had barely gotten close and he definitely hadn’t had enough.

Two months, he thought. Better get to work.

John started talking about anything at all. Meghan responded gratefully. When they reached his house there were in conversation about Canadian words, how many of them were British and how many were not used in America.

“Toque is Canadian,” Meghan insisted. “No one says it in England, unless they mean an equestrian helmet.”

“No one in America even knows what it means,” John agreed. They were laughing when they climbed out of the car, which he took to be a good sign. Meghan didn’t wait for his help, but she did stay by the passenger door. Again her own can was just five feet away. John circled around and approached her.

It felt a little weird. After an evening of so much touching, he was nervous to reach for her now. Maybe it was her posture, rolling her weight out to the sides of her feet and then back, slowly, like she wanted to move.

Meghan’s mind was tumbling through the arguments from the car, looking for one that included going into John’s house and trying that big lounge chair. Or just going inside. Maybe just kissing. Any scenario that didn’t involve John’s lovely face being punched in by James’ angry fist.

“Hey,” John finally said when he’d waited a moment too long, too close. Meghan focused on him and she closed the last of the distance between them. The kiss connected as always but instead of a bright flare of energy it just sparked and twinkled; a flint striking without flame. There was a little heat and then it was over.

Meghan felt bad almost before it started, and definitely at the end. It wasn’t much of a kiss at all.

John squeezed her hand, a silent apology for not knowing how to immediately fix whatever she was thinking and solve all her problems forever and ever, amen.

“Night, John,” Meghan said.

He let her hand slip. “Goodnight.”
____

Meghan walked through the house like it was the middle of the day, no attempt at being quiet thought it was nearly midnight. She was mad and she would have her say.

“I know you’re up,” she said flatly as she walked into the hallway then turned into her room. Thirty seconds later Meghan knew she’d get the fight she’d been looking for.

James didn’t bother getting dressed. He’d been in bed, awake and waiting, wearing just boxer briefs. Now he was leaning against the open door of his bedroom, the half-sleeve tattoo on his left arm fully displayed as he used it for balance. Too-long hair fell to his cheekbones. He tossed his head back, shaking the hair from his face.

Meghan glared at him. He looked wiped; there were dark smudges under his eyes like he’d been waiting a long time. The body was no surprise - she saw him in shorts everyday. “If you think underwear is going to work on me, you’ve forgotten what it takes to land a smart girl.”

James’ eyes narrowed. “Tavares have some other trick you’d like to share with me?”

“He doesn’t need a trick.”

“‘Cause he doesn’t land any girls,” James scoffed. He couldn’t help his eyes rolling down Meghan’s body. She looked amazing, even if it wasn’t for him. The soft cotton of her shirt begged to be touched just enough to go overhead and onto the floor. There were plenty of soft places left to touch after that.

Meghan let James look. Let him get a nice, long eyeful of what he would never have in his bed, or even in his life anymore if he kept acting this way.

“You sure about that? I hear you thought I spent the night there,” she hissed, swishing her hips just to piss James off.

“HE TOLD YOU?!” James roared. He was incensed that Tavares told Meghan about the fight in the locker room. Of course, James had been completely in the wrong and made to eat his words like a jackass - which made it worse that now Meghan knew it too.

Meghan slapped the wall. “He was DEFENDING me! You go around saying I’m sleeping with him when you don’t know shit! John stood up for me!”

“He fucking ran to you and tattled like a little bitch. Because he can’t find another way to get in your pants.”

“Because he’s a nice guy, James,” she spat.

“Yeah, nice’ll get him nowhere,” James muttered.

“I like nice!” she shot back.

“But you can’t like boring, Meghan! You can’t like him. You should be....” The rest of the statement died as a growl in his throat. He was fighting the words, fighting the blood rushing south in his body. The two forces raced toward impact. Meghan was furious, her jaw tight and her eyes shining like some kind of bombshell superhero in a movie. A movie starring another guy.

James stepped toward her. With her sandals on, he only had a few inches on Meghan. It made their physical dynamic even more pronounced on a night when he was nearly naked and she looked like a hot date home way too early.

“I should be what?” she hissed. Every syllable curled her lip, James could feel the tug on his skin.

He shoved her back against the door and kissed her hard. One of his hands twisted roughly into her hair, the other gripped her hip, pinning her right where he wanted. Meghan yelped but it only opened her mouth and James raked his tongue across hers, breathless, chest and head and cock all pounding. She was the perfect shape; all soft where he was getting hard.

Meghan saw stars. She hadn’t a moment to breathe before James’ mouth crashed down unannounced, so her body was rioting in more ways than one. His mouth was hot, his rough kiss a hell of a lot sexier than she would have admitted out loud, if her tongue had been her own. James shoved his thigh between hers and ground into her hip. Her last ounce of breath went to moaning at the size of his erection.

It turned into a cry. James heard it and didn’t care. He forced his hands under her legs and lifted, spreading them and pressing her tighter against the door. She struggled in half a breath - James figured any more and she’d be screaming. He captured her mouth again, biting her bottom lip as he rolled his hard-on against her cleft.

“Stopstopstop,” she panted, twisting her face from his. Her hands fought for something to push against but it was all bare skin and muscle, nothing would give.

“Meghan, please,” James groaned. He was so hard and angry and even more turned on by the way Meghan was fighting back. He wanted that - someone who gave as good as they got. And boy was she about to get it. Couldn’t she just want him the way everyone else did? Couldn’t she just fucking see how this was supposed to work?

“James! James!” Using the door for leverage, Meghan needed her whole body just to move him back two inches. Her ass slid lower until her feet touched the floor. James’ hands were still all over her. Those big blue-green eyes looked quickly down, then back at her from point blank range. They suddenly got wide in fear.

“What are you doing?” she panted.

James dropped her like a sack of rocks. She’d have fallen if not for the door. He whipped his hands free, his body from her space and most of all, his mouth from kissing distance. Leaping back, James put his palms out.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

He dashed into his room and slammed the door.

Meghan was shaking. In less time that it took her to stop his advance they could have been... she shivered. No question what James wanted. And he would never hurt her, so he must have thought at least part of her wanted it too. Maybe he was right - her knees were weak and her panties were soaked. Just that realization brought back the hard feel of his cock grinding against her hot spot.

“Fuck.” She staggered into her room and closed the door.
___

James listened for knocking. He hadn’t thought to lock his room on his way to the shower, so he left the bathroom door open too just in case Meghan let herself in. If she did, she’d better let herself all the way into the wide, glass-walled stall with the overhead rain faucet. Then she could finish jerking him off. James moved his hand quickly, roughly, the way he’d been grinding her in the hallway. Only his hand was not nearly as forgiving, so the memory of her taut, sexy body made this hurt even worse. He jacked quickly, just wanting it to be over, and came hard with a low moan. James held himself up while everything else poured down the drain.

He wrapped in a towel and fell onto the bed. No noise in the house. Meghan wasn’t coming in, which meant he was not coming again tonight. James knew she wouldn’t, but part of him was still hoping.

Meghan, he thought. The eyes he’d kept open waiting for her finally drooped closed. What have I done?
____