“He could totally lift me up if he wanted to,” I say breathlessly, spellbound.

An affirmative nod from my roommate. “Damn right he could.”

“Like, he could lift me over his head. As if I weighed nothing.”

“You’re not in the circus—calm down with the acrobatics, Greatest Showman.”

Irritated, I give her a poke. “Whatever. I’m going to ask him to lift me above his head. I have to know what it’s like.”

“Blah blah blah, I’m Skylar and my boyfriend is stronger than Hercules.”

Abe

I win my match, thank Christ, because Skylar is watching and I’d feel like a pussy if I lost. Overall, our team won, though just barely and by the skin of our thin, nylon singlets.

It felt good.

I feel great.

I loiter on the mats once the meet is officially over, shooting the shit with a few dudes from Penn, one eye on the stands and Skylar’s black t-shirt clad body. I want to catch her before she leaves, but it doesn’t look like she’s going to hang back, as much as it appears Hannah is trying to make it happen.

The pair stand, waiting patiently as parents and fans file out, making their way toward the stairs leading to the lobby of the stadium.

Casually, I glance over my shoulder, counting members of my team who’re also straggling and give a shout-out to the big man upstairs that JB has gone to the locker room.

I war with myself; wait until I can text Skylar or walk over and say hello in person?

“Don’t be such a pussy,” a voice calls out from behind me.

I will not turn around and acknowledge Zeke Daniels.

“The coast is clear. Get over there before my nut sac shrivels up, which it does every time I watch you romance a woman.”

I will not turn around and acknowledge Zeke Daniels.

“If you don’t go over there, I will.”

This time I do turn, because he’s loud and projecting, and, “Would you shut the fuck up already? I’m going!”

“You didn’t say please.”

I fucking hate this guy.

Still.

My feet propel me forward, hands jammed into the lining of my black and yellow warm-up jacket, pasting a smile on my face when all I want to do is vomit on my black shoes.

Fifty feet from Skylar—too far for her to hear me when I call out her name.

Thirty feet and I try again.

Twenty.

Ten.

It’s Hannah who hears me, giving her best friend a shove and tripping her up in the process. Skylar whips around, agitation etched on her face until Hannah points down.

Skylar follows her finger.

To me.

I raise a hand in greeting. Hey.

“Hold on one second,” she mouths while she waits on the swarm of people in front of her, waiting so she can use the stairs to go against the tide—toward me.

I meet her against the cold metal railing, resting my hands on the bar, leaning in to kiss her mouth.

“You taste salty.”

“It’s sweat, sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” She blushes. “I like it—it’s sexy.”

My sweat is sexy.

“What’d you think?”

“Abe, you’re amazing.” She’s out of breath, chest heaving like she’s the one who just held Blake Cartwright down for three seconds. It doesn’t sound like much, but when the dude is two hundred pounds, fifteen percent body fat, and fighting like hell to get out of the hold, it’s a sonofabitch to accomplish.

“You think so?”

“Yes. I’ve never seen a wrestling game in person before.”

I could kiss her face. “It’s called a wrestling meet.” But I forgive her.

“Gosh, I knew that—I’m just nervous, sorry.”

Out of habit, I shoot a glance over my shoulder at the mats and the dwindling numbers. If I don’t get into the locker room soon, someone is going to notice.

“JB is going to a party tonight—want to come over?”

“Are the girls next door having a party?”

“No, this one is at a frat house. His cousin or something is a Lambda.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“We could hang out and watch a movie? Or go out—but I figured since I have the place to myself for a change, you might want to come over?”

“I’d love to come over.”

I get close enough to kiss her again. “I’m going to shower then I’ll be home in about an hour. We have meetings and shit afterward then I can take off.”

“Am I crawling in through the window?”

I laugh. “Use the front door.”

“Are you sure? That was kind of fun, you know?”

“I’m not making you climb in through the window, Skylar.”

She squints one eye at me. “Isn’t it a little early for a frat party? Don’t those usually start at like, ten o’clock?”

“Yeah, but it’s his cousin and it’s their annual whateverthefuckit’scalled mixer so they need all hands on deck early. I think JB wanted to rush but his grades suck and they wouldn’t give him a bid. Every once in a while he likes to go and pretend to be a brother.”

“That’s kind of nice of him.”

“I mean, he’s there to get drunk and laid, so it’s not like he’s in it for the charity.”

My girlfriend laughs.

Girlfriend.

I toss the word around in my head, loving the way it sounds.

Now she’s the one kissing me. Booping me on the tip of my nose before shooing me off. “All right. See you at your front door in an hour.”

Skylar

“Why am I so nervous?” I pull at my sleeve, hating the way this shirt looks on my body. It’s pink and blousy and totally inappropriate for a Saturday night at some guy’s house, hanging out in his bedroom.

My boyfriend’s house.

Hannah hands me a different shirt. “Because you know you’re getting fucked.”

“Must you say it like that?”

“I speak the truth.”

As much as I protest, she is a hundred percent correct. I rub my thighs together, testing their sensitivity.

Not horrible. Not great.

I feel like I’ve done a million squats and thigh abductors at the gym and forgot to cool down and stretch afterward. Little bit tender, little bit achy.

Definitely throbbing.

I debate the wisdom of having sex tonight while I swap out shirts, tossing the pink blouse to my bed and pulling on the white t-shirt Hannah’s chosen. It’s basic, except for the sleeves, which are pretty badass—like ribbons at the shoulders, crisscrossing every which way.

I tuck the tee into my jeans, step into a pair of wedges, and let my hands fall to my sides. “How do I look?”

“Great, actually. Real cute.”

Hmm. A suspiciously sweet thing for her to say. I raise my brows. That’s it? That’s all she’s got?

“I’d bang you.”

There it is.

It’s weird approaching Abe’s door.

I fidget, pulling at the hem of my jacket, darting looks to the side yard and house next door, paranoid JB will come walking around the corner at any second. I rack my brain for an excuse.