Page 10

Chapter Ten

Jemma

S everal air hockey tables comprise the left side of the game room in the Student Activity Center, where the jocks on campus are split into two-man teams. Sports have never been my thing, and my lack of athletic abilities shines through.

I’m paired with Oliver Fox, the football team’s star quarterback. He’s a wall of a man, well over six feet tall, with big, strong shoulders and a thick, toned body. It’s hard not to stare when he moves with such grace. A guy like Oliver steals the show and has done so since we started the game.

My sorority sister Zoe stands next to Luke Braxton, a tight end for the Strickland Senators.

By the looks of it, his backside matches his position.

He slaps the puck down the board in our direction.

Oliver leans forward, the air hockey striker in his hand, and taps the puck back to Luke.

It misses the goal slot by a few inches, and Luke sends it back down the ice toward us.

I’m horrible, and everyone knows it. A crowd surrounds us, the SAC bustling at this hour.

They’re cheering for Oliver and Luke, who are putting on a show for the room.

Zoe and I could disappear, and it wouldn’t matter because the competition was between the men.

We’re nothing more than arm candy standing at their sides.

The game ends with Oliver reaching for the puck and me not fast enough to react as Luke scores the last goal.

“Damn it,” Oliver growls.

Luke holds up his hands and then drops the striker on the tabletop, a wicked grin on his handsome face. “Pay up.”

Oliver’s face scrunches in anger.

“Who’s next?” Luke calls out loud enough for everyone in the room to hear him.

“Me,” a guy with a deep voice booms.

Trent slips through the crowd and approaches the table.

My breath catches in my throat when our eyes meet.

I haven’t stopped thinking about our kiss since the carnival.

His broad shoulders and thick chest fill out the black tee plastered to his muscular frame.

Dark track pants hang low from his narrow hips and hug every curve of his body.

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

He moves his hands to his narrow waist, pushing up his shirt enough to reveal the V-line that forms his abs. I steal my eyes away from his lower half, and he winks. A smirk turns up the right corner of his mouth, causing the dimple in his cheek to pop.

“I’m playing to win,” he informs me. “Hopefully, more than just the game.”

Holy shit, he means me.

Be still, heart.

I suck in a deep breath and blow it out. He hooks his arm around my back, his big hand inching toward my ass, hovering at the back pocket of my jeans. Trent steers me to the table and tells Luke he accepts his offer.

Trent leans down to kiss me on the cheek.

I peek up at him, unable to stop smiling. “What was that for?”

“For good luck.”

My heart plunges into my stomach, stirring up nervous butterflies. It’s been years since I had this feeling with a guy.

Trent lifts the strikers from the table and hands one to me. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Jemma with a J.”

The air hums between us. A beat passes where we share a quick look, studying each other.

He rakes his hand through his short, blond hair that falls onto his forehead.

No matter how he wears his hair or what clothes he has on, Trent makes me drool.

I feel ridiculous for having this reaction to him and wonder if everyone can see the lust in my eyes.

I hope not.

We take our places next to each other in front of the air hockey table with the strikers held in our hands.

A blonde girl replaces Zoe at Luke’s side, which leaves my sorority sister with a visible scowl.

Zoe folds her arms across her chest, glaring at her replacement as if she wants to rip out her hair.

But her anger doesn’t last long. A cute guy with shaggy brown hair and big green eyes strolls beside her.

He bends down to whisper something into her ear, and she chuckles, her hand coming up to her mouth.

Trent raises the striker in the air, his gaze fixed on Luke. “Get ready to have your ass handed to you.”

“Whatever, Kane,” he shoots back. “You’re all talk and no game.”

Trent laughs as if enjoying a private joke. “The last time I checked, the ice hockey team has twelve championships, and the football team has… Refresh my memory again.”

“Shut the fuck up and play,” Luke growls.

Trent gives him a boyish smirk that goes straight to my core.

When Trent looks down at me, an electric pulse dances along my skin, leaving a brush of fire in its wake.

Trent and Luke play against each other, ignoring Zoe and me at their sides.

It’s not like I care. If Trent wants to win, he has to take control.

Trent is light on his feet and quick to react for a big guy.

He adapts to each change, determined to win as if he’s playing for an imaginary trophy.

Men are so dumb with how they constantly need to compete against each other.

To some extent, girls do the same, except we don’t show off our athleticism and rock-hard bodies to prove a point.

After Trent claims victory over Luke, he drops the striker on the table and throws his arms above his head.

A childlike enthusiasm graces his face, along with an adorable smile, which causes me to do the same.

He mouths off to Luke for a minute, bragging about his win before his hand cups my shoulder.

Trent spins me around until we’re facing.

“We’re celebrating, Jemma with a J. I’m in the mood for ice cream.”

I laugh. “Are you joking?”

He smirks. “I never joke about ice cream.”