Page 1 of You Owe Me (21 Rumors #2)

CHAPTER ONE

Rumor has it she tamed the campus devil.

Maverick

I check my watch for the third time in the last sixty seconds.

One hundred thirty-two BPM. Elevated, but manageable.

It’s probably the mocktail I drank. The one Ainsley offered, and I immediately shot down.

I’d rather lick a subway pole, but she batted her lashes and called me a “fun sponge,” and I caved.

Apparently, long lashes and peer pressure is all it takes to turn me into a fucking chump.

“James!” I bark across the field. “Remember, the point of the game is to actually kick the ball.”

She walks up to home plate with these ridiculously frayed shorts that highlight her long, bronze legs, courtesy of our Panama City summer vacation.

“Remember who sleeps naked, Lexington.” Her ponytail sways as she steps up to home plate, flashing me a deadly smirk. There’s fire in her eyes that promises retribution. “Spoiler alert: it’s not your teammates.”

She’s getting her ass spanked when we get home.

She knows better than to announce shit like that for everyone to hear.

I glance over at Rowan, watching for any reaction that might get him killed. He and Sebastian better not be having fantasies of my girl naked.

“Ainsley,” I warn, taking a step off first base, ignoring Sebastian’s laughter.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he slurs like a drunk wedding DJ, “now batting: Ainsley James, who is responsible for at least two of Maverick Lexington’s premature gray hairs!”

And he’s only three beers in.

“I don’t have gray hair,” I mutter, fixing him with the stare that makes freshmen fold like bad poker hands.

But on Ainsley, it just ignites that fucking look that dares me to play this game with her.

She narrows her eyes, and her lips twist into a wild grin. “You will after I’m done with you, love.”

Rowan groans from the pitcher’s mound. “Can we please play the damn game? Some of us have shit to do that doesn’t involve your foreplay.”

“It’s not foreplay,” Ainsley and I say in sync.

Fucking hell.

“Right,” Eliza deadpans from behind home plate. “And I’m not getting wet just by watching you two.”

This time, we all groan.

I swear, Eliza joined these games just to annoy the shit out of me. When Ainsley said her lab partner was a detail-oriented overachiever, I thought she’d be the kind of person to mellow James out. Turns out, she’s a chaos enabler with a disgusting sense of humor.

I drag my eyes back to the game, forcing myself to stop watching the way Ainsley’s hips sway as she readies to kick the ball.

Rowan lines up the pitch, rolling the red rubber ball down the dirt like he’s bored with our collective existence. It bounces once—lazy and unimpressive.

Ainsley, on the other hand?

Not lazy. Not unimpressive.

Her expression tightens, all that wild-ass energy funneling into one goal.

Her foot connects.

And fuck me.

The ball rockets through the air, soaring in a flawless arc straight toward me, or more accurately, toward my face.

“Duck!” she shouts, already hauling ass toward first base.

Reflex takes over, and I snatch the ball out of the air, a second from catching it with my forehead.

“Out!” Sebastian yells.

“Bullshit!” Ainsley snaps, sprinting full speed toward me. “He hasn’t tagged me yet!”

That gets a grin out of me.

“Come on, baby. Show me what you got.”

Her feet kick up dust as she barrels toward me like a sexy, unhinged wrecking ball.

I plant my feet wide, bracing for the inevitable. Ainsley doesn’t know how to pull punches. She never has. It’s maddening and so fucking hot I have to mentally coach myself not to get hard in the middle of a co-ed kickball game.

I expect contact.

What I don’t expect is to see Ainsley launch into some half-baked attempt at a slide that looks more like a drunk gazelle surfing on grass.

I don’t have time to prepare before she crashes into my legs with enough force that it knocks the air out of both of us. The ball goes flying from my hand. Gravity flips me, but I manage to grab Ainsley’s waist.

My back smacks dirt hard, and Ainsley lands square on my chest, all curves and heat and unfiltered energy. Her ponytail’s half undone, hair spilling around us like we’re in a bad rom-com, except I’m rock-hard, and she’s got that look. The one that says she knows exactly what she’s doing.

My pulse spikes. One-fifty, maybe 160 BPM. I’d check, but my hands are busy trying not to grip her hips like a fucking caveman.

“You did that on purpose,” I say, voice low and rough. No judgment. Just a raw fact. And the way her chest rises and falls against mine? She knows it.

“Prove it,” she dares, not moving a damn inch.

Her breath hits my jaw. Her body molds to mine like she’s testing limits. My grip tightens. I’m two seconds from flipping her over and making this a whole different kind of game.

“Hey!” Rowan shouts from the mound, oblivious. “Is she safe or out?”

My fingers flex against her waist, digging in just enough to make her eyes widen.

I don’t look away when I answer. “Definitely not safe.”

She hasn’t been safe since she knocked on my door, demanding a place to stay.

“I believe that stunt is punishable.”

Her lips tip at the corners. “How many IOUs do you demand, sir?”

See? I like it when she plays these bullshit games. “I think two are in order.”

Without hesitation, she reaches into my back pocket, where a deck of cards awaits, and slips out two. “I don’t feel a marker. It must have fallen when we hit the ground.”

I cock my head in warning. “That doesn’t bode well for you.”

She grins like the good girl she is.

“Open,” I demand, ignoring the people on the field. They know better than to look over here.

“Please,” she counters.

I narrow my eyes. “That’s not how we play this game.”

She wiggles her hips against my cock. “It is today.”

Fuck me.

“Fine,” I growl. “Open your mouth… please.”

With a look of victory, she opens her lips, and I slide two fingers in, letting her tongue do naughty things.

“Enough.” I can’t let her cloud my judgment more than she already has. I’ll end up fucking her on this field.

Removing my wet fingers from her mouth, I reach down and rub them through the dirt.

She holds up the cards one at a time as I scrawl IOU on each one.

And then someone whistles.

Loud. Obnoxious. Mood-ruining.

“Timeout for inappropriate display of affection!” Sebastian yells. “That’s the third time this month! New rule: Lexington and James are banned from opposing teams!”

“Or banned entirely,” Eliza mutters. “Some of us are just trying to enjoy a wholesome, beer-soaked sporting event without watching you two dry hump in the infield. And I still have to study with her later!”

Ainsley doesn’t move. Not an inch. She’s still on top of me, all curves and smugness and bedroom eyes. Her smile turns wicked, her voice low and teasing as she leans in like she’s about to drop some dangerous secret.

“Your heart rate’s elevated,” she whispers against my jaw, breath warm and smug as hell. “Is it the non-alcoholic beer or me?”

“Definitely not the beer.”

She knows that, but before I can punish her for it, Sebastian leans over us and yells. “Game over due to excessive PDA and violation of kickball etiquette!”

“Thank fuck.” I was tired of this game before we started. Ainsley and her damn stress-relieving activities…

Ainsley rolls off me and offers me her hand like she’s not the one who tackled me like an NFL linebacker in yoga pants. I stare at her outstretched palm for a second. It’s weirdly sweet and almost makes me laugh. Almost.

Fuck it. I’ll play along.

I take her hand, and she yanks me up like she’s trying to prove a point. She’s got surprising strength for someone who can’t open a pickle jar without calling in reinforcements.

“Next time, Lexington,” she says, loud enough for half the field to hear, “try to keep your hands to yourself. Some of us are here to win.”

Later that night, I find Ainsley on the balcony, curled up in a chair, barefoot, wild-haired, drowning in textbooks and marine biology notes.

“Did Sebastian suck again?” She doesn’t look up from her books.

Chuckling, I drop my bag by the door and head to the fridge. “Of course. He’ll never beat me in a poker game.” I pull out a beer and toss the unlit cigarette behind my ear onto the counter.

“Figured as much since you weren’t gone for very long.”

I drop into the chair across from her and crack open my beer, automatically tipping it to the side. The amber stream splashes down on the balcony below, but no one is out there.

“You know, that’s technically assault.” Glancing up, her mouth curves in amusement.

“They deserve it. Nobody should be allowed to karaoke Nickelback at 3 a.m. and go unpunished.” I shrug. “We could easily argue emotional distress. That ‘Photograph’ cover was a crime against humanity.”

She snorts. “You need to stop. It wasn’t that bad.”

It was, but I’m too tired to argue with her. “How’s the project coming?” I nod toward the mess of notes on her lap.

“Drowning in sea lion cortisol data.” She sighs, rubbing her forehead. “I swear, if Dr. Winters sends one more passive-aggressive email, I’m going to smother myself with Lawrence.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re lucky Lawrence hasn’t ended up in the fire pit.” That stuffed monstrosity sees more nakedness than I do.

“You’re lucky we keep your ass around with all that bossiness.”

And we’re now having the most ridiculous conversation on the planet. “Pops called,” I interject after a beat, changing the subject.

That gets her attention.

“How is he?”

“Better. The new meds are working. He says he wants to come to graduation.”

What I don’t say is that we argued for twenty damn minutes about the firm. About how the guy he hired to “help me focus on school” has been bleeding the accounts dry and tanking three years of work I built with my own hands while juggling a full course load… sort of.

“Woo-hoo! That’s great news, Mav!” She slams her book shut. “Does that mean Cooper will come, too? I haven’t seen him since baseball tryouts last spring.”

I nod, noticing how her oversized T-shirt has slid off her shoulder. “Most likely, if Pops is able.”

I can’t stop staring at that singular bare shoulder.

Leaning back in the chair, I cross my arms. “You planning on studying anymore or just waiting for me to get bored and drag you to bed?”

Her eyes are mischievous and daring. “Depends. How bored are you now?”

I smirk, slow and lethal. “Dangerously.”

She doesn’t respond. Not even with a blink. She just lets that one bare shoulder stay there, taunting me, waiting for me to snap.

And I do.

One second, I’m leaning back in the chair. Next, I’m out of it, across the balcony, and yanking her textbook off her lap.

“Mav—” she starts, eyes wide as I drop the book onto the deck with a thud.

“You’re done with the cortisol,” I growl, grabbing her wrist and yanking her to her feet.

Her lips part, but before she can say anything, I throw her over my shoulder like a fireman with zero patience and one goal.

“Maverick!” Laughing, she beats a soft fist against my back. “Put me down!”

“Oh, I’m going to put you down all right.” My voice is low and hard, rough. “Right under my cock.”

She chokes on a laugh. “You promise?”

And this is why she has over a thousand IOUs on her bedside table.

I stride inside, making it halfway through the apartment before she taunts me again. “Don’t get shy on me now, Mav.”

I slap her ass. Hard. “Shy is not in my vocabulary.”

Her breath hitches, and that’s all I need.

I toss her onto the couch like a prize. She scrambles to her knees, hair falling wild around her face, shirt hanging off one shoulder like a half-kept promise. “So, this is what losing a kickball game gets me?”

“No,” I say, climbing over her, my hands bracketing her thighs, caging her in. “This is what happens when you mouth off in front of people who don’t know I’m already dangerously close to ruining you.”

“Ruining me?” she echoes, all mockery and breathlessness.

I grab her chin and tilt it up.

She bites her lip. “Go ahead, ruin me.”

Heaven, help me.

I kiss her hard with no warning, no finesse, just teeth and want. She moans into it, one hand tugging my hair, the other clawing at my shirt like she can’t get close enough.

I lift her, the couch groaning beneath us, her back pressed against the cushions as I settle between her thighs. Her body arches, grinding up, searching for friction. For more. For me.

“You wear that mouth out there like you want attention,” I murmur against her jaw, trailing kisses down her throat. “But you forget who it belongs to.”

She shivers. “Then remind me.”

Oh, I will.

My hand drags beneath her shirt, fingertips grazing up her stomach until she arches. I don’t rush. I never rush. I take my time peeling the cotton over her head, baring inch after inch of skin.

Untangling her legs from around my waist, she takes off her shorts, tossing them with a flick of her foot.

“You’re overdressed.” Her voice is breathy.

“So undress me.”

She doesn’t hesitate. Her fingers yank at my belt, pop the button, and slide the zipper down slowly, teasing, dragging her nails along the waistband just to mess with me.

“Dammit, you’re infuriating,” I mutter.

“I’m the best decision you’ve ever made.”

She’s not wrong.

I let my jeans drop, shove them off, and settle back over her, skin to skin, chest to chest. Her hand skims my side, tracing the lines of my tattoo like she knows every inch of me.

I press my forehead to hers. “You with me?”

She nods, voice breaking. “Always.”

That’s all I need.

I give her everything.

Slow. Deep. Intentional. Her gasp is the only sound that matters. The way she clutches me with nails in my back, legs locked around my hips, lips whispering my name is the only confirmation I need.

We move together like we’ve done this a hundred times. Like we belong. My rhythm stays controlled and deliberate. She likes it when I lose control, but not until she does first.

And when she breaks?

When her body bows beneath mine and she chants my name like a prayer and a curse?

That’s when I lose it, too.

That’s when I let myself come undone.

I bury my face in her neck, every muscle locked, every nerve alight. She holds me through it, soft kisses to my temple, her fingers threading through my hair.

When the aftershocks fade, we lie there, tangled on the couch, our bodies sticky and warm and too intertwined to care.

She breathes against my shoulder. “You still mad I tackled you?”

I smirk. “No.”

“Good.” She presses a kiss to my jaw. “Because I’m doing it again next game.”