Page 72 of Blocked Score

Scarlett pops a shoulder. “I guess that’s all I got. But it’s true and you know it.”

I chuckle, and it’s only now that I realize how long it’s been since any kind of genuine laugh has passed through my throat.

Even though I still feel a pinch of guilt and worry at what we’re doing, I’m glad I followed Scarlett on this adventure. Or misadventure, I should say. Breaking the rules with her takes me back to that night when she fell into my arms outside that Chicago nightclub and I helped her sneak back in.

It’s one of my best memories. For a while I couldn’t think about anything that happened that summer without it feelinglike a blade was sliding into my chest. Luckily, I’m past that point now, and I can take some joy in those memories despite how the summer ended.

“Alright,” Scarlett exclaims triumphantly as she pulls on another door inside the fitness center and finds it open. “Micky didn’t let us down.”

We step through the door and into the men’s locker room that connects to the campus pool at the fitness center.

Scarlett explained that Micky is a girl she’s friendly with in one of her classes who does some custodial work at campus facilities as part of her work-study program.

While talking with Scarlett one day, she mentioned that there’s a certain door down the hallway off the beaten path in the fitness center that they always keep unlocked, that anyone could use to sneak into the pool if they knew about it.

Micky swore Scarlett to secrecy about it, to which Scarlett then swore me before we snuck in.

We pass a stall of showers, and my cock twitches behind my sweatpants just from being near them with Scarlett.

“You should’ve told me where we were going,” I say. Only once we were out of the house and walking toward the fitness center did she spring the destination on me. “I would’ve actually, you know, brought swim trunks.”

Scarlett pops her shoulder again. “Well, since I don’t have a bikini yet and have to swim in my underwear, you can just suffer the same fate.”

Fuck. Scarlett talking about her underwear—and the knowledge that I’m about to see her in it in mere minutes—has my cock doing a lot more than twitching. It’s a good thing I’m walking behind her, letting her lead the way, or she couldn’t fail to notice the outline.

Stripping out of my clothes while Scarlett does the same and then jumping into a body of water with her … what the fuck am I thinking? Am I trying to drive myself crazy?

It’s been hard enough to hang onto the threads of my fraying sanity while coexisting platonically around Scarlett after I felt the warmth of her arousal and the clench of her orgasm on my finger in my bed.

I’m such a fucking sicko that I still haven’t washed the pillowcase she laid her head on that night.

But my shoulder really is killing me, and going for a light swim to ease the pain sounds like a slice of heaven right now.

Plus, when Scarlett gets that excited look in her eyes, like she wants to do something she knows she “shouldn’t” and wants me to be her partner in crime … well, it’s really fucking hard to say no.

We step out of the locker room and into the pool area. The air is heavy and humid, the scent of chlorine pungent in the air. I shrug out of my jacket, wincing a bit as the motion has a flash of pain going off in my shoulder muscle.

Yeah, I definitely need this swim, even if seeing Scarlett stripped down to her bra and panties is going to drive me crazy and probably make me first my cock three times tomorrow.

I kick off my slip-on shoes. The coldness of the tiled floor on the soles of my feet feels nice as I’m starting to sweat under my zip-up hoodie from the humidity of the room.

Scarlett pulls her sweater over her head. I glance at her while she’s doing so and get a quick peek of her belly button; the explosive arousal that goes off inside me tells me I’m really going to be screwed when she tugs her pants down those sweet fucking hips of hers.

But I’m in too deep now to get out. Hopefully in the water my erection won’t be too noticeable, at least.

I grab the hem of my shirt ready to shrug it off, but then I freeze when a realization smacks me.

The tattoo.

Shit. The tattoo I got under my left arm. The only one I have, the only one I ever plan to have. The one I got to remind me of Scarlett.

How am I going to hide it from her when my shirt is off?

But even if she sees it, will she be able to connect the dots? It’s just a silly design based on a conversation we had together.

Only the two of us could ever guess its meaning; and with that conversation being just one of the many we had, a year and a half ago now, maybe she doesn’t remember enough of it to even guess the significance of the tattoo.

Or maybe she’ll understand immediately. What’s she going to think if she knows I got a memory of that summer inked on my fucking skin, the only thing I’ve ever gotten inked on my skin?

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