Page 23 of Player
The whirringof the electric mixer echoes through the common area as I beat the mixture to a creamy consistency. I contort myself trying to grab the powdered sugar and finally succeed just as a figure approaches me.
The surprise nearly makes me drop the box, which I clutch against myself, spilling some of its contents onto my black tank top.
"Shit," I grunt as I turn off the mixer and set the box back on the counter.
"You shouldn't be baking this late, Alabama."
That familiar voice grates on my nerves, but at the same time, I feel an unexpected flutter in my stomach. I look down at my tank top as much to assess the damage as to avoid looking at Player. White traces speckle my chest, not bad actually.
I'm aware that he's moving toward me, but I can't make the slightest movement. Player is now close enough that his cologne intoxicates me. Yes, it's pathetic, but his scent affects me.
He places his hand on my neck before slowly moving downward, and I close my eyes. My throat tightens with an unfamiliar tension. With the tip of his index finger, he continues his path across my neckline and onto mytank top. When he grazes my nipple, I abruptly open my eyes and look up at him.
Player's gaze searches mine, for what, I don't know, and honestly, it doesn't matter. His finger traces circles around my nipple and I'm aware that it's hardening and pointing toward Player. This doesn't escape his notice either, judging by his smirk. I find myself thinking he's sexy, just as my sex contracts, sending a tingling wave through my belly.
I don't push Player away, and he takes advantage of this to cup my breast without any restraint. A moan escapes me, which extinguishes Player's smile as he suddenly becomes extremely serious.
His other hand moves down to my arm, triggering an uncontrollable flurry of shivers.
Our gazes remain locked, as if I'm hypnotized by his dark eyes. I should pull away from his embrace.
"You're hot, Alabama."
Matching actions to words, Player presses his hips against mine, and I can feel his erection through our clothes. I swallow hard, overcome by an intense, wild desire whose existence I wasn't aware of until this moment.
"Even if you suck at baking."
He stares at me, gauging my reaction to his provocation, but I remain silent. Anyway, all my thoughts are on pause.
"But I have two or three ideas of what we could do here," he continues.
I stare at his lips as if he's about to reveal secrets known only to him.
Player leans toward me and for a moment I think he's going to kiss me, but he veers toward my ear where he whispers...
"Dixie!"
I jump and nearly spill the bowl in my hands. It takes me several seconds to realize I've just been fantasizing aboutPlayer! Thankfully, it’s Pia's clear voice that just pulled me out of this Dante's inferno...
"Pass me the sugar, please."
I look at the counter in front of us, searching for the bag in question. I find it and hand it to Pia, who thanks me. At what point did my attention wander off? We're at the cake design workshop for our first session with the club, and the least I can say is that I haven't been very focused on the instructions we were given.
"Are you okay?" Pia asks me.
We've been spending a lot of time together lately, and with Saphya too. She joined the cheerleading team as she'd told us she would, while Pia and I opted for this club.
I turn my attention back to my friend with whom I'm sharing today's project. We're supposed to learn how to prepare different glazes and meringues used to decorate cakes. So far, I haven't been much help.
My response comes a bit late:
"Yeah, I'm just tired."
And turned on. To my greatest despair, I've just realized that Player affects me. That arrogant jerk who happens to be my neighbor does something to me. It’s impossible to deny after the fantasy I just had. Yet, everything about him irritates me. Especially his way of making lewd comments, like yesterday in the cafeteria.
"I admit I didn't think the pace would be this intense from the very first day," Pia comments. "I already have several projects due for different classes."
I figure the change of subject is welcome and take the opportunity to ask my roommate, "Really? What do you have to do?"
