Page 11 of Frenemies with a Player
She bursts into laughter. “Are you two?”
“Sometimes.” I shrug. “Say fuck.”
“No,” she says.
“Why not?”
She licks her lips and part of her robe floats to the top of the water. Knowing she is naked under that robe is doing things to me.
“Fuck,” she splutters and then her eyes turn wide.
“Again,” I urge.
Her dark blue eyes are wide.
“Fuck,” she says louder.
“That a girl,” I reply, encouraging her. When I say those words, I can now picture her riding my cock and me saying, “That a girl” as I smack her ass. “You got a boyfriend, Willa Lockhart?”
“Why are you calling me by my last name too?” she asks.
“Uh Uh, I know that tactic. Answer the question,” I insist.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“I don’t have time for a girlfriend. Between hockey and getting good grades, my time is sucked up,” I admit.
“Tell me about it,” she scoffs. “I’m not an athlete, but trying to get into Harvard Law is no joke. My family is betting on me becoming successful. I can’t let them down.”
“I know what you mean. Mine is waiting for me to draft to the NHL so I’ll be able to help them financially.”
“They need us, so they don’t go building hot tubs in the middle of nowhere,” she laughs.
“In the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere,” I add.
“Are you always so crass?” she asks.
“Maybe,” I say, and I feel myself gravitating closer to Willa. If I’m not mistaken, she is moving in closer to. “I’m taking it you don’t have a boyfriend.”
She shakes her head, not breathing a word.
Thinking back to it, I don’t remember that she had a boyfriend in high school either. The only reason I remember her was because she was in my law class, and she was so damn pretty.
“When was the last time you were fucked properly?” I ask her. If she was getting herself off against hot tub jets, I’m guessing it’s been a while.
“Wyatt, why do you have to be so vulgar?” She remembers my name too. I wonder if she wanted me back in high school. She said every girl knew about me, but did she want me? My cock grows painfully hard. Luckily, the water and darkness mask my hard-on.
“Maybe, it’s how I’m wired,” I say, looking into her eyes with challenge.
She squirms where she is sitting and her throat bobs. I’m pretty sure she wants me too.
“Answer the question, Willa,” I insist.
“No,” she says pointedly, lifting her chin.
“You want me to get you off?” I ask her.
Her throat bobs again. “Is this a trick question?”
