Locke (Rosewood High #0.5) - Tracy Lorraine Page 0,7

to college. But as I lay here listening to the incessant banging, I remember just how annoying it is.

Throwing the covers off, I push myself from the bed and walk over to the window. I pull the curtains open and look down at the driveway, expecting to find my brother practicing his already pretty impressive skills. He didn’t get a fully paid ride at Maddison for nothing. But I don’t find Levi hitting hoop after hoop. Instead, it’s Emerson moving around our makeshift basketball court wearing only a pair of shorts and his sneakers. He dribbles the ball for a few seconds before making a shot. He barely even looks up. Oh, to make something seem quite so easy.

Enthralled, watching his body move so elegantly and the sun shining off his sweat-damp skin, I take a seat and get my fill of him.

I lose track of time as I watch, but eventually, as if he knows I’m here, he looks directly up at me, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. Lifting his hand, he pulls his cap from his head and replaces it after smoothing his hair back.

I’m tempted to open the window and say something, but not wanting to look like he’s affecting me, I stand and walk away. It pains me to do so, especially when the sound of the bouncing ball rings through the room.

After making use of the bathroom, and once again locking his door from the inside—not that it’ll stop him, but hopefully it'll piss him off a little—I pull on my yoga pants and make my way downstairs for a much-needed coffee.

I spot Mom and Dad sitting on the swing seat in the yard. From some of the conversations I’ve overheard recently, they’re planning on digging some new flowerbeds and putting a deck area at the bottom of the lawn or something. I watch as Dad points down the yard while the coffee machine does its thing. I’m grateful they get along so well, even after all the years they’ve been together. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be stuck inside your house right now with fighting parents.

I grab a croissant from the bag sitting on the counter and take that and my coffee up to my room. I might have a load of schoolwork to do, but I plan on spending the day working on my art project. I probably should leave it until last as a kind of reward for getting caught up, but losing myself with my paint, especially after the events of last night, is too tempting.

I don’t look out the window as I pass, but I do notice the continuous bounce of the ball outside has ceased. Placing my mug and plate down, I head for the bathroom to shower while my coffee cools.

I’m busy pulling my tank over my head as I walk into the bathroom, so I don’t notice that someone is standing in the middle of the room with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

“And to think, I thought you were going to make it harder on me to get what I want.”

My mouth opens and closes, much like a fish as I clutch my tank to my chest, hiding my breasts from him as my eyes take on a life of their own and drop to his still shower-damp chest.

“I… uh…”

“Not content with the little show you were watching outside then, huh? Wanted a closer look?”

“What? No. I didn’t know you were in here.”

“Really? I wasn’t hiding, baby.” A warmth spreads through me at his use of that nickname once again.

“Really. I have no interest in… this.” I point to his body and he laughs.

“You’re a really bad liar, do you know that?”

I fume, my lips pursing in frustration, anger starting to lick at my insides and mingle with the desire that I’m trying to ignore.

“Can you get out of my bathroom, please?”

“Our bathroom, you mean?”

“No. I mean mine. I already told you there is a perfectly good one down the hall for you to use. There is no reason for you to be in here.”

“I disagree. I’ve got one very big reason to be in here.” He takes a step closer and the scent of his shower gel fills my nose and makes my mouth water.

He lifts one hand. I almost expect him to rip my top from my body, but much to my surprise, instead he gently tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. His fingers