The Trouble With Quarterbacks - R.S. Grey Page 0,29
you rascal. I know what you’re after. Trying to get a peek, are we?”
He shrugs as if he’s not even a little remorseful, and then he sweeps his wet hair off his face. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Good to know what you’re really like under all that charm and hair—a naughty little bugger. Now give me your trousers like you promised.”
He reaches down to undo the button on his jeans, and I go a bit lightheaded from watching him. Water sluices down his toned abs. They are, without a doubt, the best set of muscles I’ve ever seen. He’s so tall and lean, but built too, like every part of him is in tip-top shape, not a centimeter gone to waste. He’s got this fabulously sharp Adonis V that basically draws my eyes down to where I should not under any circumstances look, but well, sue me, because I do. I have no choice. My eyeballs are glued to him as he starts to take off his trousers and reveals a pair of navy Calvin Klein boxer briefs. I’d bet they pay him a million dollars to wear those and represent their brand. They’d be stupid not to.
In my head, I’m quite a perv, so obviously I try to get a good look at what he’s got going on down there, but everything below his waistline is under the water and it’s fairly dark out here. Oy, someone turn a spotlight on, will you?
Once my eyes go a bit cross from all the struggling, I finally blink and force my gaze up to his face. He’s looking right at me, like he’s been waiting ages for my eyes to get to his. He’s grinning. The bastard.
“Seen enough?”
“Quite,” I snap, snatching his jeans away from him and trying to struggle into them.
It’s not possible to do it at this depth. I’m not some aquatic acrobat who can balance and float and don clothing all at once. I huff and start for an even shallower section of the pool, but then cool air hits my chest and I duck under again, sending Logan a searing glare.
He shrugs, like he had absolutely nothing to do with my faux pas this time, but from the gleam in his gaze, I can tell he’s benefitted from it.
I learn my lesson and trudge forward a few more steps, this time with my back turned to him so my hair acts like a curtain against my skin. I shimmy into his jeans, and once I’ve got them pulled all the way up, I realize there’s still half a leg of material dragging on the pool bottom. I groan and lift each leg to roll up the denim so they fit nicely. Then I cinch the waistband in my hand and turn around.
“How do I look?”
“Like you’re wearing a pair of men’s jeans that are about ten sizes too big.”
“It’s not my fault you’ve got a fat arse.”
It’s an obvious joke since Logan hasn’t got an ounce of fat on him.
“Cute. You look cute,” he amends.
I groan. “What is it with me and that word?!”
“You don’t like it?”
“A hamster is cute. A fat little gerbil—aw, it’s so cute. For once, I want to be called something other than cute.”
“I didn’t think I was allowed to tell you what I really think.”
His voice has gone all menacing and romantic. Oh dear.
“That’s right,” I say, starting to back up, because he’s getting rather close again. He’s got this feral look in his eyes, like he’s not quite sure what he’ll do with me once he catches me. “You can’t. It’s against the rules.”
“Whose rules, exactly? Do you have an employee handbook I can take a look at? I bet there’s nothing in there about dating a student’s uncle.”
I’m flustered now, because he keeps getting closer and my back hits the edge of the pool and I’m stuck, waiting there for him to devour me. My stomach tumbles around like I’m on a rollercoaster or being chased by a hulking beast. My free hand shoots out right as he reaches me, and my palm flattens against the center of his chest. A little more pressure from him and my arm bends like a spaghetti noodle. So much for attempting a bit of distance…
His leg slides between mine and he sandwiches me against the edge of the pool. Thank god I put on his jeans or we’d be skin to skin down there. My wet knickers wouldn’t protect me one bit.