Nude Awakening: A New Adult College Romance (Main Desire Book 1) Page 2

  She ran away. For a second time.

  Just who is she? I haven’t seen her on campus before this morning, when she crashed into me outside Addams Hall. With short strands of dark hair framing a heart-shaped face, she’d stared at me with wide, startled eyes. I’d recognized the heat in her gaze, though, as those wide eyes dipped to my chest. How they traveled lower.

  I’m aware of the appreciation I get from women, and I’m all for equal opportunities. Which is why I’d trailed my own inspection over her, noting the tight jeans clinging to long legs and the roundest, perkiest titties hiding under her shirt.

  And the cherry on top of it all…

  I’m running a little latte.

  I’m used to football groupies and their blatant come-ons. Hell, I’m not above a good pick up line myself if the moment’s right. But it’d been so unexpected, so innocent. And the quirky hint of a smile at the corner of her lips as she said it…

  She’s cute.

  The school year had barely begun, but after a long summer stuck at home, I’m sorely in need of getting freaky between the sheets. And since training’s been kicking my ass, I hadn’t had energy for a party yet, which means hookups have been few and far between. Now, here’s a gorgeous girl running into me and making bedroom eyes and coming up with silly puns. Even though I would have immediately carried her off to my bed at the slightest inclination of interest, I’d been willing to settle for a phone number.

  Except she’d run away when I got too close.

  So imagine my surprise when I spot her across the art studio. I thought I’d poke a little fun, tease her for leaving so soon. And I’d only succeeded in scaring her away even more.

  I let out a low chuckle, tinged with equal amounts delight and disbelief. In the commotion my disrobing caused, she managed to hightail it right out of the studio with none the wiser. Even the two girls sitting next to her are more focused on what’s between my legs than the fact their seatmate has disappeared.

  Running a hand along the scruff of my chin, I wonder just what her deal is.

  When my dick does a little jump for joy, the girls nearest to the platform to squeal. Professor G notices and tuts at me. “Mr. Hart, can you please put your underpants back on?”

  I salute her and reach for my boxers. “You got it, Professor G. Underpants back on.”

  With that, she calms the class down and leads them through their first warm-up lesson. I sit on the stool propped up behind me, eyes lingering on the empty easel across the room.

  Before long, class ends, and students turn in their canvases before filing out. A few bold girls send me coy smiles as I pull my pants and shirt back on. One even curls her fingers in a flirty wave. I send them a bona fide Levi Hart smile, but approach Professor G where she’s looking over the warm-up assignments.

  On a chair by the door, I’d left the stack of papers I’d received from my counselor’s office earlier that morning. I pull out one of the forms and wave it at the prof. “Got something for you to sign.”

  “Of course, of course, give it here,” she waves me over.

  I teeter on my heels, hands in my pockets while she reads over the slip. When she starts patting down her clothes, searching for something to sign it with, I produce a pen from my back pocket.

  “Ah, thank you,” she says. Then, without looking at me, Professor G asks, “That was a bold stunt you pulled, Mr. Hart. I distinctly remember mentioning that you wont’ have to take off your underpants for this class.”

  “Just trying to wake some students up, is all.” Particularly, one student. Though she’d seemed pretty awake already. I hold back a smirk, remembering the abject look of panic in her eyes. How she’d shaken her head, not believing I’d completely bare myself. Does she even know who I am?

  “Hmm,” Professor G says. She finishes off her signature with a flourish, then hands the form back to me. Before I can take it, she tells me, “I think it would be wise of you to hold off on bold stunts while you’re on probation. You’re lucky none of my students took out their phones.”

  My stomach sinks. Fuck, I hadn’t thought about that at all, had I? Suppose one of those girls had snapped a shot with my pants around my ankles. The image of my hanging willy would have been up on all the campus gossip blogs before I had time to say ‘cheese’. As if I need any more video evidence of my misdeeds.

  A cold, vice-like grip wraps around my neck. I clear my throat, shrugging the sensation off. “Got it, no more stunts.” I hold up my fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  “That’s ‘Live long and prosper’, Mr. Hart.”

  “Yeah, well, my roommate is a huge Star Wars nerd,” I say.

  Exasperated, but with a smile worming its way onto her face—what can I say, ladies love me—Professor G shoos me out the door.

  Needing no more encouragement, I practically skip out of the art building. I scan the quad with vain hopes that a certain pixie-hair brunette is lingering about, but nope. She’s vanished.

  * * *

  Three figures stand on the opposite sidelines when I arrive at the football field. I jog over. Two of them stretch, readying their bodies for our training session. Off to the side, a third guy fiddles with a stopwatch, a whistle around his neck. Seeing him, I drop my gym bag on the ground. Then, I whoop for joy and lunge, knocking his glasses askew as I crush his shoulders in a tight hold and give him a noogie.

  “Clark Kent, when did you roll back in town? Get bored saving Gotham?”

  Grayson holds his ground under my bulky weight.

  “Superman lives in Metropolis, dumbass,” he says with a punch to my shoulder. I hide a wince. Damn, dude’s been keeping up with his workouts over the summer.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I nod. “But seriously, when’d you get back? How was space camp?”

  “This morning. I ran into Morris and Spencer on their way out and decided to come along.” He fixes his glasses, pushing them back on the bridge of his nose. “And it was an industrial biotechnical engineering program.” He says this last part grumpily, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

  I send a questioning look to Morris and Spencer where they’re warming up.

  Spencer shrugs and pulls one arm across his body in a shoulder stretch. “Fuck if I know what any of that means.”

  When Grayson opens his mouth, we erupt in a chorus of entreaties for him not to explain. Grumbling under his breath, he flips us the bird and fetches the stopwatch from the ground.

  “Don’t mind Gray,” Morris grunts in the middle of a sit up. “He’s just testy because the program ‘didn’t challenge him enough’.”

  “Ah, that explains the crankiness.” I change the subject before Gray can complain any more. “Did Mason not want to join us?”

  “Nat’s in class.” Morris grunts again. He sits up, finishing his rep. “Are you planning on practicing in that?”

  I glance down at my jeans and t-shirt. Running a hand down my shirt, I tell him, “You know, I really think denim is making a comeback. Maybe we can make some new uniforms. Tops and bottoms.”

  “Like a Canadian tuxedo?” Grayson asks. He sits on the bench and picks up a textbook.

  “Hey, if it worked for Justin Timberlake in the 90s…” I say.

  Morris grabs his water bottle and squirts me with it. I dodge, but not before a cold jet hits me square in the abs.

  “Sheesh, Morris, if you wanted to get me undressed, all you had to do was ask,” I yank the back of my shirt and tug it over my head.

  Delighted squeals call out. Behind us, a smattering of football groupies sit on the bleachers, watching us. I face them, waving both hands in the air as they rain down rowdy woops. I squeeze and flex my arms for them.

  “How’d community service go this morning?”

  I snap at Spencer, “It’s a required, scheduled activity to demonstrate my willingness to comply with university regulations.” I roll my eyes. My counselor had repeated the phrase so many times. Now it’s stuck in my head for eternity. br />
  “So… community service,” Spencer reiterates. I glare in his direction, but he’s in the middle of a stretch, so he misses it. Grayson snickers from the bench.

  “Did you meet with your counselor?” Morris asks, sensing the oncoming argument and putting a pin in it.

  I groan, zipping open my bag. I’d grabbed it from my locker before coming out here. The stack of papers I’d shoved in it are in a haphazard pile now. I grab a few, crumpling them in the process, to wave at my friends. “It was hell, man. I’ve got all these forms for my profs to sign. Coach was there, by the way.”

  “Yeah, he was late to practice this morning,” Morris tells me. I’d missed our normal early morning practice because of my meeting, which is why I’d arranged Morris and Spencer to help me make up for it now. “What’d he say?”

  “He talked to the dean and my counselor, and I’m looking at probation for half the season, if not the whole semester. I can still come to morning practice, but I’m not playing any time soon.”

  “Fuck,” Morris says, grabbing the papers form my hand and reading through them. Finding the one that spells out the entirety of my punishment, he runs a hand through his hair and swears again. “We can’t have you out that long. Coach won’t even keep you on the bench?”

  “He doesn’t even want me near the stadium for the games.” Something about not wanting to remind the media about last semester.

  Morris rubs his neck, deep in thought. “I’ll talk to Coach, see if we can work something out. In the meantime, stick to your probation and keep your head down.”

  “More like, keep your dick in your pants,” Spencer snorts. He wraps up his warm up, then grabs a Gatorade from his bag.

  “Fuck off, Armstrong,” I shove his shoulder.

  He holds up his arms, backing off. “I’m not the one who made a fucking sex tape and posted it all over social media.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to go online, asshole.”

  “That’s your fuck up.” He chugs the rest of his drink. His gaze turns from teasing to admiring and he shakes his head. “Fucking take it from me: don’t stick your dick in crazy. Especially one that whips her phone out during.”

  My pulse races. “Did you watch it?”

  “Fuck no, man,” He slings his empty Gatorade bottle at me. “I see your schlong enough at home. Why the fuck would I want to see it in my spare time? There’s much better porn out there.”

  Morris and Grayson nod their heads, agreeing with him. My racing heart calms down a fraction when they confirm neither of them have watched it, either.

  I force out a laugh, tossing the bottle back at him. “Aw, Spence, don’t deny it you love when I walk around freeballing it.”

  “That’s not freeballing,” Grayson calls out.

  “Whatever it is, Spence loooves it,” I joke. I rock my hips in his direction, sliding down my fly.

  With a disgusted groan, he covers his eyes with his hands and turns away. I laugh for real this time, then turn back to the football groupies before inching my jeans down my thighs, earning more excited hollers.

  “All right,” I address my friends, as I shimmy my hips for the fans. “So what the hell am I supposed to do Friday night when you guys are playing? I refuse to sit at home and play Dungeons and Donkydongs with Gray.”

  Grayson makes a noise of protest, while Morris and Spencer share a look. Curious at their shifty response, I ask, “What?”

  “We… had an idea,” Morris draws out. “A backup, in case you weren’t able to play.”

  “You’ll be on the field. And Coach won’t even know,” Spencer says.

  I wiggle my butt for the onlookers as I pull on a pair of mesh basketball shorts. I don’t put on a shirt. What’s the point? I’m just going to get sweaty running around anyway.

  “Hell, yeah. What’s the plan?”

  All three of them look at one another, then at me. I stop making strongman muscle poses for the groupies and gesture for my friends to spit it out.

  “For this plan to work,” Grayson speaks up first. “You’ll have to keep your clothes on.”

  3

  Rylie

  “And then you ran away?!” Dawn throws back her head and lets out the loudest scream of laughter.

  Grimacing, I cover my face with both hands. “What was I supposed to do? He just pulled down his pants right there!”

  She clutches her stomach, tears falling from her eyes since she can’t stop laughing. She almost falls out of the tall bar stool she’s sitting on. I catch her arm, pulling her back to the small table we nabbed at Bella’s. She swirls her red and orange cocktail, and every time she tries to look at me, she bursts into more giggles.

  “Shut up, it’s not funny.” I stab at the ice in my own drink with a straw. Now that I’m not in the middle of it anymore, I can look back and admit that maybe I overreacted a bit this morning. But it’s no less embarrassing to realize my first reaction to a man disrobing was to run away.

  I take a sip of the cocktail, trying to hide a wince. It’s too strong, more vodka than juice.

  Bella’s is one of the swankier off-campus bars, and I’ve quickly come to learn it’s Dawn’s favorite. It’s certainly an aesthetically-pleasing joint. Chandeliers drip from the ceilings. Thick velvet curtains drape over the windows from the ceiling to the floor. Glowing neon lights illuminate the bar. Behind the counter, top-quality liquor lines shelves on the wall. The bartender had recommended me a specially-crafted shot of whiskey that cost eighty bucks. I’d asked for a beer. Dawn ordered this sugary cocktail for me instead, asserting how much I would love it. I don’t want to make her pout by telling her it’s not that good.

  “Oh my fucking god, Ry. This is too good,” Dawn finally calms down, wiping tears from her eyes.

  I’d come clean to Dawn about the eventful Life Drawing lesson I’d had that morning. I’d given her the course syllabus, and when she asked about how it went, I’d been honest and said there wasn’t much to tell, seeing as how I was only in the studio for a total of ten minutes before my Not-A-Dream Guy dropped trou.

  Not that I called him that. Dawn would have more questions, ones I didn’t want to answer. When recounting the early morning good deeds that had caused me to be late for class, I’d left out the last one. The one where I’d run into a veritable sex god and acted like a dork in front of him.

  It was bad enough I’d run out of class because of him. How could I explain the first instance, when I’d been so overwhelmed by his nearness and his eyes and that smile, that it had caused my brain to short circuit?

  “This is all your fault. You didn’t tell me this was a class with nude models.”

  “I thought it was implied! Didn’t you read the course description when you signed up?”

  Yes, I had read the course description. Nowhere had it said ‘Warning: This Class Is Basically A Magic Mike Reenactment’. Nothing about nudity, or muscles, or penises, or dreamy buff dudes.

  “I think I’m going to drop it,” I nod to myself. Yep, dropping the course. That sounds like a plan. Then I won’t have to run into Not-A-Dream Guy ever again, and I won’t have to spend an entire semester drawing the hard planes of his torso. Or endure any more teasing glances.

  “Life Drawing? No way, you can’t!” Her eyes go round.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we need to take the class together! You and me, Rylie and Dawn, drawing dicks for the whole world to see.”

  “I don’t want to draw dicks.”

  “Who’s drawing dicks?” a new voice asks us.

  Dawn leans back as she pulls out the third chair at our table for a girl with long, dark hair. “We’re just discussing how much a prude Rylie is, Meegan.”

  The girl sniffs, setting her own drink, a clone of Dawn’s, on the table. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  I nudge my drink away. Even if I’d liked it, I wouldn’t feel up to finishing it now.

  Dawn and Meegan met at an end-of-school frat party last semester. Dawn had mentio
ned Meegan a few times when we talked over summer break, but I hadn’t realized the extent of their connection until I moved in and discovered Meegan spending almost every extra minute at our place. I’d been friendly, trying to get to know my best friend’s new college friend. Meegan hadn’t been as warm and welcoming.

  “I’m not a prude,” I mutter when Dawn finishes telling Meegan about my freak out.

  “Sounds like a prude to me.” Meegan crosses her legs. I get a flash of black panties, her dress is that short. I tug at the hem of my own constricting dress, an oxygen-reducing monstrosity Dawn guilted me into wearing. She’d seen the jeans and cute top I’d originally planned on wearing and claimed it too casual for Bella’s.

  Dawn, likewise, is decked out in a tight, sparkly dress that reaches just below her butt. Her eyeliner is dark and exaggerated, curling up in a dramatic cat eye. With blood red lips and smokey eyeshadows, she’s fierce and completely unlike the Dawn I grew up with.

  At the end of my first day of classes, I’d looked forward to ordering pizza and gossiping with Dawn on the couch while we watched terrible sitcoms, like we had in high school. Only Meegan had wanted to go out, despite it being Monday and us having classes and work the next day. Dawn had only been too happy to oblige her, urging me to come with.

  “Rylie’s totally a prude,” Dawn nods at Meegan.

  “Am not, I’ve had sex!”

  “I hardly think what you did with Bobby Synder in the backseat of his car senior year counts.”

  “He stuck his penis in me, so as far as I’m concerned, that counts.” Okay, yeah, Bobby lasted two, maybe three, thrusts, but that’s not the point.

  I’m not a virgin. I’ve fooled around with other guys since Bobby. Sure, for most of those hook-ups, my clothes stayed on. And a lot of them threw their hands up in irritated resignation when I hesitated to touch them below the belt. But I swear, I’m not a prude. It’s tough to be intimate with a guy when you still live at home with a mother like mine.

  Meegan snickers into her drink while Dawn shakes her head. I’m about to protest again when a server drops off a round of shot glasses to our table. From the shape of the glasses, I can tell these are those eighty-dollar shots the bartender had tried to get me to order. The server points out a gentleman at the bar, who had sent them over. The guy’s wearing a button down shirt, a tie, and slacks, a touch of salt and pepper at his temples.