And then it happens again. His hands are on my ass and my nape, his lips are over mine. It’s punishment.
Reward.
Connection.
I don’t know what it is, but I want every bit of it as badly as he does. His lips tear over mine, palm squeezes my ass hard enough to leave finger-marks. His other hand controls my head, holding it for the onslaught of lips and tongue, lifting my face toward him.
My whole body trembles for him.
I have no sense of time, but it goes on for an eternity. The blink of an eye. I don’t know.
Then he suddenly pulls away, releases all of me and steps back. A moment later a teacher rounds the bend and stops, hands on her prim hips, “Aren’t you supposed to be at practice, Cole?”
Did he hear her coming? That doesn’t make sense. But he cocks his head like he’s listening to something and then he grins. “You missed your bus, Pink. Looks like you’ll have to walk.”
Asshole.
Is he taunting me? Did he do that on purpose? Make me think he likes me, make me tremble for him, just to make my life hell?
I scowl and turn on my heel, hurrying down the hallway to hide my flaming face.
“Pink.”
I don’t stop.
“I want you at my game Friday.”
I hold up my hand with my middle finger extended, still not stopping or looking back.
I hear his chuckle as I exit the building.