The Golden Boys: Chapter 34

“Good job, Riley. The official announcement won’t be made for a few days, but in case you’re wondering, Coach Ryan and I already have our eyes on you,” Coach Dena assures me.

She pats me on the back, and it feels better than I remember being praised for my performance on the court. I’ve always loved the game, but I’d accepted there was no room for basketball this year. Guess being forced into it by Dr. Pryor is just what I needed.

I say a few words to the other girls who tried out, then grab my phone off the bench. I shoot Scar a quick text to make sure she’s at the diner doing homework—seeing as how I need eyes on her at all times now—then make my way to the locker room.

I’m exhausted, but the pushy bastard I love to hate is meeting me soon. So, I shower quickly, then get into my bathing suit for the second time today.

Exhausted, I’m dragging a bit as I close my locker before making my way to the pool. The heavy door slams behind me and my steps hesitate a moment. All because I wasn’t expecting West to beat me here, but he did. He’s sitting on the edge in his dark trunks, staring down into the water where his legs hang over the tiled edge.

I swallow hard when he peers up, because it hits me that it’s just us here this time. Historically speaking, things between us go awry when left to our own devices—the locker room, Homecoming, the Halloween party—but I’m convinced this will be different.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

I don’t say a word as I walk over and step into the pool. It’s odd being here without the chatter and splashing of the entire class. West, on the other hand, seems perfectly fine with it just being the two of us here now. Adding to the strange vibe, the tall windows along the upper half of the space have gone dark, seeing as how it’s after five and the sun has practically set.

“You’re early,” I comment, pushing my hands through the water to get acclimated to the temp. West slips into the pool next, walking toward me. I try to keep my breaths steady, but of course it doesn’t work. Never does around him.

“Just told Coach I had an appointment,” he shares.

I’m sure he didn’t mean for this to happen, but his answer makes me feel like, I don’t know. Like I might be somewhat important if he lied to be here. Then again, it could also be what he said earlier. That his grade rests on me passing, too.

“Tryouts go okay?” he asks, which comes as a shock.

“Yes, actually,” I say a little too enthusiastically. “Coach Dena hinted that I’ve already made the team, so…”

He smiles a bit. “You some kind of superstar or something?”

I feel my face getting warmer. “I wouldn’t say that, but I hold my own on the court.”

West is thoughtful for a moment and I wonder if that came out cocky. If it did, that wasn’t my intention.

“Sounds like I need to check you out once the season starts.”

My heart beats rapidly and I nod, trying not to freak out at the thought of him coming to see me play.

“Guess so.”

Things get quiet and awkward after that, leaving me desperate to change the subject, so I speak up quickly.

“Where should I start tonight?”

It’s not the smoothest segue in the world, but talking about me has gotten to be uncomfortable. While West stares, I take the elastic band from my wrist to pull my hair into a ponytail. It’s still wet from the shower, and while I probably shouldn’t care what it looks like, I do.

Because of him.

“The big evaluation is coming up,” he starts, “And … I think you should try going to the deep end this time,” West suggests, and as soon as I realize what he’s about to say, I start shaking my head.

“No way.”

Frustrated, he rolls his eyes. “Just today, I watched you swim across the shallow end without stopping, without needing to touch the bottom. Nothing’s different,” he reasons.

“Nothing’s different?” I scoff. “What about the fact that I can’t reach the bottom?”

The look on his face tells me he thinks I’m ridiculous. “This is the next step, Southside. You’ve gotta build confidence.”

I don’t care what he says. “Not happening,” I shoot back defiantly.

The stalemate we’ve reached is eventually clear to him. Sighing, he turns away from me.

“Just … climb on,” he says dryly.

Smooth skin and ink meet my eyes when they settle on his back. Then, when I don’t immediately respond to his demand, he glances at me from over his shoulder.

“I’ll take you across so you can see there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he explains.

“You mean, aside from putting my life in your hands?”

He smirks at that, and I breathe deep when he holds his hand out for me to take. “It’ll be fine.”

I hold his gaze for a moment. Then, despite every silent alarm within me sounding off a red alert, I give in, slipping my palm into his, letting him guide me closer. He pulls me onto his back and both my arms lock around his neck. Next, he reaches back to bring my legs around his waist, and I don’t miss that one of his hands lingers on my thigh longer than necessary.

“I have you,” he promises, glancing back again. “Just don’t let go.”

A nervous laugh slips out. “Trust me. No chance of that happening.”

He chuckles quietly and then I’m at his mercy. He moves us through the water slowly. I feel every muscle in his body as it tenses and releases—his shoulders beneath my arms, his hips between my legs. I hardly notice I’m chin-deep in cool water until West reaches the other side, bracing the edge.

I feel vulnerable, aware that the darker turquoise on this end means the bottom of the pool is so much further down.

“I’m not gonna let you drown,” West promises. Probably because my grip around his neck has tightened.

I don’t speak, fighting memories of that night I nearly drowned in the lake. The night Hunter saved my life.

“Here,” West speaks up. “Hold the ledge.”

“What? No!” I protest.

“Stop freaking out,” he scolds me, clearly amused. “I won’t let you go.”

With one quick maneuver, he takes matters into his own hands and slips from beneath my arms, guiding me toward the ledge. He moves behind me, where he braces his hands at either side, caging me in. I stare at his fingers gripping the edge of the tile as his arms frame mine, pinning me lightly in place

“Told you you wouldn’t die,” he teases, but his voice sounds different. It’s raspy and too close, right near my ear.

“There’s still time for that,” I shoot back, trying to keep my head clear of him, but it doesn’t work.

I feel him everywhere, his chest to my back, the slow movements of his legs as we tread water.

One of his hands disappears from the ledge and the next thing I feel is his touch on my waist. Then, a warm breath against my shoulder. I haven’t yet decided if he’s trying to get to me, or if our current circumstances are just working in his favor.

The solitude.

The lack of clothing.

Whatever the case, I’m suddenly not thinking so much about not being able to touch the bottom of the pool. Because I’m thinking about how badly I want to touch him.

“Want me to take you back across?” he offers.

“I’m not in a rush,” is the unbelievable answer that falls from my mouth, which makes zero sense. I even surprise myself, considering how terrified I was just a few minutes ago.

But, then again, it does make sense. Because I’ve been craving the closeness, having West’s undivided attention.

He seems caught off guard by the response, too, which is the reason I come up with for why he hasn’t spoken yet. His grip tightens on my waist and my eyes fall closed. The rim of my ear warms when his lips press against it and … I lean into him.

“You don’t want to go back,” he rasps, making me come undone. “So, tell me what you do want.”

There are words on the tip of my tongue, words I don’t have the courage to say out loud. But as if he hears that little voice inside my head, the one I’m trying to ignore and silence, his palm moves lower, resting at the base of my stomach.

My breaths are deeper now, louder as I let my head fall back against the firmness of his shoulder. Smooth fingertips trace the elastic at the apex of my thigh, like he’s contemplating his next move, unsure how far he’s willing to go. I know I should be the one to stop this, I know I should revoke the unspoken permission I’ve given him to touch me like this, but … I don’t.

Instead, as his hand slips inside my bathing suit, I say absolutely nothing at all. Well, nothing that discourages him, anyway.

Only a whimpered, “…Shit.”

My voice is quivering as his exploration begins. Heat from his mouth moves over my skin and drives me insane. A kiss is placed just beneath my ear, sucking first, then tracing slow, silken circles with the tip of his tongue.

“Shit.” The word falls from my mouth again, but this time it’s strained as he teases me with the tip of one finger. Then, finally, he slips it inside.

And then another.

I’ve completely given in. Completely. And he knows it. I push my hips back, pressing against him, in awe of how aroused he is from touching me.

“You’re making it very, very tough to hate you tonight,” I admit.

I didn’t mean to whisper this loud enough to be heard, but I’m out of my head and can’t stop myself.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Southside?” he asks gruffly, breathing the words into my ear while still touching me beneath the water. “If you had to choose between killing me and fucking me, you’d be on your back every time,” he explains, then a short, deep laugh vibrates within his chest. “And that goes both ways.”

A chill shoots down my spine when he admits that, knowing he’s so, so right.

His hand moves faster, and he presses against me, pushing his fingers deeper. Then, my breaths are coming faster. I’m panting while I squirm in front of him, hungry for so much more than what’s being given, but unwilling to admit that out loud.

We’ve added kindling to this wicked fire for months now, stoking it day in and day out with our warped fusion of cruel words and ceaseless lust. Now, I’m not so sure we can contain what we’ve created. It has a life all its own. A monster that thrives on our hatred and sexual frustration. And believe me, we have fed this beast well.

I can’t help but to question whether it will linger forever, breathing heat down our backs, forcing us to give in to it, one way or another. Like now, as the pressure in my core swells, becoming impossible to ignore. And even more as my thighs clamp tight around West’s hand. As I arch away from his chest and drop my head back against his shoulder.

He’s breathing in my ear again, making sure all my senses are overwhelmed by only him when he speaks next.

“Come for me,” he whispers, soft and deep, an invitation.

He gets his wish, almost on command. A soft cry leaves my mouth and I’m shuddering in his arms, proving how badly I craved this. And it had to be him. No one else.

His hand goes still when I finish, and then, eventually, he slips it out of my bathing suit. I’m kept close, though, which I don’t hate. The arm not latching us to the edge wraps around me and becomes something like an embrace. Despite myself, I revel in the feel of it and, after several seconds, my breaths slow to normal.

Silence creeps in and so does reality. Only, it’s not nearly as uncomfortable as I thought it would be.

I feel his heart racing against me and don’t fight when he spins me to face him. The sated look in his eyes is unexpected but fitting. This spark between us is unpredictable, untamed. It feeds into this obsession we have with one another. The one that causes us to make these erratic, split-second decisions. It’s also the reason I’m suddenly triggered all over again, wanting him like I didn’t just climax.

He grips the edge of the pool with both hands now, and I cling to him. Locking my ankles behind his hips, I bring him as close as I can, feeling the solid bulge in his trunks pressing into me. There’s urgency in our kiss when his lips find mine. In the moment, I want nothing more than to taste him like this forever.

But I’m not sure I can keep this up, going to extremes with him. One second, he’s hot, the next he’s ice cold.

The sound of a door opening barely registers, but when it slams shut again it’s slightly harder to ignore.

Reluctantly, West and I separate ourselves, but when I peer up, I don’t spot anyone. We’re still alone. I face West again and feel what he’s about to say before he even says it.

“I should go,” he announces with a sigh. “Practice probably ended by now, which is why I’m willing to bet that was one of my brothers coming to rush me.”

Not wanting to seem desperate, I nod instead of asking him to stay a while like my heart is begging me to do.

“Okay,” I say softly, reaching for the edge.

I’m trying to pull myself out, but West puts a stop to that, holding me in place. Just when I think he’s finished with me, I’m brought close again. This time when his mouth covers mine, I’m aware of how different it feels. This kiss is heavy, it’s emotional, it’s not steeped in frustration or some hidden agenda.

It’s … just a kiss. Like the kind you give someone who means something to you. The kind you need to tide you over until you see them again.

When West pulls away, my head spins a little.

“You’re coming with the team to regionals when we make it?” he asks, still breathing a bit raggedly.

First, I answer with a nod, and then volley a look between his eyes and lips. “How’d you know?”

He flashes a crafty smirk that makes my gut twist in knots.

“Not much gets past me,” is his answer, which I already figured.

“Stalker,” I tease.

His smile dims a bit and his intense focus feeds my ego more than I want to admit. “Only one I stalk these days is you, Southside.”

He makes my heart do such wild things and, for the first time, the nickname he’s given me doesn’t sound like an insult.

Curious, I tear my attention away from his lips and meet his gaze. “Why’d you ask if I’d be there?” I question him.

He doesn’t blink and I hold my breath.

“Because I’m tired of pretending this isn’t headed where it’s headed,” he says boldly.

I taste him on my tongue, despite the distance between us.

“So, what do we do about that?” The question comes out softly and heat blooms in the pit of my stomach while I await his answer.

He glances down at my mouth again, but this time his eyes stay trained there.

“We fuck,” he growls.

There’s no apology embedded in that statement whatsoever, because West always means every word he utters and takes nothing back. Ever.

And, this time … I don’t want him to.

He’s in my ear again and I feel every inch of my body screaming to be touched by him.

“Think about it,” is all he says, and then he climbs out onto the tile. He offers his hand to help me, but once I’m on my feet he walks off like nothing happened, leaving me to ponder the proposition.

I don’t think I’ve ever been faced with a more tempting offer, but I’m against the idea for obvious reasons. Still, with what I know about how things escalate when West and I are on our own, I’m not sure resisting him while we’re away—alone—is something I’m even capable of doing.

There’s only one person I trust to help me put this insane idea into perspective, and that’s Jules.

Until now, I’ve left out so many details about West and me when I talk to her. Although that discretion has been for good reason, I think it’s time I let her in. On everything. While I have no idea how to keep my distance from the one who’s declared himself my enemy, Jules is certain to talk some sense into me. She almost always has the right answer.

Hopefully, this will be one of those times.