“Sure,” I muttered, trying not to squeak. But instead of walking away, he grabbed a fresh squirt of soap. The steam had started to fade, replaced by the hum of water and occasional shouts from across the locker room. I picked the most inconspicuous spot I could find, hoping to disappear into the tile. I had crossed a line, one I hadn’t even known existed, and there was no going back. Pressure. His voice was calm, amused, like he’d seen this a thousand times before. “What’s your name?” he asked, friendly enough to make me feel slightly less like an intruder. Jake glanced down, then chuckled—that low, knowing sound that made me want to crawl into a hole and never come out. “Later, freshie.”
“Later,” I said, voice cracking like it had been dunked in puberty all over again. His hands were everywhere, exploring, asserting dominance over my body in a way that should have terrified me but instead left me craving more.
