Pieces of Perfect by Elizabeth Hayley

indifferently.
     
    “This is the basketball court,” I said flippantly and turned to move on, but he hesitated. He stretched his arms above his head, causing his shirt to ride up and reveal his lower abdominals. It was like a “Flying V” aimed directly at his dick. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was going commando again when I didn’t see the top of his boxers peeking out from above the waist of his jeans.
 
    “I always like playing a little one-on-one. It helps clear my head.”
 
    I glanced back at him abruptly. Had he said that to be purposefully suggestive, or was it just me? Could he have gotten me so worked up that I was now the one with my mind in the gutter?
 
    I started walking again and he followed closely behind me. I became acutely aware of his imposing presence as we moved. We crossed the court and went to a room that was off to the left.
 
    “This is our wrestling room.” Blah, blah, blah. Who cares about this shit? The entire floor was covered with blue mats.
 
    “Hmm, those mats look inviting. I’ll have to remember this room when I need a nap.”
 
    “They’re not beds,” I replied sardonically.
     
    This comment should have grossed me out. Sweaty boys rolled around on these mats daily. However, the mental image it conjured, him sprawled naked on a king sized bed, was totally alluring. A tingle began to pulse between my legs, reminding me of how physically attractive I found this man.
 
    “Who needs a bed?” he asked slyly.
     
    I cleared my throat, and gained my composure to resume the tour. As we made our way around the inner perimeter of the wrestling room, I headed toward the door to the far right that housed our weight room.
     
    I walked in and spun around to look at him. “And this is where our prepubescent athletes act like they’re The Rock.”
 
    He smiled, but he did not follow me into the room. Instead, he stood in the doorway, placing his large hands on either side of the door frame, and leaned in. The action made his biceps flex, and I nearly drooled at the sight of him. Then, a curious thought came to me. Why the hell was he wearing a T-shirt? It was friggin’ January! My observations of his clothing made me hyper-aware of my own. I was wearing a close-fitting purple sweater and black Editor pants from Express. I tried to purposefully buy clothes that weren’t in any way revealing, but that was kind of difficult, considering I was only 120 pounds with D cup breasts. I couldn’t hide those puppies if I tried, but I attempted to ensure that they were always tastefully concealed.
     
    Just as my mind began to envision what my breasts would look like in those giant hands, I decided that it was time to move on. We walked back the way we had come, and turned right as we exited the gym, descending a tiny flight of stairs. I pushed open a heavy set of doors that led into the pool and held open the door as he sauntered in and took a deep breath, trying to draw added attention to the next thing out of his mouth:
 
    “I love indoor pools. It always feels so damp and warm inside. Feels great on my muscles.”
 
    Yup, the asshole was saying this shit on purpose.
     
    I rolled my eyes. “Can we move on,” I asked, exasperated. I meant move on with the tour, but I also wanted to move on from this sexual tension that had been steadily building since my classroom. And the only way I knew to do that was to stay away from Max.
 
    He gave a single nod of his head and followed me out. God, why did he have to keep walking so close to me? I felt like he was nearly on top of me, invading my personal space. But he hadn’t touched me. Not once the entire tour. My skin prickled with anticipation at the thought that he might graze against me at some point. Damn skin. Who needed it?
 
    Directly behind the pool doors were the boys’ locker room doors. I pointed them out to him and kept moving. But he didn't follow this time. He swung the doors open and went inside,