Beautiful Broken Rules(8)

By: Kimberly Lauren


“No shit, Hot Air Balloon Operator? They trust a college student to operate those things? That would be a blast,” he said, laughing.

“Well, I think they learned their lesson hiring her. I heard they found out she was taking her boyfriend up for a little mile high club initiation, if you know what I mean,” I said winking at him.

“Oh, I think I can guess what you mean.” He sent an equally sexy wink right back at me that would basically melt the panties off any living, breathing female. Damn, the sexual tension was thick between us. Three times with Jaxon Riley would be phenomenal. Or should I say, will be phenomenal, because at this point, I’m positive it will happen. How can I live right next to this gorgeous person and not have a little fun in the meantime?

“Do you ever watch Cole’s games?” He seemed to like to interrupt my dirty thoughts about him, and enjoyed catching me off guard.

“Of course, Quinn and I have never missed one, even away games. So far, we’ve always been able to get off work or away from school. My boss doesn’t like me too much during the season because I ask off all the time, but I make it up to him later,” I answered.

He gave me a confused look. Then I realized my answer sounded sexual and in this instance, it absolutely wasn’t. I was never going to go there with Ed. He was a great boss, with an exception to the shirt he required me to wear which bordered on sexual harassment. I made good tips though and he allowed me to keep them all and take time off when I wanted. But nothing would ever happen between us, it gives me the chills even thinking about it.

“Nice, so I already have my own cheerleaders. Not that it would be hard to gain some after they see me play,” he replied cheekily, rubbing his hands together.

“Wow, let me guess, you’re a wide receiver, because only those guys are as cocky as you are. By the way, we don’t just cheer for anyone, you’ll have to earn it,” I said, rolling my eyes at him.

“Holy shit, a girl that knows football!” he said giving me a full watt smile. “Yes, ma’am, I was Texas’ best wide receiver my junior and senior year. I’ll earn it all right. I bet you I’ll score at least one touchdown at our first game in a couple of weeks.”

“That’s a bet I’m willing to take; your ego is out of control. Besides, Dalton Fisher, the quarterback, is a snob. He probably won’t even pass to you for at least the first three games.”

“Don’t you worry about Fisher, I’ll get it done. Although, it is going to be tough playing without my brother, Jace, being the quarterback,” he said this a little disheartened.

“I thought you said Coach Chase wanted all three of you?” I asked him, wanting desperately to cheer him up and get that crooked smile back on his face.

“He did. Jace was never going to take it though. He doesn’t want to play anymore. He’s crazy-ass brilliant and in pre-med here. If there’s ever going to be a cure for cancer, Jace will find it. That guy is amazing,” he said in almost an awed tone. I loved seeing his adoration for his brother.

“It’s awesome that you guys are going to college at the same time. I love that Quinn and I get to do everything together.”

“Yeah, we’re really close in age,” he laughed a little bit under his breath, and I felt like I was missing out on an inside joke. I wonder if Jaxon is the older brother or the younger brother. He really seems to look up to him like a younger brother, and yet he sounds proud of him like an older brother would.

We were interrupted by the sounds of everyone getting up and packing their bags. I guess the class was over; an hour and a half went by fast, talking to Jaxon. “I don’t know if Professor Patterson would approve of our dialogue of cocaine-like voices, sex in hot air balloons, and my awesome knowledge of football,” I said while laughing.

He laughed with me while picking up my bag off the floor and handing it to me. “Yeah, maybe we should go ask him if that’s what he had in mind. Oh, hey, since we’re neighbors and all, probably study partners as well, you should have my number.” He grabbed my hand in his and wrote his number into my palm slowly with black ink. Knowing it was going to be short-lived, I enjoyed the feel of my hand in his. The metal tip of the ink pen tickled as it etched across my skin. I watched each stroke he made. It was only a series of numbers, but I could tell he had nice handwriting. “Don’t wash your hand until you save it.” He tapped the tip against my palm a couple of times when he was done.