Page 24 of Broken Romeo
Unlike Blondie who was a stuttering mess. “This girl, an upperclassman… I swear, she sent me to this door. She told me—”
I hooked my hand around Blondie’s elbow and directed her away from the teachers, who were already whispering fervently to each other and ignoring us.
“Come on,” I muttered, pulling her down the hall. “Give them some space.”
“Excuse me,” the woman said, her voice bouncing off the dull-green walls. Her shoes tapped against the floors as she slowly made her way to us. “I trust that you won’t say anything about this…”
She gestured at the door they’d fallen out of, and both Blondie and I nodded furiously.
“Good. Discretion and the theater tend to go hand in hand.”
With a flick of her fingers, she dismissed us, and neither of us wasted a moment, taking off down the hall.
As we turned the corner, Blondie broke out into a fit of giggles, hunching over, clutching her stomach. “Did we just catch what I think we caught?”
“Come on,” I said, but I was also already chuckling. “We can laugh about this after class, okay?”
“Do you promise?” she asked, wiping the tears from her eyes with one hand and offering me the pinky finger of her other one.
I ignored the urge to roll my eyes at the childish display of a promise and hooked my finger into hers. “There, happy? We’ll grab a latte on our way out of here and laugh all about it then.”
I yanked open the door to Theater C and tugged both of us inside with a quick time check on my cell phone. One minute past. Not too late, all things considered for our first day.
Students milled about, chatting casually, and I breathed easier. We weren’t late. Not officially.
There wasn’t even anyone in sight who could be the professor.
I fell into a seat in the front row of the theater and slumped over, finally relaxing. That’d been stressful as shit.
Two feet clad in Keds appeared in front of me. I knew instinctively without peeking that Blondie was standing in front of me.
I slowly glanced up and saw that she wasn’t looking at me. She wasn’t even facing in my direction. Her back was to me as she stared up at the stage. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
My gaze landed on her adorably perky ass clad in tight denim shorts, enjoying the view. I tilted my head at the little damp spot beneath her butt cheeks. And a single drip of moisture ran down the back of her thigh.
An intense surge of arousal tightened my cock at the sight of her literally dripping wet and I swallowed my groan.
“Um, weird question,” I said, “But why is your butt damp?”
“What?” she squeaked and spun, trying to look at her own ass. “Oh no!” She quickly dropped into the seat beside me, the whole row jostling with the movement.
“I sort of… um, sweat… when I’m nervous,” she admitted biting her lip.
“You sweat from your butt?” I asked, wanting clarification. That admission should have been a boner killer. But it wasn’t. Far from it.
“Yeah. I didn’t, like pee, or anything. I promise.”
I sat there frozen, gaping at her. “Well… that’s good.”
It was also weirdly refreshing that she so openly admitted that. I was so damn used to girls falling all over themselves to impress me. This girl didn’t seem to give a shit which made her so much hotter.
She winced. “Sorry. I tend to overshare when I’m nervous.”
I cleared my throat, forcing my gaze forward. “Clearly.”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
It was so sweetly innocent. Genuinely curious. She wasn’t trying to hit on me or get an invite to the after-game parties. Hell, if I had to take a guess, I’d say she’d probably never been to a party that didn’t involve milk and cookies.