Page 65 of WTF

“Asshole,” Ryan mused.

I glanced at him, widening my eyes innocently. “My spit is clean. Totally hygienic.”

Ryan’s laughter echoed up into the rafters. “I might believe that if I didn’t know what a player you are.”

A slight gurgle and then a fit of coughing had my head whipping up. Lars was near the bleachers, a red Gatorade in his hand. Our eyes connected for a second, but then he turned away to grab his towel and wipe his mouth.

“I’m not that big of a player,” I told Ryan, still listening in case Lars was choking.

“The last party we went to, you disappeared into a group of women, and we didn’t see you again until the next day.”

More coughing. Was he listening to our conversation?Is he jealous?Ooh, the burning satisfaction that ripped through me with that idea.

“That was forever ago,” I told Ryan.

He scoffed. “It was just before the holidays.”

Because all my attention was focused on Lars, I saw his body go rigid.Shit.That made it sound like I came home and was hooking up with people while I was still hooking up with him.

Good,that voice inside me whispered.This will make sure he really stays away.

Yoda was an asshole.

Hurting Lars was the last thing I wanted to do.

“Sinclair!” Russel bellowed again.

Coach assisted with a blast of his whistle.

“Okay! I know!” I called, throwing away my spit-infected alcohol wipe. Athletes were a bunch of damn drama queens. Thrusting the roll of tape into Ryan’s lap, I grabbed another wipe and ripped it open with my hands.

“Gonna be cold,” I warned, then slapped it onto his shoulder to wipe down the whole area where I would be applying the tape.

“I just showered,” he bitched. “I’m clean.”

“You wanna tell that to Russel and Coach’s whistle?”

“Fuck that.”

I grunted and finished what I was doing. Once it was dry, I grabbed the tape and applied a couple strips in a pattern that would best support Ryan’s shoulder. I really didn’t think there was anything serious to worry about, but his persistent soreness in the same area meant it needed to be watched, and given the fact he was the strongest swimmer on the team, it also meant if it got worse, Coach would probably torture us all.

Once it was applied, I smoothed my hand over it, making sure the edges adhered well to his skin so it didn’t pull up later. As I worked, awareness washed over me, and I glanced up.

Lars was staring, his eyes watching me smooth the tape over Ryan’s bare skin, his square jaw locked. Feeling my attention, our eyes collided. The unmistakable flash of jealousy in his had my stomach bottoming out.

“Hit the showers!” Coach yelled. Then, “Not you, Rush! Give me another lap.”

I only looked away for a split second, but when I looked back, Lars was gone.

“You know what, Coach? I’ll give you two.” The swimmer’s eyes flicked over here. “How about I do freestyle? Might need someone to pick up Ryan’s slack since his shoulder is busted,” he commented before diving back into the pool.

Ryan made a low sound, and his muscles rippled beneath my hand.

“What’s his deal?” I asked. “Move around a bit. Feel okay?”

Ryan did as I asked, the tape moving easily with his movement. “It’s good,” he answered.

“You’re good to go,” I said, stepping back. “Wait!” I found a black Sharpie and held it up. “Doctor’s note anyone?”