Behind the Camera (Love through a Lens, #2)

by Chelsea Curto

I move to her jersey—my jersey—that’s tied above her waist. The light blue makes her skin look tan and soft, and I like how my number stretches across her tits and shows off even more of her figure. Her blonde hair is in a high ponytail, pulled back so I can see that spot on her neck I want to run my tongue up. The smile she’s wearing nearly sends me into cardiac arrest, and I remember we have an audience. “God damn,” Justin murmurs, and I glance at him. He’s watching Maven too, and irritation flashes through me. “She’s fucking hot.” “No comment.” “Fuck you, Dal. You’re staring at her like you’re in the desert and she’s a glass of water.” “I am not.” “Wanna bet? Hey, Maven,” Justin calls out, and she waves. “Can I see the back of your jersey?” “Oh, this old thing?” She turns around and walks toward us backward. Her hips sway from side to side, and it should be illegal for me to stare at her for this long. “What do you think?” I think my time of death is going to be just before 11 a.m. in the middle of a fucking football field. There’s my last name stretched boldly across her shoulders like it’s hers, too. There’s her round ass, covered by tight leather. There’s the back of her neck, a few strands of hair sticking to her skin. Christ. I need someone to revive me. “It’s nice. What do you think, Dallas?” Justin asks, and he elbows my side.