Confessions of a Queen B* (19 page)

As I drove off, I half-expected to see some kind of superhero cape flutter around Brett’s shoulders.

Chapter 15

“It seems the school locker rooms have gone co-ed, judging by the frequency Scott Davis and Jenny McMichael have been spotted visiting them in between classes.”

The Eastline Spy

June, Junior Year

I got to school just as classes were changing. It was easy to melt into the crowds of students on campus and make my way to the locker room with the poor souls—mostly freshmen—who had P.E. for sixth period. I hid in one of the bathroom stalls while they changed and filtered out in groups of twos and threes. Once it was silent again, I ventured out and checked the premises.

It was empty.

I cracked open the door to find Brett waiting beside it. “All clear?”

“All clear.” I opened it further and looked around to make sure no one was watching as he slipped in.

He stood a few feet inside like he was afraid to go any further. “So this is what the girls’ locker room looks like.”

“It’s nothing special.” I brushed past him, scanning the tops of the lockers for the new camera.

“It smells better.”

I remembered the Axe body wash–scented cloud that had billowed out of the boys’ locker room Friday night. “It didn’t smell too bad in yours after the game.”

“That’s because we were all getting clean to go out and celebrate. You should’ve smelled it before the showers.”

“I’ll pass.” I walked down the next row of lockers, but still couldn’t find the camera.

Brett was right behind me. “Any idea where the video was shot from?”

“You’re the one with the link.”

He pulled out his phone and handed it to me to open the link. Perhaps he had seen enough of Summer’s enhanced cleavage.

I started the video and moved around the locker room until I found the same vantage point. “It’s somewhere around here.”

He took his phone back, turning off the video as he slid it back into his pocket. “Then let’s start looking.”

Unlike last time, there was no big desktop camera sitting on top for me to grab and dispose of. Brett and I both looked along the row of lockers and found nothing.

“I was afraid of this,” he muttered. “Time to get technical.”

He pulled another device out of his pocket. It was about the size of his phone, but the screen was smaller. A small knob dominated the space below the screen.

“What’s that do?”

“It picks up wireless signals.”

“And how will that help us find the camera?”

“Unless the person behind the videos is hiding in a locker with a handheld camera the entire time, the images are being sent through a wireless connection.” He pulled a small LED flashlight out of his other pocket. “Here, take this and shine it into the slats of the lockers.”

I did as he told me to do while he slowly scanned the lockers with his device, his eyes focused on the screen. I found nothing.

He stopped about halfway down the line of lockers, his brows drawn together. “Come back over here and take another look. There’s a strong signal coming from this one.”

The locker in front of him had a dark blue padlock on it. I scanned the slats. The light flashed on something in the upper left hand corner. I repeated the movement and got the same result. “Something’s there.”

Brett took the flashlight from me and saw the same the thing. “I think we might’ve found our camera.”

He handed me the flashlight again and reached into the cargo pocket of his shorts. This time, he pulled out a bolt cutter.

“Let me guess—you’re a Boy Scout, too?”

“Nope, but it never hurts to be prepared.” He started working on the padlock. “I’m just glad I stopped by my house on the way over here.”

A couple of minutes later, the lock yielded and fell to the ground with a loud clang. I opened the locker and found an old iPod taped to the door with a set of wires coming from the charging port and a wireless router. “Bingo.”

Brett seemed more interested in the wires than the actual camera. “This is pretty clever. Whoever put it there put a lot of thought into making sure the iPod had plenty of power, and it looks like he was remotely enabling the recordings through FaceTime.”

“I don’t care—I just want it gone.” I tugged at the last of the duct tape holding it up and ripped the device off the door. Then I pressed the red circle with the phone icon. “Time to end this call.”

Brett held out his hand, still studying the snarl of wires in the locker. “Let me see it.”

“Fine.” I handed it over to him and waited for him to finish investigating the setup.

Voices filtered in from the windows outside, slowly growing louder. My gut tensed. Someone was coming this way.

I jostled Brett’s shoulder, but he waved me away. “In a minute.”

The entrance of the locker room creaked open. My pulse jumped into overdrive. We were seconds away from getting caught. I searched for a place to hide. Someone would see our feet if we hid in a bathroom stall (unless we decided to stand on the toilet seats, but
ick
!). The way out was blocked.

But by some small blessing, the door to the janitor’s closet wasn’t fully closed. Which meant it wasn’t locked like usual.

I grabbed Brett by his shirt and dragged him over to it as the front door of the locker room banged open. A deep male voice I immediately recognized as Principal Lee’s echoed off tile walls. “Someone said they saw a guy sneaking in here.”

Shit! That blog post I’d written last year about students cutting class to make out in the locker rooms was coming back to haunt me.

I pushed Brett into the janitor closet and pulled the door closed behind us as quietly as I dared. If we made any noise, I couldn’t hear it over the pounding of my heart and the continual string of four-letter words repeating through my head.

“I’ll take a look around,” a woman said. Coach Dittmer.

The closet was pitch black, but I had no trouble finding Brett’s mouth. I placed my fingers over his lips to remind him to keep quiet.

I’d been terrified about Brett getting caught in the locker room, but as he wrapped his arm around my waist, I quickly came to realize I should’ve been more afraid of getting caught
with
him.

My heart continued to race, but for a very different reason. We were pressed together in the small space, his arm holding me close to him. I breathed him in with every stunted breath I took, acutely aware of how close he was and how that affected me.

He covered my hand, still on his lips, and placed a single kiss on my fingertips.

A jolt coursed down my spine.

Outside the closet, I continued to hear the voices, but I didn’t know what was more dangerous—bolting from the closet and getting caught by the principal, or staying here with Brett.

In the darkness, I couldn’t see his face, so I had no idea of his motives. For all I knew, this was just a continuation of his successful attempt to get a rise out of me by talking about sex. Only now, his lips were doing the talking in an unexpected way.

He took my hand and placed it on his chest, still holding me against him. His heart was drumming through his chest at the same breakneck speed as mine.

I held my breath, wondering what he was planning on doing next.

I didn’t have to wait long. His fingers traveled up my arm to my shoulder, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. And yet despite the warmth that rushed through my veins, I shivered and pressed my body even closer to his.

His fingers continue up my neck, finally stopping under my chin. He tilted it up.

And somehow through the darkness, his lips found mine.

Oh, holy shit, I was kissing Brett Pederson!

Or to be more precise, he was kissing me.

It was a simple kiss, as far as kisses go. No tongue. No biting. Just the firm pressure of his lips moving against mine. Time seemed to stop, so I had no idea how long we stayed there. I only knew that when he tried to end it, my body protested.

I slipped my arm over his shoulder, threading my fingers through his short hair.

He froze, sucking in a breath and holding it.

Then I did the unthinkable. I pulled his head toward me and kissed him back.

Only my kiss was nowhere near as polite and restrained as his was. If I was going to slip into a moment of temporary insanity and make out with the quarterback, I was going to go all out. I pushed him back against the wall, my lips still glued to his. His grip loosened on me, and for a split second, I wondered if I had taken things too far. But when his hands reached under my shirt, I grew bolder, more aggressive.

My tongue traced the seam of his mouth, silently begging permission to enter. He wasted no time opening up to me and taking my breath away with his own skills. We kissed like two starving souls who couldn’t get enough of each other, our tongues clashing as much now as they had with our verbal sparring over the last week and a half.

Only, I had to admit, I was enjoying this way, way more.

My hands roamed his hard body, from his broad shoulders to his firm ass that fit beautifully in my palms. He reciprocated, his hands kneading my behind while we continued to kiss like a couple heading straight for the bedroom instead of two students hiding from the principal.

I should’ve been shocked by my brazen actions. I should’ve been horrified that I enjoyed making out with Brett as much as I did. I should’ve remembered why we were hiding in a dark janitor’s closet that smelled faintly of bleach in the first place. But any mental capacity I had flew out the door the moment Brett pressed my fingers against his mouth and started this dangerous chain reaction.

My breath was coming hot and heavy, and my hips started rocking in a seductive tempo that matched the movements of our tongues. A soft moan rose from one of our throats—I couldn’t tell whose. One of Brett’s hands got tangled up in my hair, massaging my scalp and encouraging me to continue.

Trust me, I had no intention of stopping at the moment. I only wanted to take things further. I dragged my hands over his shoulders, searching for the buttons of his shirt. One by one, I unfastened them until I could freely explore the planes of his chest.

He followed my lead, his hands under my T-shirt, slowly tugging it up and forcing me to end our game of tonsil hockey long enough to pull it over my head.

And I was so glad he did. My bra stayed on, but otherwise, I was chest to chest with him. The heat of his bare skin against mine awakened a new level of desire, of longing, of sensations I never dreamed possible. I’d always wondered how Morgan could easily hook up with guys she hardly knew for a few rounds of wild, hot sex. Now I knew. Brett and I were already half-naked, and I didn’t want to stop. It felt so wicked, so indulgent.

So damn good.

Brett had been right—sex was definitely a stress reliever. My cares were as far away as they could possibly be, and we still had our pants on.

And speaking of pants, the ever-hardening ridge beneath his shorts let me know that he was as turned on as I was—maybe more. Based on the way he was grinding against me, he wasn’t making any effort to hide his attraction, either.

The dynamics slowly shifted. Now, he was the one calling the shots. He was the one pressing me against the cold metal door that contrasted with the burning flesh of our bodies. He was the one exploring my curves with his hands, cupping my ass first and then working his way up to my breasts. Each touch awakened a new level of wantonness in me. Each stroke left me begging for more.

My lungs were working overtime to the point where I grew dizzy, forcing me to tear my lips away from his long enough to breathe.

That didn’t stop Brett, though. His mouth moved to my ear. “Damn it, Lexi,” he groaned.

I couldn’t find the words. I just held on to him since he was the only thing keeping me from sliding onto the floor at the moment.

He reached behind me, trying to unhook my bra while my shoulder was in his mouth. The series of nips and gentle sucks along that area of skin nearly turned me to Jell-O and erased any outrage I thought I might have felt about a guy trying to get past second base. At this point, I was praying for a home run.

I wanted Brett Pederson more than I had wanted any other guy in my life, and at that moment, I was willing to do whatever he wanted as long as he continued kissing me.

A loud bang shook the walls, and Brett’s head snapped up from my neck.

The heat from our blissful make-out session vanished, and the cold reality of our situation crashed into me like an eighteen-wheeler.

I was half naked in a janitorial closet with the one guy I had no chance of ever having a serious relationship with. The one guy who was part of a crowd that stood for everything I looked down on.

The one guy who was so wrong and yet was dangerously right.

“Shit!” I shoved him away and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Lexi, what—”

“Oh my God,” I whispered as I blindly searched for my T-shirt. My legs quivered, threatening to give out on me as the blood rushed back to my head. What had I just done?