She’d been damned lucky that Sam and his buddies had been too mortified by the incident to report it, though of course word had spread like wildfire around campus until it had reached the level of urban legend. Julia had been furious, and it had been one of the very few times in their lives that she’d refused to speak to Lauren for more than a week. They had eventually mended their fences, but word of the incident had made guys stay even further away from Lauren.
College had been an opportunity to start over, someplace besides the affluent but admittedly small town of Carmel where everyone knew her. She’d made friends easily at UCLA, her outgoing, vibrant personality attracting both men and women. Guys had hit on her constantly, multiple times a day, and while she’d flirted like mad she had continued to keep her V-card intact until nearly the end of freshman year. Since the lack of opportunity hadn’t been an issue, Lauren had always figured that her rather unimpressive sex life thus far was due to the simple fact that she was picky. She wasn’t the least bit attracted to any of the clean-cut, well-to-do, preppy guys, or even most of the jocks. Instead, the ones who caught her eye were either the rugged, outdoorsy types who liked more extreme sports like ocean kayaking, rock climbing, and mountain biking, or the ones who looked like they should be playing lead guitar in a rock band – long hair, pierced ears, tattoos, and ripped jeans.
Ben, she noted with an admiring smile, possessed the very best attributes of both types of men. His ripped biceps, defined six-pack abs, and well-muscled legs spoke of years spent outdoors engaging in the same sort of extreme sports that she thrived on herself. It was likely that he also did some sort of targeted weight training, but judging from the deep golden tan that covered his face and body he spent the majority of his time outside.
And while the short, close cut of his hair wasn’t exactly rock star material, he did have both a piercing – a small gold hoop in his left ear – and a tattoo. Unable to resist, she idly traced her index finger over the stark black, intricate design that covered part of his bicep. The sleeve of his T-shirt had covered the bulk of the unusual design, and she’d been fascinated to discover it after he’d stripped.
Impulsively she reached for the digital camera she’d left on the bedside table a couple of days ago. Lauren usually took much better care of her camera equipment, making sure it was always packed safely away, and chided herself a bit now on her carelessness. But at least this particular camera was not a very expensive model, and its proximity now was proving to be extremely convenient.
She focused on the tattoo, then snapped an even dozen shots in a row from various angles. Ben flinched slightly when the flash went off but otherwise didn’t wake. Grinning impishly, Lauren then proceeded to take dozens more shots of the really fine male specimen sleeping in her bed – his face, chest, arms, before carefully easing the sheet downwards so she could photograph his lower body.
“That last shot had better not wind up on a porn website somewhere. I’m a pretty shy guy, after all, and I really don’t want my junk on display to the public eye.”
Ben’s voice was raspy and sounded vaguely amused as she glanced up at him guiltily. Laughing merrily, she set the camera aside and scooted back up the bed until she was cuddled alongside him, her arms wrapped around his waist.
“No worries,” she assured him breezily. “These are going to be for my super-secret, private collection. I’ll triple password protect the file I store them in. And,” she added with a quick kiss to his pec, “you’re way, way hotter – not to mention having much bigger, uh, junk – than those icky, hairless guys in pornos.”
Ben’s dark blue eyes widened. “Uh, would you be speaking from first hand viewing experience?”
She gave him a flirty little wink. “Absolutely. One of my soccer teammates in high school – Erika – lived in this huge-ass mansion in Pebble Beach – pool, tennis courts, the works. So naturally everyone wanted her parents’ place to be our hangout after the last practice of the week each Friday. Especially since her parents always went out that night, and kept both the fridge and the bar stocked to overflowing.”
“What does all this have to do with watching porn flicks?” he asked, puzzled.
Lauren ran her tongue along the side of his neck, pleased when he gave a little shiver of reaction. “Getting there, Blue Eyes. So, this mansion also included two playrooms. One was the PG-rated version – pool table, video games, that sort of stuff. And the other playroom – the one Erika stole a key for – was the X-rated version. In addition to housing a very disturbingly large collection of porn flicks, the room was sort of a – well, I guess you’d call it a dungeon.”
His mouth gaped open in shock. “You mean like - ”
She nodded. “Whips, chains, shackles, all that kinky shit. But Erika didn’t believe for a minute that her parents ever actually used any of it, that they just liked to fantasize about stuff. And given that her father had a stick about a yard long wedged up his ass, while her mother would have had a panic attack if she broke a fingernail, I’m pretty sure she was right.”
Ben began to laugh, the vibrations rumbling in his chest. “So you and your soccer teammates used to spend Friday nights eating snacks, getting drunk, and watching dirty movies? Well, that sure as hell beats how I used to spend my Friday nights during high school – working some lousy minimum wage job.”
“Well, we didn’t watch porn every week. Sometimes we’d mix it up with a slasher flick or an action/adventure movie.”
He began to massage the nape of her neck gently. “What? No chick flicks or rom-coms?” he teased.
She rolled her eyes at him in mock disgust. “God, no, never that crap. Look, lots of girls play soccer these days, starting from when they’re little kids. But in most cases it’s because their parents push them into it. If you’re still playing sports competitively by your junior or senior year of high school, it’s because you want to, because you’re a true athlete. And you don’t – ever – watch chick flicks.”
He grinned at her passionate little speech. “Got it. No chick flicks, no rom-coms. You know, sweetheart, the more I learn about you – which I’m beginning to think could take a lifetime – the more you’re sounding like the perfect woman. Let’s see – you like beer, you do martial arts, you drive a pick-up truck but really want a motorcycle. You’ve got those dogs so well trained they’re like a small army, got a mouth on you like a sailor, and like to watch porn. And I believe I noticed at least one tattoo. May I?”
He picked up her left wrist, turning it slightly until the small mark on the inside was revealed. “What is this?” he asked, his long, blunt fingers tracing gently around the ink.
“The Gemini. You know,” she explained as he looked puzzled, “the twins. When my sister and I went away to college – she’s back east at Cornell – it was the first time we’d ever spent a significant amount of time apart. So I got this done as a little reminder of Julia – so that I’d always have a little part of my twin with me.”