It'll happen

I'd always thought James was sexy. I mean, how could you not? Even when we were eleven and playing flag football in our joint backyard on Thanksgiving, I'd appreciated the way that his hoodie clung to his shoulders, how the mud on his cheeks didn't make him any less beautiful. And when I'd broken my arm falling out of the tree at the corner of his driveway when we were seven, the way his eyes were colored with concern was gorgeous. This is all in retrospect, of course, because he was like a brother to me. Well at least until, like, two weeks ago when that little turd decided he was going to play wrestle me for the first time in years.

"Hayleigh. HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYLEIGH," James called. I could hear him through my headphones, with my door closed. And, wait, how the fuck had he gotten into my dorm building? I pulled my earbuds out and ripped open my door. Other girls on my floor were leaning out their doors to investigate.

"Hayyyyyyyleigh," his voice split the air again as he rounded the corner.

"James." I gave a warning snarl as I grabbed the collar of the maroon dress shirt that he'd probably spent way too much money on, and pulled him into my room, smiling apologetically at the other girls and slamming the door. As I turned back toward him, he was straightening out his collar and smoothing the front of the shirt, and, okay, he may have spent a ridiculous amount on his clothes, but they all fit him so well. He smirked at me.

"Hi, Hayleigh."

"Three things: what the fuck are you doing here? How the fuck did you get in? And did you have to make an entrance? Now they're all going to think I'm a weirdo with annoying friends."

"That's technically four things," he replied, wrapping me in a hug. Completely ignoring my questions and sitting down on my bed, he continued, "How was your first week?"

Hmmm. How was my first week at UCLA? I'd been given the wrong directions, walked into the wrong classrooms, been late to Bio Lab, spilt coffee all over my Lit professor, gotten lost in downtown LA while trying to find a restaurant James had told me about, been totally awkward in my first encounters with college boys and everyone on my floor seemed to know each other already. And living in a single didn't help.

"Fine," I said, rolling my eyes. "I'm just glad it's over."

James grinned. "So, are you coming out with us tonight? I have your fake right here." He held up a California driver's license. I reached out for it, and he held it out of my reach. "Ah, ah," he said, wagging a finger in my face and then pointing to his cheek. "Payment." The grin he gave me was wicked as he winked. I shook my head and put my hand on my hip, holding out my hand for the ID. He didn't budge.

"You're such an ass, James." I grabbed for it and he pulled back again. I stood back, glared at him, and raised an eyebrow. He started to relax so I took my chance and surged forward again, but he was too fast, leaning back onto my bed and I lost my balance and fell right on top of him and we were wrestling around like we used to when we were kids and our mothers would have to pull us apart, kicking and screaming, both of us laughing, probably with a few new bruises.

But it was different now. His hand seared my bare thigh as I tried to kick him back. My arm pulling at his back met hard muscle instead of the boney shoulder blades I remembered. James was laughing and I felt his chest move with it as I reached out for the ID. And I could feel the muscles of his abdomen stretching and working to keep it out of my grasp. He was enjoying this way too much.

When we were little, we were pretty evenly matched. I was a little big for my age, my muscles developed by my fierce love of sports and sheer necessity, growing up with three older brothers. And James, he was scrawny, at least he was last time we'd done this. He'd hit his stride around eighth grade and never looked back. While I was still strong and lean, James had caught up to me. His biceps rippled as he grabbed my arms and flipped me over, pinning me to the bed, a self-satisfied, triumphant smile teasing at his lips.

"Now," he said in a business-like tone, flipping his hair out of his face. "Payment?" He turned his cheek towards me, and it was a good thing he had my hands pinned down, and, ugh, the smug bastard, he knew that. And, okay, I'd never really noticed how good he smelled, or really appreciated the way his eye sparkled when he was being mischievous. Whatever. I just wanted my damn fake so I could go hang out with the boys tonight.

"You're an asshole," I told him again before pecking him on the cheek. He hopped up off of me, and straightened his collar again. Looking in my full length mirror, he made sure he was all in place, fixing his hair perfectly. He tossed the ID at me.

"We're coming for you at nine. Don't be too sexy, now; I don't want Carlos to have a fit."