7

The evening began uneventfully enough. We sat around the fire eating steaks and chatting. I learned that Mr. Matthews had been a college ballplayer, just like Cam, and that's where he met Coach Matthews.

"At first, I thought he was just some handsome jerk," Coach said, laughing.

"Handsome jerk was kind of your type back then," he said, putting a hand on his wife's waist. "Maybe still is."

"Oh, stop," she said, slapping his hand away. "Caleb, take no notice of your father. Despite what he would have you believe, women do not find arrogance attractive. Right, Lola?"

"Right," I said instinctively. "Hey, can I use your bathroom?"

"Sure," Mr. Matthews said. "Caleb, why don't you show Lola where to find it?"

Enthusiastically, Caleb hopped up.

"Come on! It's upstairs."

As we walked upstairs, Caleb turned back to me.

"Sorry about that. Man, is your Dad as embarrassing as mine?"

I looked away.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Sometimes he is."

"I need to get away from them for a bit," he sighed. "Hey, after you come downstairs, you wanna play ping-pong?"

"Hmm," I said. His face was eager with anticipation. I pointed down at my sandals. "I dunno if I can play in these wedges."

"Just take 'em off and go barefoot," he said. "The basement is carpeted, so I don't wear shoes either."

"Okay, then," I said. "Why not?"

"Great! I'll meet you downstairs when you're done up here."

Finally alone, I stepped inside the bathroom and caught another glimpse of myself in the mirror. God, no wonder he is so eager to get you alone, I thought. My dress revealed only the barest hint of cleavage, but in the cool evening air, the outlines of my nipples had become visible through the thin fabric of my bra and the cotton dress. Was it the air? Or had something stirred me up inside? I washed my hands and left.

Before going back downstairs, I noticed a door ajar at the end of the hallway. Caleb's room, I thought. Curious, I opened the door and stepped inside.

Aside from my younger brother, I had never been inside a boy's bedroom, so I wasn't sure what to expect, but what I saw shocked me.

The room was practically a shrine to beautiful women. The walls were covered with posters featuring hot girls of every color and complexion, all with the same thing in common: big, soft tits on display in tight, revealing tops. American swimsuit models basking on a tropical beach. Mexican beer girls spraying each other with cerveza. Japanese car show girls bent seductively over the hood of a hot rod.

I took a few more steps before I saw the trophy shelf across from the bed. It was littered with hardware. When I stepped closer, I saw that each trophy was capped with a baseball player in mid-swing.

"MVP," I heard a deep voice say from behind me.

I wheeled around and there he was, leaning against the doorframe. In person, he seemed even larger than in the photograph, impossibly tall with thick, broad shoulders that barely fit inside the doorway.

"MVP," he said again.

"What?" I said, standing up straighter and smoothing the folds of my dress.

"That trophy you're looking at," he said, taking a step into the room and dropping his backpack. "That's an MVP trophy from the Pac-10 championships last year."

"Oh," I mumbled. "Sorry, I just wandered in here thinking this was Caleb's room."

"Ah, I see," he said, seeming to contemplate the mistake. "Well, it's understandable. Caleb does have a tennis trophy in his room down the hall. But," he smirked, "it's not as big as mine."

For the briefest instant, I saw his eyes flick down to scan my body, and I remembered all of the posters on the walls. I folded my arms over my chest, which suddenly felt exposed.

"I should go back downstairs."

"Sure, in a minute," he said, taking a step closer to me. "I guess we haven't really been introduced yet. I'm Cam." He stretched out his arm for a handshake. Even in such a simple movement, I could see the thick, corded muscles flex. "And you must be Lola."

I reached out my hand and we touched for the first time. His hand was huge and calloused and it enveloped mine. The action of shaking hands felt strangely formal, given that we were alone in his bedroom, surrounded by pictures of busty women.