Take On Me. Sarah MayberryЧитать онлайн книгу.
school, and all the other kids had gone home. She was about to enter the girls’ change room when she heard someone singing, the sound echoing out from the boys’change room next door. It only took a moment for her to recognize the voice. Immediately her heart kicked into overdrive.
She hesitated at the junction of the two change rooms. Then her feet drifted toward the boys’ entrance. She could hardly believe she was doing what she was doing, but her fingers were already trailing along the cold tile wall as she eased her way toward the door.
Heat rushed into her face as she heard the sound of running water beneath the sound of Dylan Anderson’s singing.
He was in the shower. Heat rushed to an entirely different part of her body as she imagined him naked and wet beneath the rushing water.
Her feet moved forward again, and she was powerless to stop them. Her breath was coming in little soundless gasps as she slid along the final row of lockers separating her from the showers. The splash of water and Dylan’s voice seemed preternaturally loud to her sensitized ears. A part of her was astounded at what she was doing. She never did anything daring or wrong. She was a straight-A student, punctilious, safe. She’d never been in trouble for anything at school, but here she was, in the boys’ change room, about to sneak a peek at Dylan Anderson under the shower. Was she insane? Had some vital part of her intellect flipped out all of a sudden?
But despite the clamor of alarm bouncing around her brain, she slid forward. One step. Two. Three. She held her breath as she ducked her head around the corner.
And stared. His back was to her as he stood in the middle of the shower bay, the water pummeling him as he took his time washing. His body was tall and firm, his shoulders broad, and his back tapered down to a rounded backside that made Sadie’s mouth water for something she didn’t even have a name for.
His overlong dark hair was wet, trailing over his downturned face, and his back muscles flexed as he washed his belly. She forgot to breathe entirely as he lifted his head and turned in profile to her. Her rounded eyes took in the smooth, sculpted planes of his pectoral muscles, quickly dipping below to trail greedily down his rippled abs to the area she was most curious about. Between his thighs she saw her first real live penis, and the sight of him, long and substantial, made her press her knees together. Oh boy. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.
He turned fully toward her then, arching his neck back so that the flow of water washed his hair away from his handsome brow. She ate up every inch of the body on display. His thighs were long and lean, his calves curved and in perfect proportion to the rest of him. One hand washed idly at his belly as he closed his eyes and swept his other hand up across his forehead and into his hair.
He was magnificent. So much better than all her fantasies. The thought of him touching her, of being held against his hard chest, of touching the strength between his legs… She was dizzy with desire.
She was so mesmerized, she didn’t register that he was nearing the end of his shower. Suddenly, however, he flicked the taps off and reached for his towel. Her heart nearly exploded in her chest—she would die if he caught her. Just die. She managed to get her frozen limbs together enough to slide behind the shelter of the first locker aisle. Looking around desperately, she saw too late that she was standing right in front of his open locker, and that his clothes were thrown haphazardly on the bench that ran between the rows. She heard the slap of bare feet on wet tile. He was coming her way. Desperate, she fled to the end of the aisle, diving behind a bin full of dirty towels.
Hunched on the ground, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes squeezed tightly shut, she waited to be discovered. Surely he’d seen or heard her? Surely she was about to be punished for her moment of daring audacity?
After a few seconds, she slowly opened her eyes again. The pounding of her heart subsided enough so that she could make out the sound of Dylan dressing. He hadn’t seen her. Chin resting on her drawn-up knees, she tried to interpret the sounds she could hear, willing him to get dressed and leave.
The hiss of an aerosol can: Dylan putting on deodorant. God, she loved the way he smelled. The thump of something heavy hitting the ground: Dylan dropping his shoes, ready to put them on. The clink of metal on metal: Dylan doing up his belt.
She waited for the telltale clang of his locker closing, but it didn’t come. Time stretched, and still it didn’t come. She frowned. Had he gone or not? He’d sounded fully dressed to her. Why would he hang around?
The cold from the tile floor was seeping through her thin gym shorts, and she cursed herself for her impulsiveness. Now that the excitement of seeing Dylan naked was wearing off, she could see how stupid she’d been. How reckless. If he’d seen her, her life would, quite simply, not be worth living.
Finally, after a long, long time, she dared a peek over the top of the bin.
She immediately ducked down again. Dylan was still there—sitting slumped on the bench between the lockers. Curious, she dared another peek. He had something in his hand—a piece of paper. But it was the look on his face that transfixed her. He was upset about something—very upset, if she had her guess. His handsome face was twisted into a sort of desolate resignation. Suddenly, he swore and balled the paper up, then shot it toward the nearest trash can. Slamming his locker shut, he grabbed his beat-up leather jacket and strode toward the exit.
Sadie waited until his footsteps had well and truly faded before pulling the paper from the can and racing to the safety of the girls’ change room. Locked in a toilet cubicle for extra safety, she smoothed the crinkled page flat on her knees. It was the pop quiz they’d just had handed back in American Lit. Dylan had scored an F.
It was no newsflash to her that Dylan wasn’t exactly acing the class. She sat next to him—she knew how often he got reprimanded for not doing homework, or for having the wrong answers when called upon by the teacher. She’d tried to shield him as many times as she could—jumping in to answer for him, distracting Mr. McMasters with questions—but she’d always suspected that she worried about Dylan being embarrassed far more than he did. He was so cool—she’d figured he didn’t give a hoot about anything to do with American Lit. He never so much as twitched when Mr McMasters took a shot at him, and most of the time he had a smart-ass response ready to throw back.
But now she realized he did care. He cared a lot.
And for the first time in over a year of loving Dylan Anderson, hope flared in her heart. Because she knew she could help him. She had something to offer him now. She’d never had a chance of attracting him the traditional way, not with her concave chest and gangly legs. But she could help him pass Lit. It was one of her best subjects. He’d have to look at her then, wouldn’t he? He might even be grateful. They might even become friends.
And then, maybe, he might—
Sadie sat bolt upright in bed, the sheets twisted around her legs. She kicked at them until they loosened, then rolled to her feet. Her skin felt clammy, overheated. Flicking her bedside lamp on, she paced.
At least she’d managed to wake before the rest of the dream unfolded. She pushed her damp hair off her forehead, wishing she could push the old memories away as easily.
If she could take back one moment in her life, she’d erase those few, fateful seconds when she’d heard Dylan Anderson singing in the boys’ locker room. If she hadn’t snuck into spy on him. If she hadn’t seen the look on his face. If she hadn’t been so determined to help him…
Sadie wrapped her arms around her chest, then frowned as she felt the insistent press of her erect nipples against the soft skin of her inner arm. That was the most pathetic, infuriating part, she decided—not that this ancient dream she’d thought she’d banished had returned to haunt her, but the fact that the memory of Dylan Anderson naked in the shower still had the power to turn her on.
She hated him. At the very least, she had nothing but contempt for him. Unfortunately, her body still remembered how much it had yearned for him, how many times she’d cried his name into her pillow when she touched herself all those years ago.
Pathetic. For one thing, she was damned sure Dylan wasn’t