(18+!)
Blake Evans is king of the tennis court at Westbridge University...and he's also a prick, a womanizer, a player, and an asshole. He's touted as one of the next stars of tennis, building hype and excitement around the program with every win...
Brooke sat close to Elliot, the tiny table between them doing little to create any real distance. She had positioned herself so that her shoulder brushed against his every time she leaned in to speak, her body angled toward him in a way that was both casual and undeniably flirtatious. Her pink pumps dangled from her toes as she crossed one leg over the other, her painted nails tapping lightly on the edge of his laptop, where she pretended to be interested in the words on the screen.
"So, Elliot," she purred, her voice sweet and light as she leaned even closer, her chest pressing subtly against his arm.
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"When you're writing those steamy romance scenes, do you, like, feel everything your characters feel? Do you get all worked up, just like they do?" She batted her eyelashes, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she watched his reaction.
Elliot shifted slightly, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink as he tried to keep his focus on his laptop, though it was clear that Brooke's proximity was making that increasingly difficult. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, clearly trying to maintain his composure. "Well, I...I try to put myself in their shoes," he stammered, his voice a little unsteady. "But, you know, it's all just fiction. I'm just...trying to capture the emotions as best as I can."
Brooke giggled softly, the sound light and teasing as she gently tapped his arm with her painted nails, the bright pink polish catching the light. "Oh, come on, Elliot," she said, her tone playful as she leaned in just a little closer, her chest brushing against him again, more deliberately this time. "You can't tell me you don't feel something when you're writing those scenes. If you really want your readers to connect with your characters, you've got to feel it too, right?"
Elliot's breath hitched slightly, and he glanced down at her hand on his arm, clearly trying to process both her words and her proximity. "I guess you're right," he admitted, his voice softer now, as if the truth was slipping out without his permission. "It's important to connect with the emotions to make it real...but it's not always easy."
Brooke's smile widened, and she shifted even closer, her thigh now pressed against his under the table. "That's what I'm here for," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. "To help you really feel it, like your characters do. I bet if you let yourself go, really get into the moment, your writing will be, like, even more amazing."
She let her fingers trail up his arm, lightly brushing his skin, as she kept her gaze locked on his. The mixture of nervous energy and excitement in his eyes told her that her teasing was having exactly the effect she wanted. Bambi's influence was still there, nudging her to push just a little further, to see how far she could take it.
Elliot swallowed hard, clearly feeling the pressure of her presence, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes now—a willingness to explore where this might go. "Maybe you're right," he said, his voice low and thoughtful. "Maybe I do need to let myself feel more, to really understand what my characters are going through."
