I Walked In on the Basketball Star Showering

"Elena, tell me you aren't still scrubbing floors at this hour." Maya's voice crackled through my earbuds, loud enough to overpower the hum of the campus gym's ventilation system.

I shoved the heavy mop forward. "I have to pay for my textbooks."

"You are a sophomore lit major on a full ride."

"Which covers tuition, not living expenses."

"You look like a damn Greek goddess," Maya groaned. "Thick wavy hair, pale skin, those big amber eyes. And you hide it all under that tragic taupe hoodie."

I adjusted the oversized fabric, pulling it down over my worn jeans. I rounded my shoulders, a habit I had perfected to conceal my chest and waist. "It keeps people from staring."

"You are slouching right now, aren't you?"

"I have to go clean the men's locker room. The gym closed at eleven."

"Fine. Don't drown in the men."

I chuckled and tapped my earbud, cutting the call.

"Gym is closed, Elena," Stan, the night security guard, called out from the front desk.

I turned, leaning on the mop handle. "I know, Stan. Just doing the last sweep."

"Make it quick. The basketball team ran late tonight."

"They are gone now, right?"

Stan shrugged, flipping a page in his magazine. "Should be. Lock up when you finish."

"Will do."

I switched my audio to Debussy. The soothing piano notes filled my head as I pushed the heavy frosted glass door of the men's locker room open.

Thick steam immediately enveloped me. The air smelled sharp—cedar and mint body wash. I kept my head down, dragging the mop across the slick tiles.

*Thwack.*

The mop head snagged on something heavy. A black sports wristband lay soaked on the floor.

I frowned, bending to pick it up. "Who leaves this..."

The sound of running water finally broke through the piano music in my ears. I yanked an earbud out. The shower at the very end of the row was on.

Through the dense fog, a figure stood under the spray.

He had his back to me. Broad shoulders. Tense muscles shifting under the hot water. The deep groove of his spine caught the harsh overhead lighting. He stood at least six-foot-four.

I knew that build. Everyone on campus knew that build.

Lucas Hayes. The star of the basketball team. The guy every scout in the country was watching for the upcoming NBA draft.

My sneakers squeaked against the wet tile as I took a clumsy step back.

The movement echoed.

Lucas reached up, wiping a hand across his face, and turned around.

Water slid down his sharp jawline. It tracked over his throat, tracing the hard lines of his chest and the tight, eight-pack ridges of his stomach. The harsh fluorescent light left nothing to the imagination, highlighting the deep V-lines pointing downward toward his groin.

I froze. My lungs forgot how to work.

His gray-blue eyes cut through the steam, locking onto my face. He didn't scramble for a towel. He didn't even flinch.

"Seen enough, cleaning girl?" His voice was low, raspy from his workout, echoing off the tile.

I gripped the mop handle like a weapon. "I—sorry!"

"Usually, people knock."

"The sign outside says closed."

"Clearly, I am still here."

"You shouldn't be." I clamped my mouth shut, my cheeks burning hotter than the humid air.

Lucas stepped out from under the water. He grabbed a white towel from the bench and wrapped it lazily around his waist. "Are you going to keep staring at me?"

"I wasn't looking."

He raised an eyebrow, water dripping from his dark hair onto his collarbone. "Your eyes are practically falling out of your head."

"I was looking at the floor."

"Right." He took a slow step toward me. "And the floor is extremely fascinating tonight."

My pulse hammered against my ribs. "I need to finish my shift."

"Then finish it." He crossed his arms, leaning back against the tiled wall.

"It is impossible to clean while you are standing there."

"Why not?" A smirk played on his lips. "Am I distracting you?"

"You are in the way."

"Move me, then."

I stared at him, horrified. "Excuse me?"

"If I am in the way, make me move." He tilted his head. "Unless you are too busy staring again."

"I told you, I wasn't staring."

"Your face is entirely red."

"It is the steam."

"Sure it is." Lucas pushed off the wall. "What is your name, cleaning girl?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Everything matters. Are you a freshman?"

"Sophomore."

"A sophomore who cleans up after men in the dark?" He leaned down, his eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement. "Tell me, girl—do I look like a sophomore project to you?"

Before my brain could short-circuit entirely, I snatched my bucket, spun around, and bolted out the door, slamming the frosted glass shut behind me.