Author's Note-With all this World Cup insanity going on, my mind started conjuring Soccer!Everlark scenarios, and then I realized that I already sort of wrote one, and I never posted it! This was originally written in honor of Izzy Samson and Pookieh's birthdays back in April and posted on Street's tumblr. What can I say—real life has been a whirlwind, and things have been so busy that I forgot. I also realized I never posted my S2SL stories here either, so they're coming (pun intended) in the next few days, as well as some overdue updates. Thanks for your patience with me.

As always, thanks to iLoVeRynMar for all her sage advice and guidance and handholding when I wrote this in the midst of a very crazy time, and to streetlightlove for posting it.

And thanks to the always amazing Ro for her talent and friendship. The cover and banner are gorgeous, no surprise.

"Okay, girls, give me five laps. And show me more hustle than you did in practice last night!"

I hear a few grumbles and one distinct curse muttered under someone's breath—probably Clove—but in small clusters the girls take off up the sideline and begin to jog the perimeter of the field. Satisfied, I turn to Johanna and uncap my dry erase marker with my teeth.

"Who goes in goal today?" I ask. My hand hovers over the board, waiting for her input.

She snaps her gum loudly and squints towards where the girls are running. Then she shrugs. "They all look fucking sluggish if you ask me. You could split it by the halves today."

My brows furrow as I contemplate the decision. I thrust the dry erase board and pen at Johanna and rummage through my bag for my iPad. A few taps and I pull up my notes on the day's opposition. Easy decision.

"Rue. We'll go with Rue," I affirm. "She shut these guys out last fall, and again in the playoffs."

Johanna shrugs again and cracks her gum. "Your call, coach." She jerks her head towards the far end of the field. "Looks like we've got fresh meat today. I haven't seen this ref before."

I flip the cover on the iPad closed and glance in the direction Johanna is gesturing. Raising my hand to shield my eyes from the glaring midday sun, I squint and focus on a girl striding purposefully up the sideline. Well, she's probably more like a woman, maybe my age, or perhaps a year or two younger than me. As she approaches us, I get a better look at her, and I think I'm a goner. My internal organs all decide to dissolve into a mass of quivering gelatin and a herd of stampeding buffalo thunder through my stomach.

She's beautiful. Her dark hair is woven into two intricate French braids, giving her a kind of a St. Pauli Girl vibe, which—not gonna lie—is totally sexy to me. Maybe that's also why she appears younger than she is. (Dear fucking God I hope she's legal.) Her legs are toned, and I can tell by the way her red striped referee's jersey tapers in at the waist that she's got a phenomenal body. If a girl can attract a guy's attention in that very unattractive uniform to me she's even hotter than one of those Victoria's Secret models prancing around in her underwear.

Which of course leads me to picturing this girl in her underwear. What's under that hideous poly-blend shirt and not-tight-enough-for-my-taste shorts? Does she favor simple cotton? Or something lacy and frilly with tiny bows?

She stops a few feet away from Johanna and me and shrugs off her sackpack, then bends down to tie her shoe. I can't resist. I sneak a peek at her ass, and immediately I feel a jolt of pain over my left pec.

"Put your fucking tongue back in your mouth, champ," Johanna hisses with a knowing smirk.

"I wasn't—"

"Save it, Mellark." She snorts and motions to where the girls are starting to finish their final lap. "I'll go do the warm-up stretches with them. You can do the cards this week." She not so subtly bobs her head to the girl again. My face is on fire. Am I really that transparent?

The girl straightens up and bows her shoulders slightly, arching her back just enough that my traitorous eyes go right to her chest. Again, the shirt does nothing to help the cause, but I can tell she's not flat chested. God I need to see more of her.

"Are you the Mockingjays' coach?"

I jerk my attention up to meet her eyes—which might be flashing with irritation or bemusement or something in between, but they're the most unique eyes I've ever seen on a girl. I took art classes all through high school, and I'm not sure Crayola or Prang has a name for the exact shade of grey glaring back at me.

"Ah, yeah, I am. Peeta Mellark." I thrust my hand out, but she simply looks me up and down suspiciously and takes a card out of her pocket. Shit. Shot right the fuck down.

"You have your girls' cards?" she asks. Her hand juts out. I think about shaking it for a half a second, but I know that's not why she's holding it out at me. I also think about brushing my thumb over her lips, where there's some kind of a crumb lingering at the corner of her mouth.

Then she clears her throat, and I can see the impatience furrowing her brows. I offer her a sheepish smile as I reach for my bag and fumble around for the rubber-banded stack of player cards. But there's no softening in her expression. A girl who's immune to my smile? Why does that turn me on even more?

She slides off the rubber band and shuffles the cards, scrutinizing each one for several seconds. Normally I'd get a little impatient myself with this—usually the refs take one glance at the stack and hand them back. But this girl's meticulous attention to double-checking the players' birthdays against the roster on her card means I get to study her a little longer.

Her skin is flawless, with a healthy glow to it like she spends a lot of time in the sun, or I guess maybe she's naturally that tan, because it's not like mid-May is sunbathing weather yet. That would mean the sprinkling of freckles on the bridge of her nose is there year-round too. She's not wearing a stitch of makeup that I can see.

She's not just beautiful. She's fucking breathtaking.

My eyes are drawn back to the plush bow of her mouth when her tongue peeks out and settles on her lower lip as she continues riffling through the cards. I start to wonder what those lips taste like—probably whatever she ate that left that crumb behind.

"You're good." She thrusts the cards back at me, and when I grab them from her, my fingers rake along her palm just long enough to issue a crackle of current racing up my arm. I blink and will my body to keep itself in check.

Before I can regain my senses and tell her about the crumb, she turns and stalks off towards the visiting team's coach, who has finally arrived and is unpacking his equipment bag.

It feels wrong to ogle her ass again as she walks away, but I do it anyway. I watch her speaking with the opposing coach, who's got me by about ten years and thirty unwanted pounds so at least I know he won't be flirting with her. She goes through the same motions with him, examining the cards to affirm eligibility. It's a sad testament to competitive sports in this country when you have to prove the age and identity of fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds.

When she finishes, she hands him back the cards. She walks back to where she dropped her drawstring athletic bag and rummages around in it.

"You get the Swiss Miss girl's name?" Johanna leers at me. "Her phone number? Did she fall at your feet and beg to have your babies?"

I sigh. "Shut the fuck up, Jo. Bring the girls in. Let's give them their starting positions."

It's easily the most distracted I've been to start a game in the two years I've been coaching for the Panem Travel Soccer Club. I'm generally a very relaxed guy, and not much flusters me. Soccer is my zen, whether I'm playing or coaching or just watching it on television. So to feel this rattled just from the sight of this girl—well, it's new and it's confusing as hell.

The hot referee is now at midfield, and she calls for captains. Jo looks to me when I don't automatically assign girls to run out, and she barks at two of our forwards. The ref goes through the usual pre-game routine with both sets of captains, and moments later, she blows the whistle and the game begins.

Our opponent today recently moved up to our flight, so it's the first time we're facing them. It's apparent right away that they're overmatched. My girls are faster and far more aggressive, and we jump out to a two-goal lead within the opening five minutes. But things settle down after that, and it's a hard fought first half.

When the whistle blows for halftime the girls crowd around me. I go over what we've done well and then point out that we're still not positioning ourselves good enough on corner kicks. Jo chimes in with her thoughts, and while she talks, I let my attention wander to the ref. She's standing about twenty feet from me with the two linesmen. The guys talk to each other, but she's in her own world, munching on an energy bar and taking sips from a water bottle.

It's bad protocol to chat up the officials during a game, unless there've been some questionable calls that warrant explanation. It was a clean first half, so I have no recourse to go over and talk to her. Instead, I stare at her as unobtrusively as I can and wonder what it would feel like to unravel those braids and weave my fingers through her long hair.

I'm still staring when she tosses her water bottle back in her bag and places the whistle back in her mouth, poised to signal that halftime is over. Is it possible to be jealous of a little piece of silver metal? Cause I am—I want to be the one touching her lips right now.

Whatever the other coach said to his team on the sideline has lit a fire under their collective asses, cause they come out gunning in the second half. Our defense is caught completely off guard, and it's only a call for offsides that spares Rue from having to face a breakaway. The parents on the opposite sideline grumble and shout, but Sexy Ref seems unfazed by their complaints, and the game continues.

They score on us midway through, and our striker misses a wide open net, so we cling to our one-goal lead as time ticks down. Johanna always sets her phone to monitor things herself, and she mutters through her teeth that there's under a minute, but of course that's barring any injury time.

Sure enough, the referee holds up two fingers to indicate there will be two additional minutes of play, and I hold my breath and pray we can hang on.

It happens quickly.

There's a rush up the field. One of our defenders slides in a desperate attempt to clear the ball, but she takes out the streaking mid-fielder instead. The girl goes down hard, and the referee's whistle chirps loudly. She pulls a yellow card from her pocket, and she signals for a penalty kick. Our parents erupt in shouts and cries of injustice. It's a ballsy call in stoppage time, but it's the right one. I can't argue.

The ref keeps her cool, ignoring the taunts from a few of our more outspoken parents. I watch her explain the formality of the penalty kick to the fouled player then she asks Rue if she's ready. I glance skyward and say a silent prayer that our little secret weapon will again come through for us. No one ever anticipates such a tiny thing being such a formidable goalie. I can practically see the opposing player make the decision to go high after sizing up Rue.

That's another thing no one expects: Rue's vertical leap. Seconds after the girl's foot makes contact with the ball, Rue lunges upward and to the right, batting away the ball as it grazes her fingers. Clove clears the rebound and a minute later, the final whistle tweets three times. Game over. Celebrations ensue, and the girls swarm Rue, collapsing into a pile of jubilation in front of the goal.

After handshakes and my post-game chat with the team, the girls gather their things and drain the rest of their water bottles. I jog over to the referee. Her head is down and she's scrawling something on the game card.

My heart accelerates like its been zapped with jumper cables. I cough softly, hoping to get her attention. She doesn't look up. I sigh and steel my nerves. I don't usually get this nervous around girls, but then I can't recall anyone having this strong of an effect on me without any meaningful conversation, much less a smile between us. I don't usually do the lust-at-first-sight thing.

"You reffed a really good game," I begin. That gets her attention, and she looks a little surprised. I guess she might have been bracing herself for me to give her shit over the call at the end. I watch one lone bead of sweat wobble on her temple and slowly meander its way down the side of her face, hooking under her jaw and dripping off. She shoves the card into her pocket, and those beguiling silver eyes meet mine. They're flecked with gold, and what I wouldn't give to see those eyes boring into mine right before my lips claim hers.

"Thank you," she replies quietly and bends down to retrieve her bag. She slips the nylon strings over each shoulder and does a little shimmy to settle the sack on her back. I'm disappointed that I don't get a better look at her breasts when she moves side to side.

"What's your name?" I ask.

Her head snaps up. Those luminous eyes widen momentarily then narrow to slashes. Her mouth twists. "I have a boyfriend." She spits the words from her mouth like they taste bad. They jar me, and I deflate. It's not why I was asking her name, but hearing this goddess is taken definitely is a punch to the gut. I should have known; why wouldn't a girl like this already have someone worshipping her?

I struggle to keep my expression neutral and the disappointment out of my voice when I say, "Um, that's not why I was asking. I like to let the league know when a referee does a good job, and having the ref's name certainly helps to do that."

At least she has the decency to blush. She bites her lip. It draws my eyes back to that fucking perfect mouth that I'll never get the chance to explore now. I hate her boyfriend. I don't know the fucker, but I hate him all the same.

"Katniss," she says. "My name is Katniss." And then she turns and practically runs away from me. I watch her speed walk to the end of the field and disappear down the hill.

Katniss. I've never heard that one before. I whisper it once, just to hear it roll off my tongue. It's sexy, the kind of name that would definitely sound even sexier shouted aloud if she were gliding up and down on my cock.

My reflexes only kick in a half-second before the ball nears my face, and my arm shoots up to catch it. Johanna smirks at me from where she's just finished talking with a parent, and she kicks the equipment bag towards my feet.

"I have to say, that's a first. I've never seen a chick move so fast to get away from you."

I sigh and drop the game ball into the bag with the rest of the practice balls.

"What'd you say to her?" Jo wheedles.

"I just asked her name. She called a great game, and if she's new, the league should know she did a good job."

Jo snorts. "I'm sure that's exactly why you wanted her name."

"I guess that's what she thought too, cause she bit my head off and said she had a boyfriend and got the hell out of Dodge."

"Pfft. She sounds fucking crazy. You're better off. Besides we could go out tonight and I'd have your dick wet in about fifteen minutes flat. Just let me play wingman." She bumps my hip affectionately and takes the mesh bag from me, heaving it over her shoulder. I collapse the folding bench that we put out for the subs, and hoist it into my arms.

As we walk towards the parking lot, I see Katniss again, seated at a picnic bench near the snack bar. She's hunched over a tray of nachos, her fingers moving over an iPhone screen. Probably texting her boyfriend telling him all about the coach who was hitting on her.

Johanna goes on and on about the awful date she had last night, and she says something about being celibate or becoming a nun, but I'm not really listening to her. I make up an excuse about having to use the restroom, which is conveniently attached to the snack bar, and though she eyes me suspiciously, she gives me a wave and tells me to call her later if I want to take her up on her offer. I loiter near the edge of the parking lot, and once Jo revs the engine of her Silverado and tears off, her tires spitting gravel, I give myself a quick mental pep talk and start for the snack bar.

Katniss doesn't look up from her phone when I walk past her. I fish a dollar bill out of my pocket and grab a churro from the teenage boy working the counter. That's when I hear my name shrieked by a litany of female voices, and I turn to see some of the girls from last summer's soccer clinic rushing towards me. I greet them and mollify them with polite chatter, sporadically stealing glimpses at Katniss. But her eyes never leave her phone, and several minutes later she stands, throws away the plastic tray from her nachos, and she heads off for one of the rear fields. She must have another game.

The girls eventually leave, and I debate hanging around the park, as pathetic as I know that is. But I talk myself out of it. No matter how attracted I am to that girl, Katniss made it perfectly clear that not only is she taken, she's not interested in me in the slightest.

Now that classes are over for the summer, I'm back to running the twice weekly practices myself. Before my junior year came to a close I was driving home on the weekends for games and relying on Jo to facilitate practices with the assistance of a trainer from the local soccer academy. I'm much happier when I'm in control, though.

Tuesday night I pull into the park and steer my Jeep into a space next to an idling Honda Civic. It's a balmy night, so I have the top down and the doors off. I hop out and start to unload the equipment bags from the backseat when the door of the Civic swings open and Katniss steps out.

I forget how to breathe.

The referee uniform is a distant memory. What she's wearing right now shows me every curve of her tight little body, and fuck is that body incredible. Her neon green and black sports bra definitely constricts her chest a bit, but I can tell she has a good pair of tits, enough for a handful. There's plenty of her flat stomach showing, and the capri leggings give me a great view of that perfect ass. And to top it off, her long dark hair is gathered up in a ponytail. I'm a fucking sucker for ponytails—maybe even more than braids.

Fuck. Me.

She clicks her key fob once and bends down, tucking it into her sock, and then she saunters off, not even venturing a glance in my direction. When she reaches the edge of the trail that frames the entire park, she starts jogging. She's a runner.

Something else we have in common: running. A sly grin creeps across my face, and it must still be there when Johanna squeals into the parking lot and hops out of her SUV.

"What the fuck are you grinning at?" she asks.

"Wha—oh, nothing," I reply hastily, averting my eyes from Katniss. Thank god Jo doesn't see her and make the connection. I really don't feel like dealing with her bullshit tonight.

Practice goes smoothly without incident—aside from the fact that I can't keep my eyes from wandering to Katniss. Our practices last for ninety minutes, and she runs for nearly the entire time I'm there, completing five laps of the park—almost ten miles by my calculation if that sign that boasts the trail is one-point-eight miles long is correct. Just as I'm wrapping up the scrimmage that always ends practices, she comes to a stop near the snack bar and begins some kind of a cool down routine.

It's mesmerizing to watch her curve her upper body into a crescent, stretching her arms first to the left and then to the right. She looks flexible; I wonder what other ways she can move and twist that lithe body of hers. Again I mentally curse out her boyfriend.

"Peeta!"

Johanna's exasperated yell jolts me, and I turn to find her glaring at me, and the girls all giggle and twitter.

"Ah, yeah." I rub the back of my neck. "Good practice girls. Same time, same place Thursday night."

They continue giggling and nudging each other as they gather their things and find their parents in the parking lot. Johanna crosses her arms and gives me a skeptical look.

"Why are you so out of—?" Just then Katniss walks past us towards her car, and Johanna's eyebrows arch up. "Oh, for fuck's sake. You said she had a boyfriend."

I continue swiping at my sweaty neck. "Ah, yeah, she does. Doesn't mean I can't appreciate a sexy athletic girl when I see one."

"God you need to get laid. How do you not get laid more?"

"Maybe because some of us look for more than a quick fuck, Jo," I say quietly, keeping my voice low with Katniss in the vicinity.

Johanna rolls her eyes and reaches into her pocket, retrieving a pack of gum. "Yeah, well sometimes all you need is a quick fuck." She offers the pack to me, and I start to shake my head, but the thought of even exchanging a couple of words with Katniss with questionable breath makes me accept a piece.

"Good luck Romeo," Jo hisses under her breath as she veers off towards her SUV.

I decide to play it casual as I approach my car. I'll just ask her about running. That's safe.

Katniss stands by her Civic drinking from a water bottle. I'm drawn to the graceful column of her throat, and I imagine probing the soft skin with my tongue and my teeth as she rides me. Fuck, maybe I really do need to get laid.

"Hi, Katniss," I say politely as I toss the bag of balls in the backseat of my car.

She freezes and a tiny stream of water trickles down her chin. She sputters and then her entire body wracks with a coughing spasm. Her face flushes deep red, and she continues to convulse. My first-aid training kicks in, and I drop the other equipment bag and rush to her side.

"Are you okay?

She leans against the car door and nods. She doesn't really look okay. But she does stop coughing and takes several shuddering breaths. Her complexion slowly fades back normal. Sweat glistens on her skin, and as much as I try to avoid looking, her sports bra is visibly damp underneath each breast.

Our visual standoff lasts for a minute or two. I shift my weight and give her a warm smile. "You sure you're okay?"

"Fine," she replies hoarsely. "Thank you."

I can see her hand trembling. She reaches for the door handle and quickly slides into the driver's seat. It takes her no time to start the engine and back out of the space. I watch her taillights until they're little more than two red gems glowing in the distance.

So much for that.

The next night I'm at the park again for my co-ed soccer game. I play in a league in the summer, but since it's only May and 'summer' has only already started for those of us in college, I'm reduced to finding pick up games throughout the area. I like most of the guys and girls that usually show, and we often go out for beers after the games.

It's unseasonably hot tonight, and by halftime, I'm sweating profusely. I whip off my shirt and mop my face and neck, then crumple it into a ball and lob it towards the sideline. And as I do, I see Katniss.

She's standing about thirty feet away from the field, sort of jogging in place on the running trail, and it sure looks like she's staring at me. I know I'm in great shape, and I know it's immature of me to do it, but I do it anyway: I bow my elbows back, which causes the muscles in my arms to flex and my chest to thrust out a bit. I give her a little wave, and that's when she steps back like she's touched a hot stove and she runs off with a swish of that ponytail. God…that ass.

"Mellark! Game on!" Finnick calls to me, and I sprint back into the action.

Her car is nowhere to be seen by the time the game ends 45 minutes later.

I don't see Katniss again for over a week. My girls' team's next game is away, and she also seems to be avoiding the park—or she's changed her routine to be there times that she thinks I won't be.

I try not to think about her. I try not to think about wanting a girl that I can't have. I try not to think about some other guy getting to run his hands all over that incredible body and getting to kiss that plush little mouth.

I jerk off a lot—trying (but failing) not to think about Katniss.

On Sunday when I arrive at the field for our game, I happen to pull into the parking space right beside her Civic. I don't even do it on purpose. When she hops out of her car and slides her drawstring bag onto her shoulders and sees me getting out of my Jeep, her eyes go wide, her cheeks flush, and she practically trips over her own feet to get away from me.

I shake my head and grab my bag. Why the hell am I letting this girl get the best of me? She's made it perfectly clear that being near me must be the equivalent of the plague or some shit. I need to stop pining over her and not even interact with her. I'm not used to people not wanting to be around me, but it's better for my self-esteem if I just cut my losses and avoid her altogether.

She's not our ref—she's on Field 8, three away from where I'm coaching. I'm feeling pretty fucking proud of myself when our game ends in a 3-0 victory and I've only stolen glances at her twice. It's like being a recovering alcoholic—"Hi, I'm Peeta, and I'm addicted to a girl who obviously can't stand me." Baby steps.

I spend a few minutes loitering on the field, conversing with a couple of parents and making notes for Tuesday's practice based on some things I saw. When I finally start to walk towards the parking lot, I see Katniss making her way down the path ahead of me. Her eyes are glued to her phone as she walks, and I deliberately keep my distance behind her. Baby steps.

Something falls from Katniss's hand and as I approach it, it glints on the ground in front of me. I squint and the sunlight hits it again. A thin, harsh beam strikes my retina, and I have to blink when I reach down. Katniss's picture stares back at me, a reserved smile on her face. Her name is beneath the photo: Katniss Everdeen. There's also an ID number and her certifications are listed. Her referee card. She needs this.

"Katniss!" I call, and I can see her stiffen at her name. She slowly turns around and I swear I can feel the icicles coming off her even at a distance. I jog towards her, and she crosses her arms.

"I told you I had a boyfriend," she says when I reach her. There's no venom in her voice. It actually kind of sounds like she's pleading with me. She must think I'm pathetic.

I smile humorlessly. "Relax. I'm not hitting on you." I hand her the card. "You dropped this."

Our fingers brush, and I feel that jolt again. She avoids my eyes as she turns her card over in her palm. She doesn't say anything, and she keeps turning the card over and over. And because I'm not pathetic, and I'm also not a glutton for punishment, and she's obviously not going to thank me, I manage another rueful smile before I turn and walk off towards my car without another word. Baby steps.

I climb into my Jeep and slump back against the seat, wincing when my shoulder blades touch the hot leather. My earlier disappointment has changed to irritation. Why does it bother me so much that this girl is so hostile towards me? Maybe Jo is right. Maybe I do need a good quick fuck. Maybe once my sexual frustration is sated whatever strange hold Katniss has on me will vanish. I wrench my phone out of my front pocket and start to text Jo; I'm confident she'll jump at the chance to meet me somewhere and play wingman for the night.

It doesn't take her more than a second to reply.

I rev my engine, and when I back out of the parking space I keep my eyes straight ahead, even though I sense Katniss's eyes on me. I don't glance back in the rearview mirror either.

Baby steps.

"That blonde over there has been eye fucking you for the last hour. How about her? She doesn't even look like she'd be a challenge."

I tear my attention away from the Kings/Ducks playoff game on the TV over the bar and glance in the direction Jo's indicating with her Corona bottle. I make eye contact with the blonde girl, and she grins immediately, waggling her fingers at me flirtatiously.

She's pretty enough, but even from clear across the bar I can see the overdone makeup and her low cut top was obviously chosen to show off her huge tits. I like a good pair of breasts as much as the next guy, but I don't do fake. I like them real—like Katniss's.

Fuck. Why can I not get her out of my head?

Jo must sense my internal disapproval, because she snorts and takes a pull off her beer. "It's just sex, Mellark. You're not putting a ring on it and bringing her home to Mama."

I draw the letter 'K' again and again in the condensation on my pint glass and heave a sigh. I know it's just sex. That's the problem. Not that I don't like sex. I just like it more when I have some kind of emotional connection to the girl.

Jo makes another sound of disapproval. "I knew you wouldn't have the balls to go through with it." She drains the rest of her beer and plunks down the bottle. "If you're not into her, I'll go give her a whirl." She purses her lips at me and blows me a kiss and strides towards the blonde.

I order another beer and go back to watching the hockey game. Johanna doesn't come back, but the blonde is still at her table with her friends, and I can only presume Jo has sunk her talons into some other unsuspecting conquest for the night. The only question would be whether she's gone home with a guy or a girl.

"Hey, it's Peeta, right?"

Cutting my eyes away from the bar, I look into the smiling face of a pretty redhead who looks vaguely familiar.

"Uh, yeah," I nod, studying her more carefully. "Have we—?"

"I think we had psychology together freshman year. I'm Lavinia."

I don't really remember; my psych lecture had three hundred other students in it, but I kind of do recognize her face. I give her a polite smile and nod. "Lavinia, yeah. How are you?"

"Good," she enthuses. She motions to Jo's vacated stool. "Mind if I join you?"

"Ah—" Shit. It's not in me to be rude to a girl. But Lavinia doesn't wait for an answer. She slides onto the stool and scoots it closer to where I sit. The bartender approaches her and I try not to roll my eyes when she orders some kind of frozen berry concoction. Finnick would say that's a red flag right there: a high-maintenance drink.

"So what have you been up to since classes ended?"

"Oh, relaxing a bit. Working for my dad. Coaching soccer. Playing soccer."

She wrinkles her nose. "Soccer. I don't know anything about soccer. Oh, wait! I know you can't use your hands!" She seems proud of herself for that one.

I smile tightly and nod. "Yeah, that's soccer."

"It's no fun if you can't use your hands," she says, giving me a knowing smile while stroking my forearm. She puts her straw in her mouth and slowly sucks on it.

Her blatant flirting has the opposite effect of what she probably intends—it's a total turnoff. But I guess girls like this are why Johanna is always so confident about finding me a willing girl on any given night.

As Lavinia rambles on about her internship at some law firm and not knowing what she wants to do when we graduate next year, I think about our next game and if I want to put Rue back in goal and that leads to me thinking about Katniss—again. I'm deep in the middle of fantasizing about fucking her on the soccer field when Lavinia coughs and says my name—twice.

"Yeah, sorry," I reply. I give her the smile Johanna refers to as my 'panty-dropper' to placate her, and Lavinia beams predictably.

"I was just asking if you wanted to get out of here." She bats her eyelashes and leans closer to me.

I don't. I don't want her. I want someone I can't have, and it's going to take me a little time to accept that I can't have Katniss. No matter how much Johanna says I need a quick fuck I just can't do the one-night stand thing.

But Lavinia has inadvertently given me the perfect out and I'm not going to pass it up. I glance at my phone and feign shock. "Actually I should get going. I have to be up for work really early."

She pouts and looks a little pissed. "Come on, one night won't kill you. I have to be at the law firm by 8…" Her blood-red fingernails drag up my arm; it gives me shivers but not the good kind.

"My parents run a bakery," I reply, throwing a few extra dollar bills on the bar. "I get up at 5."

That works. Her mouth rounds and she wrinkles her nose. "God, that fucking sucks! I can't remember the last time I got up before 6."

I thank her for the conversation and tell her maybe I'll see her soon, but as I leave the bar I don't feel at all bad about lying to her.

I'm sitting in my car Wednesday night answering a parent's email about summer training sessions when I hear a quiet voice say "I'm sorry" outside my door. It catches me by surprise and my phone tumbles to the floorboard. I look over. Katniss stands there, a nervous smile on her face. I swallow hard and take in the sight of her. She's wearing a tank top and a tiny pair of athletic shorts, with a pair of neon soccer socks over shin guards. She's got cleats on her feet, and her hair is up in a neat ponytail. My pulse races. What the fuck is she doing here dressed like that?

She takes a shaky breath and continues, "I'm sorry about the other day…I should have thanked you…for picking up my card. I…I'm always dropping things. So…thank you."

"You're welcome." I fumble around for my phone and toss it into the console.

"Wait," she says, urgency choking her voice. "I'm…um…sorry about more than that." Her fingers are restless, toying with the fringed ends of her ponytail, plucking invisible things off her tank top, hooking into her pockets.

I hold up a hand. "No need for any more apologies. I know you have a boyfriend. If me talking to you makes you uncomfortable…I'll just leave you alone from now on."

I feel a warmth encircle my biceps as her hand wraps around my arm. She's looking at me with such intensity in those grey eyes that it makes me swallow involuntarily again.

"I don't have a boyfriend…I lied," she whispers.

Between her hand on my skin and her confession I'm basically rendered mute. Not many people can steal my words from me, but this girl has. She doesn't have a boyfriend. The implications of this suddenly ricochet through my head.

"That's not something you need to be sorry about." I keep my tone light and playful, hoping to put her at ease.

She lets go of my arm, and I instantly miss the sensation; my skin prickles in protest. Her eyes, however, stay fixed on mine, and I'm powerless to look away.

"I'm…It's just that…oh God, I'm not good with this stuff…I didn't know how to act around you. I panicked."

My heart is pounding, contained only by my rib cage, and it takes everything I have not to tug her into the front seat, crush my lips to hers, and fuck her right here. Her nervousness…her fidgeting…there's something so innocent and pure about her. It makes her that much sexier.

"You panicked because...?" I prompt, hopping out of the car to stand next to her.

She laughs softly, a delicious sound. "I panicked because I don't think refs are supposed to be seen flirting with coaches. I don't want to get in trouble, or get you in trouble, or get accused of favoritism or…"

Relief washes over me first. Then understanding. It makes perfect sense. And she is right. The referees in the league take enough flack from coaches and parents to compound the abuse with accusations of bias. And the fact that she's one of the only female refs…there would definitely be some kind of fallout.

"I just didn't know an easier way to dissuade you," she continues. "The boyfriend excuse seemed safe."

"It worked," I murmur. "It definitely worked. I've spent the last two weeks being insanely jealous of some guy who doesn't exist."

She releases a long, tremulous breath. "So you're…um…you like me? You're attracted to me? For real?"

"Katniss, I am so attracted to you. I've thought of nothing but you—"

The sharp crunch of tires and the spit of gravel interrupt me, and Finnick lurches into the spot on the other side of me, leering at us from his own Jeep. I give him a look that tells him what lousy fucking timing he has, and he just grins back and jumps out of his car.

"You here to play?" he asks, looking her up and down. He shoots me a wolfish grin of approval.

She nods hesitantly and glances at me. "I…uh…saw you guys playing last week when I was running, and I used to play in high school and I thought maybe…I mean if there's even room for me…if you guys want me…"

God she's so fucking cute. I can't wait to show her how much I want her.

"No, it's open play," I reply.

"The more the merrier," Finnick adds.

"I hope I don't suck and embarrass you," she says, chewing on her bottom lip, as the three of us make our way up the hill to the field.

"It's all for fun. I'm sure you'll do fine," I reassure her. She gives me a cautious smile.

And she does fine—she does more than fine. She's fast, and she doesn't seem to tire. She even sets up Finnick for a beautiful one-timer with about five minutes left. When the game ends, I tell her just how amazing she played.

"Thanks," she replies. I can't tell if the color in her cheeks is from exertion or my compliments. Whichever it is I like it. I bet she'd be the same flushed pink shade after an orgasm or two. I hope to fucking god I get to find that out.

I explain to her that sometimes after a game we go out for a beer at the bar around the corner, and I ask if she'd be up for that. She nods enthusiastically and says it sounds like fun. But as it turns out, we're the only two who go to Sae's. Everyone else flakes. If I didn't know better I'd think it were some kind of conspiracy. Finnick even wiggles his eyebrows at me and mock purses his lips at me. But I won't complain having Katniss all to myself.

I wait by the bar's door for her as she parks. She gets out of her car, and I'm a little disappointed that she's now got a windbreaker zipped up over her tank top. She gives me a sweet smile when I hold the door open for her.

I search for a table in the bar's lounge. It may be a Wednesday night, but there are playoff games on, and the bar is crowded.

"There's one," Katniss points, and I see she's gesturing towards one of the little semi-circular booths that dominate the far wall. They're only meant for two people, and we'll be seated side-by-side. Which I am more than okay with.

The first thing I notice when I slide in next to her is that despite our rigorous workout there's an amazing smell emanating from her skin. The only way I can describe it is like laundry dried out in the sun. I think there's a thin layer of lip balm slicking her mouth too. I can't help but wonder if she cleaned herself up a little in her car.

A bartender comes over to us, and I motion for Katniss to order first. She glances past the guy's shoulder, discriminating among the taps lining the bar.

"No microbrews on draft?" she asks.

The bartender seems a little surprised by the question. "Ah, no. We have a pretty extensive offering in bottles though." He plucks a little leather book from the center of the table and opens it for her. She scans it for about thirty seconds and passes it to me.

"I'll just have a pint of Sam Summer, please."

I close the book and place it back where it belongs. "I'll have the same." The bartender asks for our IDs, and when he's satisfied, he walks away to get our beers. I turn to face Katniss. "A beer connoisseur, are we?"

She shrugs and hides a smile. "I appreciate finely crafted beer, yes. Does that surprise you?" There's a flirtatious lilt to her voice.

I grin. "Maybe. But I like surprises."

She purses her lips at me. "That makes one of us."

"Not one for surprises, hmm?"

"Not really. I like knowing where I stand with things."

The bartender brings us our beers, and I raise my pint glass to her. She clinks her glass against mine. "To surprises," I tease.

She licks the foam from her lips and arches an eyebrow at me. "I just told you that I don't like surprises, and that's what you're going to toast to?"

I take a long sip of the cold beer and savor the taste. "Well it was a very good surprise to find out you lied about your boyfriend."

There's that lovely blush on her cheeks again. She runs her index finger around and around the rim of her glass and then meets my eyes. "I guess. But I wish I had just told you the truth sooner. I much prefer to know where things stand. And I like honesty." Her fingers leave the rim of the glass and drum idly on the table, inching towards my forearm.

I take the hint. I inch closer to her and place my hand atop hers. "I like honesty, too."

Through another round of Sams, Katniss and I open up to each other about anything and everything. I feel like I've known her my entire life. And I'm definitely relieved to hear that she lives at home with her mom and sister. It makes the fact that I'm also still living at home until I finish school a little less lame.

A fair amount of flirting also peppers our conversation, and a palpable tension builds between us. The air is thick and charged, and I know she feels it too. Somewhere between her second and third beer, Katniss unzips her windbreaker and shrugs it off her shoulders. I still don't get a great peek at her breasts, but for the first couple of seconds I can see her nipples poking out against the fabric.

"You have the most beautiful eyes," she whispers, staring at me intently. "Do people ask you if they're real?"

I laugh. "Ah, yeah, once or twice. No contacts—they're real. I've got 20/15 vision actually."

"So they're like magic eyes," she teases. "Do you have X-ray vision, too?"

That leads into a spirited debate about what super power we'd each want if we could have one, which in turn leads to a long discussion about the influx of superhero movies, and soon we're quoting our favorite films—many of which we share.

We order one last beer. As she nurses hers, she steadily closes the gap between our bodies, our bare thighs touching under the table. I glance down at her and she holds my gaze while she purposely swathes her tongue across her upper lip. I steal a quick breath and let my hand settle on her knee. Her eyes darken almost instantly, shifting from that clear pale silver to a smoky charcoal grey. Her hand covers mine and slides it up her leg several inches. Her skin is so soft and the look she's giving me makes my dick stir to life. It's a good thing I'm wearing athletic shorts so they don't start to feel uncomfortably tight the more I think about what I want to do to this girl.

Just before midnight, Katniss finishes her beer and excuses herself to go to the restroom. I pay the bill quickly before she can return and fight me for it. Then I wait for her right by the exit of the bathrooms. She emerges and nearly jumps out of her skin when I step in front of her.

"Surprise," I tease.

But I'm the one in for a shock when she backs me into the wall and her hot lips press to mine. I taste the citrus and hops from our beer when her tongue paints my lower lip and begs entry into my mouth.

"I've been dying to do that all night," she says, her voice a throaty purr.

"Let's go. Now. I already paid our tab."

"And here I was going to treat." She pouts, and it's so impossibly sexy that it lures my mouth back to hers. I give her a quick, hungry kiss, and she pouts again when I release her.

"You can get next time," I promise, threading my fingers through hers. "C'mon."

Luckily the bar is dim and there are hardly any patrons left, because my raging hard on is pretty fucking evident in my shorts. My body hums with electricity. Now that I've tasted her lips, I'm addicted. I need more. We barely reach her car before I tug her to me.

"You have the most incredible mouth," I whisper. "It's perfect. I've been thinking about it nonstop." I kiss around the edges of her lips and then retrace the same path with my tongue. "What it would feel like…what it would taste like…" She starts to whimper softly. The sounds she's making are so delicious that every single moan is as good her fist pumping my cock; I'm hard as a rock. I finally capture her mouth fully. She moans louder and scrapes her nails along my scalp.

I cover her body with mine, pinning her to the side of her car. I wedge one leg between hers, and I know she feels my hard-on when she grinds against me. Her hands clutch at my shoulders then slide down to my hips. I play it safe and do the gentlemanly thing, keeping one hand on her jaw while I kiss her, letting the other one rest on the small of her back.

"I should get home," she whispers, regret heavy in her voice. "I…ah…my mom will worry."

"It's okay." I lean my forehead against hers and kiss the tip of her nose. "I have to work in the morning and I have practice tomorrow night." I tilt my head and kiss the curve of her jaw, then I move down to feather more kisses along her neck. "When do I get to see you again?"

Her eyes sparkle in the moonlight. "That depends when you're asking me out."

I'm unable to resist kissing my way back to her mouth. "How's Friday?"

"I can do Friday. I get paid Friday." She grins at me. "You told me I could get next time."

I steal three more goodnight kisses before I open her door for her and start counting down the minutes until Friday.

Before I leave for my pick up game the following Wednesday, I grab a strip of condoms from the box in my bedside drawer and shove them in the glove compartment. Call it a gut feeling: I'm going to fuck Katniss tonight.

We probably could have had sex already. Our date Friday night had affirmed that Katniss and I were perfect for each other. She willingly suggested playing laser tag and sharing wings and burgers and beer. We talked and laughed and kissed, and once I drove her home, the kissing continued in her driveway. Hands roamed and fingers teased, but we kept our clothes on.

We went out again Saturday evening. I don't even remember what movie we saw, because the minute the previews ended and the lights dimmed, my lips were on hers, and we only broke for air a couple of times. After the movie, we parked in the cul-de-sac near her house. Things got heated very quickly, and she was the aggressor. I was the one who stopped us. Call me a sentimental pussy, but we're 21, not fifteen. I didn't want our first time together to be in the back seat of a damn Jeep. I can already seeing myself marrying this girl, and our kids and grandkids deserve a better story than that.

Katniss's car is already in the parking lot when I pull in. She's behind the wheel, completely focused on the screen of her Kindle. I watch her for a second, grinning at how she chews on her lower lip in concentration as she reads. I rap lightly on her window, and she jumps. Her face breaks into a smile, and she powers down the device and shoves it in her glove compartment. I open the door for her, and she greets me with a very stimulating kiss. Her tongue twines around mine, and it awakens other parts of me. Her fingers slip beneath the thin fabric of my Under Armour tee and trace the ridges of my stomach muscles.

"Wow," I gasp when our mouths finally wrench apart. "If you keep doing that my heart isn't going to be able to keep up for ninety minutes of soccer."

"Or we could skip soccer and go somewhere," she murmurs, rising up on her toes a little to kiss under my jaw.

"Don't tempt me, sweetheart," I growl, backing her into her door and swiveling my hips a bit so she can feel what she's done to me. She laughs, her breath hot on my neck, but before I can kiss her she springs back. I turn to see several of the guys who are regulars making their way across the lot. I look back to Katniss and tuck a strand of hair that's escaped her ponytail behind her ear.

"I'm not finished with you," I whisper, reaching down to adjust my erection. I trap it with the waistband of my boxer briefs until it can deflate. She sucks in a breath and bites down on her bottom lip.

Katniss and I are on opposing teams tonight. I swear it amps the sexual tension between us a thousand times over. On one play she defends me using her shoulder, which is legal, but I'm pretty sure angling her body so her breast brushes my elbow is not fighting fair. And then there's the time she full on collides with me. It sends us both sprawling to the grass. I don't miss the fact that she lingers atop me. Her pelvis thrusts against me once, and she gives me a look that threatens to get me hard if I don't get her the fuck off me.

"You're playing with fire, Everdeen," I hiss.

She leans down and smirks. "And I'm going to burn you, Mellark."

I don't think she's talking about the game. My blood pressure kicks into overdrive.

Her brazen behavior also fuels my adrenaline, and I score two unanswered goals for my team. Katniss catches my eye after the second and that fucking sexy lower lip juts out. I mouth, 'Sorry.' She grins confidently and mouths back, 'Don't be.'

The game ends in a 3-3 tie just seconds after I miss the far right post by inches. Katniss saunters up to me and clucks her tongue playfully. "Almost had a hat trick there, Mellark."

"You don't have a hat to throw at me if I had scored," I volley back.

She grins. "I'd have found something else to take off and throw at you."

"If I have my way you're going to be taking plenty off tonight."

Her grin gets wider and she steps closer to me. "Oh, I definitely want you to have your way. You can have your way with me anytime."

Yep. Smart move putting those condoms in the car.

Unlike last week, nearly half the assembled players decide to hit Sae's after the game. Finnick is one of the few who heads home, but not before he winks at me and tells me to 'wrap that shit up' and gestures to my groin. I flip him off and tell him I'll talk to him tomorrow.

We all wind up in a large triangular booth in the back corner of the bar. It's a tight fit for ten people, but I don't give a shit because Katniss is practically perched in my lap. I encourage her to squeeze in even closer to me by draping my right arm along the top of the booth above her. She takes the hint, scoots right up against me, and gives me a wicked little smile when her left hand settles on my upper thigh. Her fingers splay out a little, coming dangerously close to my groin. I raise an eyebrow at her in question, and she drops her eyes in mock innocence.

Two can play that game.

I inconspicuously slip my own hand beneath the table and drag my thumb along the curve of her waist, edging up the hem of her tank top to tease the bare skin just above her hip. She squirms, and her fingers climb higher on my leg. While the others order their beers, I lean in and let my mouth hover scant centimeters from her ear.

"You want to know what I want to do to you tonight?" I whisper, smirking when she shivers and her hand clenches my thigh. I draw back. Her eyes sparkle like quartz, and her lips curve into a seductive smile. Then I have to stifle a gasp when I feel her palm cup me and squeeze my cock. I swell immediately, and she lets out a little laugh that only makes me harder.

"Do tell," she purrs, continuing to rub her hand over my groin.

She expects me to think straight now? I want to close my eyes and drop my head to the back of the booth and succumb to the waves of pleasure that are starting to crest. She's barely touching me and I'm like a fucking powder keg.

She doesn't let up when the waitress reaches us. Katniss gives a polite little smile and orders two Sam Summers. I keep my mouth closed and hiss out between my teeth, "You have to stop." Her lower lip protrudes in that pout. Fuck that pout. She has no idea the effect she has on me; everything she does drives me insane.

"Stop what?" she asks innocently. That familiar ripple of heat kindles in my balls. She's getting dangerously close to pushing me past the point of no return. She grips me one last time before skimming her palm back to settle on my knee just as the waitress sets our beers down.

"One round," she says softly. Her index finger traces figure eights on my skin. "One round and we're out of here."

"Definitely," I breathe. I glance around the table to be sure everyone's not just staring watching the sexual energy crackle between us, but most of the team is oblivious to our antics, wrapped up in their own conversations.

Katniss arches one brow, picks up her pint glass, and knocks a third of it back in one swallow. She takes another long swallow and sets the glass down with barely a quarter left in it. She holds me in place with a triumphant smirk.

I fucking love this girl.

We last ten minutes before our glasses are both empty and I throw down a twenty to cover our beers. It's way more than necessary but I don't give a fuck. I don't have change, and I need to get Katniss somewhere fast. She was absolutely right—I'm burning up for her.

We don't even make it through the door and her body is flush against mine. Our lips wrestle and my cock throbs to life again.

"Where can we go?" she mumbles. My teeth trap her lower lip as I think.

"The park. There's a field in the way back, beyond the running trail," I whisper. "They don't use it anymore. No one ever goes up there."

She nods eagerly. "I'll follow you."

It's a five-minute drive, but I swear it's the longest fucking five minutes of my life. There are only two cars in the lot when we arrive, and I can see two couples playing tennis. The courts are in the front of the park—far away from where I have in mind. Katniss tails me around to the rear lot, and I signal for her to park. I can easily take the Jeep up the trail (though I'm not entirely sure I'm supposed to). She clambers into the passenger side and gives me a searing kiss.

"Hang on," I murmur, shifting gears and pulling on to the narrow path. We bump over the trail until I turn the bend and the abandoned baseball diamond comes into view.

I cut the headlights and kill the engine. It's eerily quiet up here—nothing but a chorus of crickets and the slight rustling of the overgrown grass. The floodlights barely reach this part of the park, casting everything in a pale glow.

I hop out and go around to her side of the Jeep, offering her my hand. She gasps when I lift her into my arms. I bypass her lips and go straight for the slope of her neck, urging her to tilt her head back. Her skin is like some kind of elixir I could get drunk on all night. My tongue traces her collarbone and dips into the hollow of her throat, and she moans when my nose nuzzles the tops of her breasts. She arches up, a silent plea for me to touch her, but I go back to kissing and nipping my way up the other side of her neck. I walk her backwards until we're standing before the metal bleachers.

"You…" I whisper into her ear, "…are going to ruin me, you know that?"

"Why is that?" Her eyes swim with lust and curiosity. Her breathless pants match the pulsing of my cock, so fucking eager to be buried inside her.

"Because I think about you…this…all the time. I can't get enough of you." I lower myself to the bottom bleacher and cup her ass, guiding her down to straddle my lap.

"You haven't had all of me yet," she whispers hotly. She takes my hands and places them on her breasts. I close my eyes, basking in the feel of her perfect tits in my palms. I knead them gently at first then squeeze them harder. I'm momentarily stunned when she shoves my hands away. She locks her gaze on me. Her pupils have nearly swallowed the grey of her irises. She pulls her tank top off, but it takes a little more effort for her to yank her sports bra up.

I nearly lose it when she arches her back and I touch her bare breasts. We both let out a sigh. I fondle the soft mounds, evoking more of those breathy moans from her. She bucks her hips and rocks along my erection when my thumbs edge closer to her nipples. But I don't touch them yet. I make a little game of circling the areolas then brushing my fingertips outward, following the curve under each breast. She twists her upper body back and forth in vain, trying to force me to touch her by accident.

"Peeta," she whines.

I ignore her pleas. My palms leave her breasts and slide down her ribs, seizing her hips to force her body upward. When her chest is right in front of me, I lean forward and graze the tip of one nipple with my tongue. Then I sit back and watch her eyes flash. I do it again, touching it with a bit more pressure this time. I can see her impatience mounting. (I'm barely holding it together myself.) I lick around the circumference of the nipple once…twice…and I feel her breast break out in goose bumps when I finally flatten my tongue over the hard bud. She hisses my name again and her fingers dig into my shoulder blades. I grip her hips tighter and take the nipple between my teeth, nipping gently. A new sound vibrates in her throat and she throws her head back.

It's selfish of me, but I indulge in licking and sucking and biting until Katniss places her hands on mine and pushes down, settling herself back in my lap.

"Couldn't help myself," I whisper, tugging her ponytail lightly. "Your tits are fucking incredible." Even in the scant lighting I can see her cheeks redden. Has no one ever complimented her before?

She feels for the hem of my shirt and yanks it up over my head. My skin tingles in the night air, and she drops her head to trail hot kisses along my collarbone. I grope her breasts again while she teases me with her tongue the same way I did to her. When she kisses her way up to my mouth, she crushes her body to mine. Her tongue plunges past my lips, exploring my mouth with hot strokes.

"Peeta...do you…can we…?" The words tumble from her lips in spurts, like a faucet that's been turned off for too long. She's breathless, as tightly strung as I am. I know where this is going. But I don't want it to be over too fast.

"Yeah," I croon softly, cupping her cheek gently to persuade her to slow down. "I do. And we can. I want to…so bad. But I want to play with you a little longer."

She scoots back on me, her ass stopping at my knees. My eyes are drawn to her chest like magnets when she takes a long deep breath and her breasts swell. Then she climbs off me and deliberately takes her damn sweet time tugging her shorts down. She stands before me in nothing but a pair of low-rise boy shorts which might as well be painted on they hug her ass so flawlessly.

"Still want to play?" she taunts.

"Fuck, yes. C'mere."

She shakes her head and toys with the sides of her panties, shimmying them down an inch or so before resettling them below her hips. My heart hammers loudly, and I think it forgets how to beat for a moment. Yep, she's going to be the death of me.

"Holy shit, Katniss, don't tease me like that."

"I thought you wanted to play," she whispers. The second that pout makes its appearance I lose control. I lunge out and grab her, yanking her panties off. She squeals and I can see her body tremble as I lie down, the cold metal of the bleachers a shock to my bare back. I wrap one hand around her slender thigh and her eyes fill with confusion.

"Peeta, how are you—?"

I quietly explain to her to place her one leg up on the bleacher above me and leave her other leg on the ground. Cautiously, she obeys. I feel my ab muscles tense when I raise myself up. Katniss stares down at me, shivering from the cool night air.

"You are so gorgeous." I breathe in, memorizing the scent of her arousal. My eyes still locked on hers, I wedge my tongue between her folds and lap at her. Her nipples tighten into stiff peaks again and she bites her lip to keep quiet. I grin and swirl my tongue around, gathering more of her on it. I lick her again and again, and then I use one hand to expose her swollen clit. She shudders a little when I hum against it before sucking it into my mouth. An animalistic cry erupts from her and her eyes close. Before I even have the chance to slip two fingers inside her she's pulsing against my mouth and trembling above me. She came so quickly; while I'm proud that I was able to bring her to orgasm that fast, I definitely worry that my own lust for her will mean I won't last long when I'm inside her.

While her convulsions slow, I struggle to sit up and bring her back into my lap. I kiss her neck and rub her back until she opens her eyes. "Wow," she gasps. She snakes her hand beneath her and rubs the bulge in my shorts. "Please tell me you have condoms." She slants her lips over mine. I nod; she orders me to get them, and she slides off onto the bleacher while I race to retrieve the strip of condoms. Once I've got them, I shed my shorts and underwear and toss them on the hood of my Jeep. I feel her eyes raking up and down my nakedness, licking her lips in anticipation.

She takes the condom from me and teases me with a quick swipe of her tongue over the head of my cock. Then I help her pinch the tip and unroll the condom down my shaft. I sit down beside her and haul her back atop me. She wraps her legs around my waist. We kiss unhurriedly for several minutes, and then I whisper, "You ready?"

She nods and I grasp her hips, supporting her weight. I lift her up and lower her onto my cock. I can't keep from groaning as I fill her; she's so fucking tight and perfect that I don't know how I don't come right away. Her eyes are wide with wonder when I start to move within her. We kiss again. I keep my hands planted on her hips to encourage her to move with me. She finds a rhythm that works for her, rising up and bearing back down to counter my thrusts. Once or twice she grimaces and whimpers. I brush my lips over the hollow of her throat and ask her if she's okay.

"Fine…" she gasps. "Feels…so…ngh…"

"Keep your eyes open," I beg. "Look at me, Katniss."

She tilts her pelvis and it allows me to drive deeper inside her. She cries my name and I lower my head to tug on one of her nipples. I can feel my cock getting ready to explode; I've been teetering on the brink since we started fucking. I can't hold off my orgasm much longer.

"Katniss, I'm gonna come soon," I rasp. "Are you—?"

She finishes my thought for me. "So close. I'm so…close…"

I steady my grip on her left hip so I can rub her clit with two fingers. She screams my name into the quiet night, and her walls begin to flutter madly around my aching cock. It's the last straw. I feel every muscle in my body seize as I release into the condom. My cock pulses in time with her pussy, and when she slumps against me, I can feel her heart galloping. Her arms vine around me, and she caresses my back with feather-light touches until I soften inside her.

"I've never felt that good before," she whispers. "You…god, you're good at that."

I sweep my thumb over the curve of her cheekbone. "You bring out the best in me, what can I say?" I bring her mouth to meet mine. A lazy kiss gives way to her tongue prying my lips apart, but the kiss stays slow and leisurely. It feels even more intimate kissing her now that we've had sex.

When I feel the blood starting to rush to my cock again, I realize I'm still inside her and still wearing the spent condom. Reluctantly, I cradle her and shift her off me, hugging her tightly. "You know as a teenager I always had that stereotypical fantasy about banging a chick under the bleachers. I'm gonna say that fucking the hottest woman in the world on the bleachers obliterates that stupid fantasy."

Her nails rake up and down my arm. "You'll have to tell me some more of these fantasies of yours," she murmurs. "Cause that will definitely help me surprise you in the near future."

"I thought you didn't like surprises," I tease.

She smirks and cups my jaw. "Oh I don't. But I won't be the one who's surprised."

I grin. "In that case…"

A/N—When I can find some time, I might be inspired to continue this...thanks for reading!