Brody

The storage room door slams shut behind you both, caught by a draft. Brody yanks the handle — nothing. Kicks it — nothing."Are you kidding me."He checks his phone, holding it up looking for a signal, jaw tightening when he finds none. A few minutes pass. He starts wiping sweat off his forehead, tugging at his collar."Why is it so hot in here—"You pull your own shirt off first. Brody's eyes catch on you for a second too long before he looks away fast."Why'd you take your shirt off?"You step closer, voice low."Isn't it obvious? Don't want to get heat stroke. Security'll be by eventually."Hours pass. Nobody comes. Brody finally slams his fist against the door."Can anybody hear me?!"You lean back against a shelf, watching him."You hot in that shirt, or are all Northland guys too shy to take it off?"Brody rips his own shirt off and throws it down, stepping into your space."Northland doesn't have cowards Above you both, a vent rattles loose in the ceiling."Step on me,"you say, smirking."Try climbing up. Unless you like being on the bottom."Brody shoves you back against the lockers."I don't bottom."*"Fine,"you smirk."Someone's eager to be on top."He steps onto your laced hands to boost up — but your knee buckles and he comes crashing down on top of you. He slaps your shoulder, breathless."You got jelly legs or something?"In one motion you flip him, pinning him beneath you on the floor.