Page 44 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

I’m unable to form human words, simply groaning as she grinds against me and I push up into her a few final times, releasing and pulsing until her body is damp with sweat. I fall back on the bed, holding her to me, her braids now a wild mess, her bra hooked on one arm, and my dick still hard inside her.

“You can thank Tom Sawyer and the sword-fighting scene for that,” I pant.

Her body quakes with silent laughter. Our skin is slick and stuck together. It’s perfect.

“I knew it was the sword-fighting,” she says.

I laugh in response, lifting my head enough to kiss the top of her head.

This girl. I think I’m in love with her.

15/

rachel

“Let me walk you up.” Logan is already parked illegally in the loading zone for my dorm. He insisted on bringing me home this morning on his way to the stadium. Apparently, I look “properly fucked.”

My response was, “As long as it’s proper.”

But really? I’m glad he saved me an awkward walk of shame. I have my own car, but I rarely pull it from the garage. It goes to my parents’ house and back because I rarely leave the half-square-mile radius around my dorm. And so far, Logan’s driven everywhere we’ve gone.

“I think I can manage,” I say, leaning over the console and tugging the center of his jersey toward me. He leans in and kisses me softly, lips holding on to mine for extra seconds.

“You look good in my clothes,” he says when our kiss breaks. His gaze dips down to his hoodie that I paired with my dress pants from last night. It’s a solid fashion choice for sure.

“I’ll see you at your game,” I say, slipping out of the passenger seat and shutting the door before he can question me. He insisted I not come since he won’t be playing. He knows I have lab hours to make up, so he encouraged me to go there instead. I think he’s afraid I’ll somehow be wowed by his replacement. To be frank, Cam Ledger sounds like a real ass.

I’m almost to my building’s door when he calls my name out his window, having turned his truck around. I spin on my heels but keep walking backward, cupping my ear as if I can’t hear him shouting at the top of his lungs.

“I’m not even playing!” His palm is out the window as he shout-reasons with me.

“I don’t care!” I give him two open palms then shrug and spin around, ducking inside before he can yell anything back.

The front desk girl’s name is Kira, I found out. Logan officially introduced us since he and she have become friends thanks to his drop-by visits. She’s hugging an enormous vat of iced coffee as I approach the desk, her mouth fixed to the straw, on constant suck. I wonder what party she went to last night.

“Hi Rach—oh . . .” Her mouth snaps shut, and I look around me quickly, wondering what her reaction was for. I brush a few stray hairs from my face, tucking them behind my ear, and then my hand gets caught in what feels like a tumbleweed. I smash the mess of hair against my ear and it hits me.

Properly fucked.

“Oh.” The same word she used.

Leaning toward her tumbler, she shows me a smug, knowing smile for about half a second before taking her straw and drawing in a big swig of coffee. My face is hot. Which works out since my hair probably looks like flames.

I skirt around the desk and head to the elevator, but before I’m out of her earshot Kira says, “Atta girl.”

Palm over face.

Thankfully, I’m on my own in the elevator, and it’s early enough in the morning for the halls to be clear still. Even the nerds are still asleep. At least one nerd is awake, however. And she’s sitting on her bed, legs crossed while The Office streams on her laptop.

“Well, hello—oh!” Claire makes the same face Kira did, and the blush that ended at my cheeks before now crawls all the way to the top of my head.

“That bad, huh?” I wince and open our closet door to check the mirror.

“Oh, fuck!” I smash both sides of my hair to my ears.

“Yeah, you did,” Claire jokes.

“Oh, my God!” My gaze hits hers in the reflection, and she falls back in her bed with uncontrollable laughter.

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