Page 29 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

She pulls the spoon from her lips with a sucking sound, and yeah . . . my dick twitches.

“Mystery. Solved.”

Her lips are full, painted with a hint of chocolate ice cream, and my mind goes right to the visual of her taking my dick down her throat and grinning up at me like a good girl. I shift, scooting back against the wall to mask the massive hard-on growing in my pants.

“So, what are we doing, kids?” Claire asks, hopping on her bed and folding her legs up.

“Oh, uh . . . I don’t know.” I was kind of hoping Claire would give us some privacy, but I guess that’s a fairly selfish assumption on my part. It’s likely dark out by now, and this is a building filled with people who take school nights pretty seriously.

“You wanna watch The Office with us?” Rachel digs her spoon into the ice cream and holds it out for me. An offering.

“Would you cringe if I told you I’ve never seen it?” I take the spoon in the nick of time because apparently, yes, they would cringe. They are cringing. And gesticulating. Meanwhile, that’s damn good ice cream.

I reach over to take another scoop but Rachel pulls the carton back and points a finger at me.

“I tried the party thing, and I think we can both agree I went all in.” Rachel’s chin lowers and she hits me with a hard stare, her eyes still tired-looking from what I’m sure was a long night and a rough morning.

“Yes, you went full-tilt on the party thing,” I admit.

“I second that,” Claire adds.

“The Office is a work of genius. Not everyone gets it. And those who don’t are sorely missing out.”

“Here, here!” Claire adds in.

I cough out a laugh at how seriously they’re taking this.

“I understand,” I say, reaching once again with the spoon. Rachel pushes it away.

“Do you?” She leans in, and I swear if we were alone right now, I would toss the ice cream on the floor and kiss her.

I meet her stare.

“I do,” I say.

Her lips part with a tiny breath, and it feels as if long seconds pass with the two of us locked in this protected bubble. Even Claire has disappeared.

“You may have the ice cream,” Rachel relents, shifting the tub between us and unveiling a second spoon. I narrow my eyes on it and tap the metal edge.

“You dog!” I chastise, earning me a smug grin.

“Are you guys going to do this all night? Because it’s totally going to kill the satire,” Claire groans.

I dig out a massive scoop and put the spoonful in my mouth, but my eyes stay glued on Rachel’s. Neither of us seem to have an answer for Claire. But not because we don’t know what she means. We do. And yes, we are going to do this all night.

It took exactly six minutes for this to become my favorite show. By the middle of episode two, I was hooked.

“You like Pam, don’t you,” Rachel says, pushing a finger against my bicep.

“I do. I really do,” I say, almost in a trance from the seven episodes we binged and the gallon of ice cream we consumed. I ate most of it. I’m going to drag ass at practice in the morning.

“When did we lose her?” I roll my head to the side and glance to the pile of pillows and blankets burying her roommate. She’s snoring lightly, the only proof that she’s really sleeping and alive.

“I think episode four,” Rachel says.

She recrosses her ankles, something she’s done every ten minutes or so for the entirety of the night. I’ve memorized the pattern on her fuzzy socks, and have a permanent soft spot on my thigh where our legs have kissed for most of the night. We’ve remained very disciplined. At least, I have. I sense in her twitchiness, though, that Rachel is also very much feeling the heat between us.

My gaze travels up the length of her body until I’m looking her in the eyes. We’re close enough that I can see the faint line of her contacts in her eyes. Her hair is twisted into a wild pile on top of her head, and her eyelids look heavy. She must be exhausted. Midnight came and went a while ago.

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