Page 50 of Exes and O's

My skin is a live wire. Tingly, pulsing, and sensitive to the tiniest gust of air. Soft lips dance past my chest, making a trail down the valley of my stomach. I can’t see his face, but I know it’s Trevor. The tiniest scrape of his stubble sends a ripple through me. I’m counting my breaths, because if I don’t, I’ll surely pass out. And with each inhale, his spicy scent overpowers everything else. It’s all around me and I want to bask in it like a load of warm, freshly dried laundry.

My breath quickens as his lips move past the curve of my belly button, over the groove of my hipbone, and down. One hand gently palms my breasts while smoothing over my thigh, parting my legs.

Somehow, I’m already undressed from the waist down, sweater bunched up around my stomach, and for some odd reason, I’m not surprised about it. There’s pressure in my thighs as rough fingers dig into the softness of my flesh.

I angle myself upward to run my fingers through his hair,pulling in a light tug. He teases the patch of skin above where I desperately want him. Like the pain in the ass he is, he takes his lips off my skin and meets my eyes in a seductive challenge.

“Keep going,” I whisper, arching my back to push against his compliant mouth.

My vision is a blur of stars as the pressure crescendos higher and higher and—

Click, click. Ding.

My eyes fly open. A harsh flood of fluorescent-yellow light hits me straight in the eyeballs, rendering me near blind. The sweet, chemical aroma of gasoline floods my senses as I force-blink my spotty vision away.

I let out a muffled cry. For the briefest of seconds, I think I’ve been kidnapped—until I take in the finger-drawn lopsided heart in the fog on the windshield I drew earlier in the firehouse parking lot. Past the window, there’s a painted number35on the concrete wall that tells me I’m in the apartment parking garage.

Trevor grunts as he hauls himself out of the driver’s seat.

A brief glance downward tells me I’m still in my clothes too, bundled in my coat. Layered leggings, wool socks, and boots laced tight.

Trevor is certainlynotin between my legs. And his mouth certainlyisn’tdown there, despite the warm, tingly sensation I feel, as if he really were.

Reality settles around me, like pixels slowly but surely filling a screen.

Hello, bleak reality.

It was a dream.

I should be grateful that I haven’t been taken by some psycho who plans to hold me captive as one of three wives in his secrettorture dungeon to birth an army of offspring, but I’m pissed. Frustrated. Like a kid reaching for a decadent piece of chocolate cake on the counter, only to have it snatched away by a health-conscious parent at the very last second.

I’ve received my fair share of oral sex, but no one has made me feel likethat. Like he knew exactly what I wanted, without words. Sure, it was erotic and dangerous, but there was a comfort that’s unexplainable. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t fret about how I looked, or sounded, or tasted. Then again, it wasn’t reallyme.

It was just a dream, I remind myself. It wasn’t real. The feeling wasn’t real. Trevor and I are platonic. Friends only. We do not see each other naked (except accidentally). And we are most certainly not together, despite how perfect it felt.

I clutch my throat, practically choking myself as I come to terms with the horror. I had a sex dream about Trevor. And I liked it. Really liked it.

This means nothing, I tell myself. Dreams are nothing but random compilations of subconscious thoughts, as logical Mel would say. Don’t put too much stock in it. Who wouldn’t have a naughty dream or two about a person they’ve heard having sex through very thin walls?

An impatient tap on the passenger window snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. “You coming?” Trevor’s deep voice is muffled from behind the glass.

Nope. Not anymore. Thanks for reminding me.

I need an intervention, and fast.

chapter sixteen

LIVE WITH TARAROMANCEQUEEN: THE HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART

[Tara is surrounded by green foliage. She looks at peace with nature, despite a pesky branch that keeps grazing her face.]

EXCERPT FROM TRANSCRIPT

Tara: Hello, romance book lovers, welcome back to my channel. Today is the much-anticipated High School Sweetheart episode. I’ve gotten a ton of messages begging me to reach out to my very own high school sweetheart, Cody.

High school sweethearts are my favorite book boyfriends. Ever since I was in middle school, I daydreamed about meeting my future husband in front of my locker. He’d be the popular, slightly dumb jock in a letterman jacket who discovers my secret, nerdy charm.

People scoff at misguided adolescent love, but I think there’s something special about not having to navigate the minefield that is adult dating. First, you’ve probably known your high school sweetheart your entire life. You’ve witnessed each other’s awkward braces stage, the acne, and the hacked bangs. There are no secrets. No surprises.

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