Page 87 of How to Score Off Field

“No, Ryann’s is, though. He was probably taking a shit in my bathroom because he’s an asshole. His bedroom is downstairs by the kitchen.”

That makes Tess laugh. She’s always doing that, laughing at the dumb things I say.

“It sounds like Drake is really into phone sex.”

“I think he’s into sex in general. He’s way hornier than I am.”

Tess tilts her head. “Is that because you aren’t into casual sex or because you just don’t think about it? ’Cause I know you don’t have a lack of opportunity.”

She’s not wrong. I don’t have a lack of opportunity. “I don’t like casual sex.” I’ve tried it, and I’m not into it.

I can’t do it.

“Neither do I.”

My brows go up. I can’t help it. Was it not casual when the two of us had sex? How could she consider it anything but when we’re not dating, and we’re not in the same state the majority of the time? Up until last weekend, I hadn’t thought about Tess at all. She wasn’t on my radar.

“You don’t count,” she supplies before I can ask. “I’ve had a crush on you since forever.”

“I can confidently say had I not had my head firmly planted up my ass, I probably would have had a crush on you, too.”

“Now you’re just bein’ nice,” Tess demurs.

“I'm not like my brother, but I'm also not in the habit of blowin’ smoke up someone's ass just to make them feel good.”

She grins into the camera—into the phone.

“I think that earns you a little reward, don't you?” Tess lowers the phone again, tilting it so I can check out her body. My eyes follow along, drinking in the sight of her beautiful breasts.

I swallow.

“Like what you see?”

Did she ask me that already, or is my brain completely dead? “Yes.”

My dick goes instantly hard—how could it not?

“I swear your tits are perfect.”

And they are.

Round. Full.

Topped with the most gorgeous, dark areolas. Like two cherries on a sundae, my mouth waters at the memory of licking and sucking them.

My dick grows harder still…

My hand makes its way south, stopping at my boxer shorts as I debate my options: start touching myself and make things weird or not touch myself and suffer having a rock-hard cock.

“Do it,” she says as if reading my mind.

“Do what?”

“Touch yourself.”

“I’ll touch mine if you touch yours,” I challenge, not wanting to jerk off over the phone all by myself.

“Let me get my vibrator.”

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