Page 65 of College-Virgin & Dark Bully Next-Door

I pull her back to me and wrap my arms around her. “My dick likes you, too.”

“Only two out of ten for that line.” But I hear the laugh in her voice.

After a whole lot of silent cuddling and a few conversations that aren’t as heavy as our earlier ones, I head home. Light and free, I whistle to myself as I walk. The rain has let up, and I know the storm will pass. Sure, we’ll have more work tomorrow since it was halted today, but even that can’t hurt me. I spend the whole day proving my father wrong.

As I walk up to the front door, my cellphone chimes. It’s a message from Frank, letting me know a scout from LA found my Instagram page and called him to verify who I was. Frank says there’s a chance the scout might show up for my finale match. Fantastic news if I’m well prepared, a disaster if I don’t get my head in the game.

It’s not rocket science. I need to narrow my focus even more than I already have.

With a determined smile, I get inside and volunteer to help Mom with dinner. Her eyes widen with surprise, but she says nothing, only hands me an apron and points me to the counter where the vegetables are. For the next half hour, I get busy chopping, humming aRadioheadtune.

Mom bumps my hip with a question in her eyes. “What’s got you so upbeat?”

“Life,” I mutter simply. I’m not ready to disclose that message from Frank. Not until there’s actually something to celebrate.

“I thought after the loss yesterday, you’d be in the gym,” she says.

“The boy doesn’t know the meaning of dedication,” my father grunts as he enters the room.

“I learned and can move forward,” I say, not bothering to specify.

My phone buzzes, and I reach for it, but Mom points at me. “Sweetie, you know the rule.”

“No phones in the kitchen,” I reply. “Want me to take care of the mashed potatoes next?”

“Yes, please.” She pats my shoulder and continues working on the meatloaf.

As we cook, Dad reads the paper until Peter comes down. They get to talking, and I notice how much Peter is like Dad when we’re home. He’s assertive, determined to get his way and unwilling to compromise. He barks every sentence like an order and treats a conversation like a confrontation.

Mom rubs my back, drawing my attention. “I like seeing you so happy, Ashton. I just wish you weren’t so bruised.”

“You don’t need a new car, and I’ll prove it!” My dad bellows, walking out to the garage with Peter hot on his heels.

“You’re different,” Mom says, distracting me.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s a good thing. It reminds me of when … well.” She puts the meatloaf in the oven. “When your Uncle Mark met Aunt Pam. Couldn’t stay down. Always with a bounce in his step, glowing, everything.”

Answering feels like a trap. So I turn on the mixer for the potatoes instead. Mom waits until I’m done. “You have the look of a man in love, sweetie.”

“Who?” Peter asks, suddenly leaning on the counter like he’s been here for the whole conversation. “Who’s in love?”

“No one.” I point at Mom.

“I was just saying, doesn’t Ashton seem so much happier lately?”

“Yeah, but he’s not that way with girls. Especially not right away. There’s the checklist.”

“Only two things on it. Single and connection,” I remind him.

“Until you get to fuck them and add ‘good in bed’ to the list.”

Mom just hands Peter the swear jar, and he drops a dollar in it casually. He continues to watch me like he’s waiting for me to slip up and give a name. I’m not that stupid. I’m stupid enough to date the girl next door, but I’m damn sure not going to talk about it. Especially considering she’s made me rip up my checklist and try things differently.

Peter continues to stare at me, waiting for something, anything. He raises an eyebrow.

“Well? Do I know her? Should I warn her that you only have enough stamina for two weeks when you’re in a good mood?”

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