TONIGHT WILL MARK the first full night I’ve spent with a girl—actually lying in bed, cuddling, and talking after sleeping together—and I can’t shake off this strange mix of guilt and exhilaration.
It might sound like I’m bragging or, even worse, complaining, but I’m not trying to. I’ve always been wary about what messages I might unintentionally send. The last time I was truly emotionally invested in a girl was back in the early days of high school.
Since then, everything’s been more or less . . . shallow. So, why pretend otherwise?
Straight-up honesty has been my game. No messing around, no beating around the bush, and definitely no painting illusions of something more significant. My prior relationships, if you can even call them that, were just a string of . . . well, casual sexual encounters. From the moment I set foot on Dayton’s campus, that’s how it’s been.
Until Jade, that is.
And now, I’m more than grateful that I have her. We’ve barely known each other for a month, yet she’s already claimed a significant space in my life.
It’s not like I don’t have enough on my plate already—football, classes, my scholarship, and the looming draft. But there’s an undeniable, irresistible urge to include her in that list of priorities too.
If I want this to work, if I want us to be something more than a passing phase, then I need to carve out time for her. For us. For this new, uncharted territory of what seems like an actual grown-up relationship.
For me, it’s the first of its kind.
In the stillness of the night, my brain working in overdrive, I sense her stirring beside me. The gentle rustle of the sheets is the only sound that breaks the silence. She snuggles up against me, nuzzling her nose into the welcoming crook of my neck.
“Jade,” I whisper, stroking the back of her hair.
She responds with a sleepy “Mhmm,” but the drowsiness doesn’t linger for long. Now, she’s pressing gentle kisses against my neck, and the soft, barely there touch of her lips elicits a low rasp from the depths of my chest.
“What are you doing?” I manage to ask through the thickening haze of desire.
She doesn’t bother with a verbal response. Instead, she continues to trail kisses from my neck to my jawline, peppering them until she’s nipping at my earlobe. Her thigh moves to nestle between my legs as she rocks her hips against me.
I wrap my fingers around her waist to pull her closer. Our hips press together—my hard length against her soft core—and I can feel the warm, heavy pulsing of her desire as she whispers, “I want you,” into my ear.
In a coordinated flurry of motion, I grab the stash of condoms on her nightstand. Rolling one on, I nudge her panties aside and slowly push my cock inside of her. This time, we fuck nice and slow.
In the morning, I take her again in front of the bathroom mirror. She’s tying her hair up when she starts reciting that corny little mantra of hers. So, I bend her over the counter and slide into her from behind. She’s just as tight, and wet, and needy as she was the first time.
Well, fuck me.
I didn’t realize that’s what spending the night could entail. I mean, we talked for hours about our family, ate pizza in bed, and then she asked me the big question: “Theo, do you want to stay over tonight?”
“Hell yeah,” came my instant response. No need to mull it over, not even a second thought about it.
And I suppose that’s the difference right there. There’s no need to pretend, no room for ambiguity. I want her—all of her, every single part. I can’t seem to get enough of her, physically or mentally.
Even when I’m finally back home on Sunday afternoon, attempting to study for my Greek Mythology midterm.
“God, I’m a fucking dipshit,” I groan, my forehead meeting the cool surface of our dining table.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Cam calls, a grin playing on his lips as he fishes out a couple of Gatorades from the bottom of the fridge.
“You’re a dick,” I say as he tosses one over.
“Again—tell me something I don’t know,” he echoes, sinking into the chair next to me.
I let out a huff, running a hand through my hair in frustration. “Okay, what I’m trying to say is—I’ve been drilling the wrong fucking material into my head for the past two hours.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, man. I’ve been diving into Unit 4 when we’re only on 3.8 right now,” I say, the stress of the situation settling in. “No wonder none of this shit rings a bell.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, it does.” I rub my temples in frustration. “Especially since I put off studying to spend more time with Jade.”
A flicker of understanding crosses his features. “Shit, was it at least worth it?”
“Yeah. It was . . . really good.” “What’d you guys end up doing?”
I pause for a moment, my lips curving into a twisted smirk. “Oh, uh . . . batting cages,” I say, my mind replaying the rest of our night in vivid detail. “It was cool.”
“Sweet, I’ve been wanting to go for a while. Maybe we could make it a group thing?” He glances up at me, enthusiasm filling his voice. “You know, invite Shan and the others?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure, man,” I say, a noncommittal shrug rolling off my shoulders. My mind’s still too full of Jade to truly engage in the idea.
His eyes narrow at me, his playfulness replaced with a piercing gaze. “Yeah, alright.”
“What?”
“You’re really not into Shan anymore?” he asks, a single brow raised in blatant doubt. “Not even a tiny bit?”
“Nah, man.” The truth of my words sits heavily in the air. “I’m all about Jade now.”
As I say it, I’m hit by a sharp pang of regret. The thought of willingly allowing Cam, or anyone else on the team, to have a shot with Jade—well, it’s ridiculous. Laughable, even.
“Seriously? You’ve known her for what, a month?” He sounds cautious, almost wary. “You’ve been mooning over Shan for three fucking years, dude.”
“Think of it this way,” I say, my gaze steady on him. “If I really wanted to be with Shan, I would’ve made an actual move by now.”
And that’s the crux of it. I had plenty of opportunities, countless moments where I could have made a real, true effort with Shannon. But something always stopped me. There was always a barrier, an invisible line I never wanted to cross.
With Jade, though, it was different. I was like a river drawn to the sea— I wanted her, and I pursued her without hesitation. That has to count for something, right?
“True,” he concedes after a moment, a thoughtful look crossing his features. “I mean, I thought you just ‘didn’t have time to date.’”
“Yeah, but I can make time,” I assert, my voice firm. “For Jade, I’ll make the time.”
“You sure about that?”
Am I sure? I mull over his question. The school year is winding down, and summer looms over the horizon. Jade’s planning to return to Washington, and I have a football training camp here. That inevitably means time apart.
But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe the separation will be good for us. She’ll have her family, and I’ll be engrossed in training with my teammates. Granted, it’s not the ideal situation for a new relationship, but at least it will offer us a chance to concentrate on our individual lives before we plunge into our senior year.
But that’s assuming we’re still . . . together by then. The thought sends a strange jolt through me. It’s an uneasy possibility that I’d rather not entertain, yet I can’t deny its existence.
Fucking hell, I sure hope we’re still together.
“I don’t know, man,” I finally admit to Cam, allowing my confusion to bleed into my words. The whirlpool of thoughts distills into one simple, powerful sentiment. “But I’m sure as hell gonna try.”
After all, there’s no blueprint for this. There’s no guaranteed path to ensuring we stay together through the summer or even the rest of the school year. It’s new terrain, and all I can do is hope that my earnestness, my genuine feelings for Jade, will be enough.
Sure, it’s a risk, but it’s one I’m more than willing to take. For Jade, I would wager it all.
 |
THE NEXT DAY ROLLS AROUND, and Jade and I are tucked away in a corner of the North Campus Library. She’s neck-deep in her latest piece for the Daily, the sound of her tapping away on the keyboard mixing in with the hushed whispers around us.
Me, I’m in the audiobook world of Oedipus the King. But even as my ears are filled with ancient Greek tragedy, my mind has other plans.
More specifically, I’m distracted by thoughts of Jade’s lips. The shape of them. The color. The feeling of them pressed against mine. And now, my gaze is drifting across every little detail of her face—from the scatter of freckles across her nose to the tiny birthmark above her top lip.
And that’s when I land on something new: a small indentation, a soft dimple beneath her chin that I’ve never noticed before. I wonder if it’s a scar.
If it is, how did it come to be? Did she fall off her childhood bike? Or maybe it’s just a playful scratch from a family pet. But then again, do they even have a family pet?
The question bubbles up before I can stop it. “Jade?” I ask, a faint smile playing on my lips, breaking through her dedicated concentration.
“What’s up?” She glances up from her laptop, a cute little crease settling between her brows.
“Do your parents have a dog?”
Her response is a snort—a sound I’ve grown quite fond of. “Now, there’s an urgent question.”
“Ah, come on,” I coax, gently nudging her laptop aside to command her full attention. “Do they?”
“They don’t.” She pivots in her chair to face me, a teasing grin spreading across her face. “Why this sudden curiosity?”
“Just popped into my head.”
Guided by impulse, I lean forward, my hand instinctively seeking hers. She flips her palm up, so I press my thumb into the center and give it a
gentle squeeze, our fingers interweaving. It’s simple and warm—a silent promise of comfort.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” she says. “Does your mom have a dog?”
“No, she doesn’t.” I break our hand hold, instead opting to rest mine gently on her knee.
“That’s nice. I’m so glad I paused my work to have this extremely enlightening conversation.”
My chest rumbles with a soft chuckle. “Apologies for the interruption.” Her eyes flit down to my hand resting on her knee, her smirk deepening.
“I’m sure you are.”
“You know, I read your article this morning,” I say, my hand unconsciously trailing up her leg, drawing small, lazy circles on her legging-covered skin.
“You did? The one about the bricks?” “That’s the one.”
“Wow,” she says, her tone carrying a note of disbelief, the hint of a proud smile playing on her lips. “And?”
“I’ll be honest, it was a little hard for me to get through,” I say, my hand subtly continuing its journey up her leg. “I blame it partially on the dyslexia and partially on the subject matter, but damn, Jade—you’re an incredible writer.”
She snorts dismissively, her cheeks blooming with a soft pink hue. “Oh, please. It was a piece about literal bricks.”
“Exactly,” I counter, my touch growing bolder. “It was an article about bricks, and I was still into it.”
“You’re just saying that because I wrote it.”
“No, I read it because you wrote it. I enjoyed it because you’re fucking talented.”
“Oh,” she stammers, blush deepening, gaze drifting down to my hand on her thigh. “Stop doing that.”
“I’ll stop if you stop,” I say, my smirk growing wider.
“Stop what?” Her eyes dart around the room nervously, ensuring we’re not the center of anyone’s attention.
“Stop making me want you.”
She scoffs. “I’m just sitting here, minding my own business, working.” “True,” I say, my voice lowering to a sultry whisper. “And I’m just
sitting here, watching you work. It’s not my fault you look so damn good . .
. even when you’re wearing that godforsaken sweatshirt.”
Rolling her eyes, she shoves my hand away from her thigh. “You love this sweatshirt.”
I chuckle, leaning back in my chair. “Well, it is growing on me. Just a little.”
She shakes her head, the corners of her lips pulling up into a smile as she shifts back into work mode. I can’t help but watch her for another moment, letting my eyes roam over her from head to toe, lingering on all my most-loved spots.
The sweater might be concealing her figure right now, but damn . . . I know what lies beneath the surface. Jade’s body is a fucking masterpiece— her soft thighs, her supple hips, the gentle dip in her waist, the swell of her breasts, and that beautiful face of hers. She’s filled with all my favorite curves, slopes, freckles, and marks.
But here’s the real kicker: her body isn’t even the most attractive part about her. Not for me. And not by a long shot.
