I’m an asshole.

I mean, seriously. What kind of dipshit says those kinds of things to the girl he likes?

If anyone’s gonna get you off, it’s gonna be me.

What I should have said is this: “No, Jade, you don’t need a fuck buddy. I like you. I want you. I’ll fuck you so good that you won’t even remember your own name.”

But it’s clear that I’m not what she wants. She’d rather pursue a no- strings-attached fling who can rock her world in the bedroom. According to her, our friendship would only complicate things.

Well, fuck our friendship.

No, wait. I want our friendship. I want to make her laugh, make her smile, make her call me by those goofy fucking nicknames. I want to spend time with her. I want to keep figuring out what makes her tick. I also want to kiss her and then take her to my bed.

Actually . . . I just want Jade in any form I can get her.

She’s driving me wild, and she doesn’t even know it. She says she’s willing to give things a try with Miller, with Cam, with any other fucking athlete at this school. And I know I’m not a damn saint, but the thought of her with anyone else? It’s like a slow, painful churning inside my gut.

I want to be her first choice and not just because she thinks I can scratch her itch. I want her to see me, to want me, as a man who’s developing real feelings for her and not just some athlete who can show her a good time.

But it’s obvious she doesn’t see me the same way. Or maybe she just doesn’t want to.

Whatever it is, I need to stop before I ruin everything. But as I look at her, engrossed in her work and wearing that cute little frown, I can’t help but think I’ve already screwed up my one and only chance.

I’ve let my feelings cloud my judgment. I mean, offering myself up as her fuck buddy? Who the hell does that? And yet, I did it. I did it because the idea of her with another man is unbearable.

She says she can’t mix friendship with sex, but I can’t help but wonder if I could change her mind. Could I make her want me enough that she’d risk the confusion?

Or maybe I should respect her decision and back off. Stick to being her friend and pretend that her words haven’t left a gaping hole inside my chest.

 

 

THE NEXT NIGHT, my teammates and I hit up Lucky’s, one of our favorite bars near campus. The place is typically packed to the brim with student athletes, a veritable playground for the physically gifted. That, coupled with the jersey chasers who have a knack for being everywhere but where I want them, often makes for an interesting night.

Yet, tonight, the allure of Lucky’s seems to have lost its shine. I’m not really in the spirit to party, if I’m being honest. I’d rather be trapped in the fucking library of all places.

But social obligations have a way of forcing your hand, so here I am, celebrating our quarterback’s birthday.

Noah Elliot, the big man himself, is the first one amongst us to hit the twenty-two mark. He red-shirted his freshman year, meaning he didn’t compete against other teams. This gave him a shot at five academic years with four full seasons on the field.

“Happy birthday, Elliot.” Sliding into the vacant seat next to him at the high table, I give him a firm clap on his shoulder.

“Thanks, man.” His nod comes with a clink of beer bottles, the glass cool and slick against mine.

“Let’s get you laid tonight.” The suggestion, laced with an unsettling amount of enthusiasm, comes from Conor McNair. Wide receiver and resident dickwad of the team, he has a knack for opening his mouth before engaging his brain.

“Dude, you know he’s with Steph,” I say, irritation seeping into my tone. McNair often has his head in the clouds, but this is a low blow, even for him.

“That true, QB?” His eyes seek Noah’s, curiosity flaring in them. “You finally lock that shit down?”

“We’re not official,” Noah mumbles, his shoulders deflating slightly. His gaze finds a fascinating spot on the table, avoiding our prying eyes. “But I’m not looking to score with anyone else.”

McNair, finding no fun in this revelation, huffs in disapproval. “Suit yourself. More pussy for me.” With a graceless shove, he rises from his chair, the grating metal echoing in my ears as he saunters over to the bar, leaving Noah and me in relative peace.

“What’s going on with that, anyway?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. Noah and Steph have been dancing around each other for a while, but the delicate dynamics between them remain a mystery to everyone else. “Is Steph still stringing you along?”

“No, man.” He sighs, his voice heavy with emotion. “It’s not like that.

She’s been burned one too many times, so we’re taking things slow.” “Burned?” I parrot back.

“She’s been, uh . . . hurt by guys before,” he clarifies. His expression is a painful mixture of regret and anger. I can tell that something serious is lurking in the shadows of his girl’s past—something that’s shaken Noah to his core.

“Oh fuck, dude,” I blurt, my eyes widening. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “I just . . . I love Steph.

The idea of being with another girl doesn’t even cross my mind.”

“I get it,” I say. I wish I could provide more solace than a cliché statement, but empathy has never been my strong suit.

His brows shoot up. “You get it?”

“I mean, I don’t . . . get it,” I quickly backtrack. “But I can understand how you feel . . . in a hypothetical sort of way.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs noncommittally, an indifferent smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s both a blessing and a curse.”

“Right,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can think of in the moment.

“Right,” he agrees, and we clink our beers together again. It’s our silent pact, a show of solidarity.

 

 

A COUPLE of hazy hours later, I’m staggering back home, flanked by both my roommates. It’s a strange sensation because, as far as I can recall, I’ve only had a handful of beers. Yet, my balance feels off, and the world around me is a blurry mess.

My bed beckons, promising a soft haven from the spinning room. I make a beeline for it, an odd sense of anticipation churning in my stomach.

But the moment my head makes contact with the plush pillow, the harsh light of my phone screen slices through the darkness. A new text notification flashes across the screen, and I pick it up to find a message from Jade.

JADE

hey. your friend miller just DMd me

 

WEST

did u respond?

 

JADE

ya, asked if he was DTF

 

My mind is a whirlpool of thoughts, each one worse than the last. In an irrational move, my fingers fly over the phone screen, dialing her number. I can’t think straight right now. The only thing running through my head is her voice, her laughter, her presence.

“Hello?”

“Please tell me you’re just fucking with me?” I practically growl into the phone, my fingers digging into the soft material of the mattress. The jealousy rears its ugly head again, a gnawing sensation in my gut.

“No.” She snorts, clearly amused. “He really did DM me.” “Jade.” My voice drops, a warning tinge to it.

Her laughter trickles through the line, a sweet melody that somehow softens the edges of my irritation. “Of course I’m fucking with you. I didn’t actually respond. You told me not to go for him, and I won’t.”

The tension finally dissipates, a soft sigh of relief escaping my lips. “You’re evil.”

“Maybe I just like screwing with you.”

“And what if I screw with you back?” I ask, unable to help the grin that tugs at my lips.

“Well . . . that would only be fair play.” “You better watch your back, then.”

“So dramatic.” I can almost see her rolling her eyes, an affectionate smile playing on her lips. “Okay, I’m officially getting into bed now.”

“That’s fine,” I say, though my chest tightens at the thought of ending the conversation. “I’m actually in bed, too.”

A soft rustling sound filters through the phone. “I mean . . . I’m about to go to sleep, Theo.”

“Oh.” The word falls from my lips, the alcohol in my system encouraging a boldness I wouldn’t usually possess. “Well, before you do, could I ask you something?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

Well, here goes nothing. “I’ve just been wondering, you know—since the other day, just . . . what made them so terrible?”

“Huh?”

“You said the sex was terrible,” I echo, my voice carrying an unwelcome strain. “With your exes and . . . Freddy. Why?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know, really.” There’s a long pause in which I can almost hear her mind whirring, and I nearly regret the question. “I guess it was just boring.”

“Boring?” The word echoes in my mind. I can’t imagine being bored during sex, especially with someone like Jade.

“Yeah, I was just bored of what we were doing. Or, I don’t know, maybe we just weren’t compatible in the bedroom.”

“Yeah?” I swallow hard, a knot forming in my throat. “They didn’t turn you on?”

“No, it’s not that,” she insists, and the words bring a tiny sense of relief. “I mean, I wanted to have sex with them. I was always into it at first.”

Oh God, why did I ask her this? My jaw involuntarily clenches. Please, tell me more about how much you wanted to fuck other guys. “At first?” I manage to squeeze the words out, my throat dry.

“Mhm, but then we’d get to the good stuff, and it would just be . . . blah.”

“Blah?” The confusion is evident in my voice. I can’t understand it, the idea of her not enjoying it, not when she’s so vibrant and full of life.

“I don’t know,” she says, her voice dropping, embarrassment making her words tremble. “I guess, just . . . my body didn’t respond to it or something. I mean, the way they were doing it anyway.”

A slow burn of curiosity begins to take root in the pit of my stomach. “So, how would you want it done, then?” My voice comes out lower than I intended, but I blame it on the alcohol, the hour, the intimacy of our conversation.

“What?”

“I think you heard me,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, suppressing the rising wave of desire.

She stutters, then falls silent, and I rush to ease her discomfort. “Fuck, sorry,” I say quickly, my free hand furiously running over my forehead. “You don’t have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No, I mean.” Her voice trails off, then comes back stronger. “It’s not a big deal, right?”

“Right,” I agree, but the conviction is missing. You’re about to tell me what you like in bed, Jade. This is a huge fucking deal.

“Okay,” she says, her voice tinged with a vulnerability that draws me in further. “Well, first off, there’d be lots of touching. Oh, and kissing—lots of kissing.”

“Good start,” I say, my heart pounding against my ribs. She snorts. “Yeah.”

“Where?” My teeth sink into my bottom lip, the taste of my own anticipation filling my mouth.

“The kissing?” she clarifies, and I murmur my agreement. “Oh, um, I guess I’d want him to start with my lips. Then maybe . . . move to my neck.”

“How would he kiss you?”

“He would probably . . . use his tongue,” she whispers, her voice low and shy. “Um—maybe suck on my neck just a little bit, but not enough to leave a mark. Then he might . . . move down a little further.”

“How much further?”

“Down past my collarbone.” She sucks in a breath, the sound making my chest tighten. “He would—he’d kiss me there, too.”

“Would he take off your shirt?” I press, my words a threadbare whisper in the quiet darkness of my room.

“Yes.”

“Are you in your bed when he does this?”

“I am,” she says, her voice a soft murmur in my ear. And there she goes again—more fucking rustling.

“Under your covers?” My voice is a rough hush, a strange tightness constricting my throat.

“Mhm,” she breathes out. “And he’s—he’s on top of me. He takes off my shirt, and he . . . licks his way down to my nipples.”

“Yeah? He probably pops one into his mouth, doesn’t he? Sucks on it?” “Mhm,” she moans, but it’s a quiet, barely there sound that somehow

amplifies my desire.

“Maybe he uses his teeth,” I suggest, my voice sinking into a low rumble. “Just to lightly nip.”

“He does, and I—I really like that.” She shifts in her bed, and I can picture her perfectly. “I press my legs together as he does it, just trying to get . . . a little bit of friction.”

“Jade,” I call out to her, my voice a low warning. “Uh-huh?” A breathless question.

“Are you wearing those little striped pajama shorts?”

“Uh-huh.” A breathless answer, the rustling growing louder as my imagination runs wild. Because now I know, without a doubt, she’s touching herself under the covers.

“He really wants to touch you. Will you let him?”

“Yes, Theo,” she manages to squeak out. “I mean, he—he can touch me.”

The floodgates open, and there’s no turning back. The image of her body under my touch, the sound of her gasps and moans, drives me to the edge. “He pulls those little shorts down over your hips, pressing his thumb to your clit.”

“Oh,” she sighs. “That feels . . . that’s good.”

“Yeah?” I ask, my own hand finding its way down, the sensation mirroring the picture in my mind. “Then he strokes your pussy nice and slow before slipping one finger inside.”

“Mmm, that’s really good.” The approval in her voice is all the encouragement I need.

“He’s pumping his fingers in and out, and you start bucking your hips.” My movements match my words as I imagine my fingers inside of her. “You’re—you’re fucking his hand, Jade.”

“Oh fuck,” she breathes out, the words half moan, half gasp. “I want—I want him inside me.”

My heart slams against my ribs. “He is inside you, baby.”

“I want his dick . . . I want his dick inside me,” she clarifies, the words punctuated by shallow, rapid breaths. “I want to—” Another breathless gasp. “—be fucked.”

“Jesus,” I whisper, and the vision of her body writhing under mine sets me on fire. I can imagine her flushed skin, her chest heaving, her fingers clutching the sheets in ecstasy.

Her little cries of pleasure echo in my ear, the sounds driving me to the brink. And when she finally lets out a cry of release, I know she’s reaching her climax. The mental image of her coming unravels me.

“Fucking hell,” I groan, my own release pulsing through me in powerful waves.

Panting, I hastily discard my phone, collapsing back onto my pillow, my mind a whirlwind of sensations. We just . . . inadvertently had phone sex. And it was the best damn thing I’d ever experienced.

“Jade?” I manage to gasp out, fumbling to retrieve my cell phone. But all I’m met with is silence. She just . . . hung up.