by Lauren Rowe
Shockwaves of pleasure shoot through my every nerve ending, all at once, zinging into my toes and fingertips and clit and ass with unyielding force. I jerk around for a moment on top of Tyler like a sinner at a Baptist revival, until finally, blessedly, I throw my arms around his neck and collapse into a sweaty pile of goo.
Tyler wraps his powerful arms around my back and pulls me close—so close, my breasts smash into his chest. “That was amazing,” he whispers, his breathing labored. “The best sex I’ve ever had.”
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. “For me, too.”
“That statement means absolutely nothing coming from you, Zooey.”
I giggle. “What the hell just happened? I felt like I was possessed by a demon.”
Tyler kisses my bare shoulder. “That, my dear, was your first all-body orgasm. Ten times more powerful than a clitoral orgasm. The holy grail.”
“It felt amazing.”
“For me, too. I’ve never felt a G-spot orgasm from the inside before. I’ve only made it happen with my fingers until you.” He sighs contentedly. “God, that felt incredible. The minute you started squeezing my cock so hard, I lost it.”
I bite his ear lobe and press myself into him. “I want to do it again.”
“Oh, you will, eager beaver. I’ll order you a G-spot vibrator online so you can practice and get good at it. That way, it’ll become second nature for you.”
I nuzzle his nose. “I don’t want a vibrator. I want you.”
“Sweetheart, you want a vibrator. Whenever we’re apart, I want you to use it. The better you get at getting yourself off from your G-spot, the more you’ll get off from my cock when we fuck. Think of it like training for game day.”
I bite his earlobe again. “Okay, coach. Whatever you say. Get me a vibrator. Get me a thousand vibrators.” I grab his cheeks and press my forehead against his. I feel unleashed. “Just as long as you do that thing to me again one more time tonight.”
He smiles. “Sorry, baby. Not tonight. I played football and traveled today, remember? I’m wiped. There’s a reason I pulled you on top of me. I can barely move.”
I pull back slightly, suddenly feeling like an insensitive idiot. “I’m so sorry. Do you need ice or something?”
“Yeah, actually. There are ice packs in the freezer. Thanks.”
I clamber off him and bound to the freezer, my pulse pounding in my ears. “No wonder you said you need to rest up on Sundays. You poor thing.” I hand him a couple of icepacks and begin scooping my clothes off the floor. “No need to drive me home tonight. I’ll call the late-night campus service so you can crash.”
“Zooey, don’t be lame. You’ve misunderstood me.”
I abruptly stop picking up my clothes and stare at him blankly.
“I was hoping you’d crash here tonight. With me.”
I’m astonished. “You want me to spend the night here?”
“Yeah. I was thinking maybe I could persuade you to kiss my bruises for me before I fall asleep.” He smiles. “And then when I wake up in the morning, I promise I’ll turn you into a demon again.”
My mouth is hanging open.
“I’ve got an extra toothbrush,” Tyler adds quickly, apparently feeling the need to further argue his point. “And you can wear one of my T-shirts to sleep in, if you want. Unless you’d prefer to sleep naked. No argument from me there.”
I’m floored. It’s one thing for Tyler to want to have a little postgame sex with me on a Saturday night, but now he wants me to spend the night?
“So will you stay?” Tyler asks.
I feel the urge to jump for joy, but I manage to keep my cool. “It depends. Which of your T-shirts would you loan me to wear?”
“Well, unfortunately, I don’t own a T-shirt that says Phase Two Is My Bitch! So I guess I’ll have to settle for the one that says Hot as Fuck. If you in that shirt isn’t an elephant wearing an elephant T-shirt, then I don’t know what is.”
If he blew on me, I’d tip over. “Great,” I say. “And don’t worry, I’ll get my morning nookie tomorrow and head right out. I’ve got lots of homework to do.”
“Well, there’s no need to rush off. My roommates and I get breakfast at this diner in the Village every Sunday. You should come. I mean, you’ve got to eat, right?”
What on earth happened to the guy who said doing his own thing on Sundays is “sacred” to him? I nod. “I love breakfast. Most important meal of the day.”
“Absolutely. And you don’t need to rush off after breakfast, either. Sundays are all about resting up, watching a little football, catching up on homework. There’s no reason you can’t hang out and do all that with me. You can do whatever homework you’ve got while I’m doing mine.”
I’m stupefied. Mind-fucked beyond comprehension. Is he punking me? “Great,” I say cautiously. “Why don’t we work on our class projects tomorrow for a bit, too? I’ve noticed we’ve been spending a disproportionate amount of time on our ‘miseducation project’ while neglecting the other two. Not that I’m complaining about that, mind you.” I snicker.
“You know what? You’re totally right. We’ve absolutely been neglecting our class projects. Totally irresponsible of us. Inexcusable.” He gets up gingerly from his chair, his angry bruises and welts making me grimace for him, and tosses his used condom into a trash can. “Come on, Zooey Cartwright. Time for us to crash. It’s the only responsible thing to do, after all. Crash tonight and work on our class projects tomorrow.” He flashes me a cocky grin. “As anyone will tell you, baby, I’m nothing if not responsible.”
Chapter Twenty-One
After sex this morning in yet another new position—let’s just say this cowgirl enthusiastically earned her “reverse spurs” this morning—I’m now sitting in a diner with Tyler and his five roommates, watching them scarf down enough eggs, pancakes, and bacon to feed at least fifteen people. Not even exaggerating.
“Okay, it’s official,” Tyler says, putting his coffee mug down with a thud. “Zooey Cartwright will laugh at anything.”
“No,” Aaron shoots back defensively. “Zooey Cartwright laughed because I’m a comedic genius.”
“That was the stupidest joke I’ve ever heard,” Tyler says.
“It was just too sophisticated for your feeble mind to comprehend, dude.”
Tyler laughs.
“Too many cheetahs,” Aaron says slowly by way of explanation. He’s repeating his punchline from a moment ago. “It’s why the animals were expelled from the zoo. Get it, Tyler? Because ‘cheetahs’ sounds like ‘cheaters.’ It’s a pun.”
“That’s pretty high-concept stuff, Heckerling.”
“I know. Don’t feel bad if it sailed right over your head, bro. You can’t help it if you were born with a tiny brain.”
I giggle again, every bit as much as I did when Aaron first told that stupid joke a minute ago. Only this time, I’m not laughing at Aaron, but at Tyler. Specifically, at the deadpan expression on his gorgeous face. At this point, Tyler could read his grocery list and I’d laugh.
Tyler turns his mocking wrath on me. “Is Aaron paying you to laugh at his stupid jokes, Zooey? Tell the truth.”
I shake my head. “It’s his delivery more than what he says. Aaron is just inherently funny.”
“Traitor!” Tyler barks at me, but his eyes are full of warmth. “Don’t encourage him, Zooey. Heckerling already thinks he’s the funniest guy on the team, even though we all know it’s me.”
“Ha!” Aaron says.
“It’s true. I’m way funnier than you,” Tyler insists. “In fact, I’m funnier than all of you lunkheads. Zooey’s only been laughing at your lame jokes all breakfast long because she’s from the Midwest and Midwestern girls are raised to be extra polite. Isn’t that right, Zooey? You’re just a sweet Midwestern girl who doesn’t want your new friends to feel bad they’re not as funny as me?”
“I genuinely think everyone’s hilarious. Especially Aaron.”
“Ha!” Aaron
says. “I knew I liked you, Zooey Cartwright.”
“This is total bullshit and I can prove it,” Tyler says defiantly. “Okay, guys, here’s what we’re gonna do. Each of you has one minute to make Zooey Cartwright laugh. You succeed in your mission, I’ll give you ten bucks. You fail, Zooey will get the ten bucks, instead. With cash on the line, we ought to find out who here is ‘hilarious’ and who’s just being polite.”
“Why would you make that bet?” Aaron asks Tyler. “You’re on the paying end of it either way.”
“Some things are more valuable to me than money, son,” Tyler replies with mock solemnity. He turns to me. “You think you can bottle up that cute little giggle of yours long enough to earn yourself fifty bucks, giggler?”
I zip my mouth. “You’ll never hear my ‘cute little giggle’ again.” I’m telling the truth about that, by the way. God as my witness, wild horses couldn’t make me laugh for the next five minutes. I want that money.
Approximately three and a half minutes later…
“You suck,” Tyler says to me.
“I suck,” I agree, flapping my lips together. “I thought I’d be so much better at this.” I grasp the one measly ten-dollar bill I managed to win thanks to Hanalei and look around the table at Tyler’s other four roommates—all of whom are now triumphantly holding ten-dollar bills.
“How lame is Hanalei, though,” Aaron says. “If you can’t make Zooey Cartwright laugh, then you’re clearly as funny as paint drying.”
“Hanalei just took pity on me,” I say. I look at Hanalei. “You threw the game out of pity, didn’t you?”
“Nope, I’m a competitive bastard,” Hanalei replies in his deep baritone voice. “I’d never throw any game, no matter what.” But he winks at me, telling me I’ve guessed right.
“Okay, Tyler,” Aaron says. “Your turn now. But let’s make this a bit more interesting, shall we? I’ve got thirty bucks that says you can’t make Zooey Cartwright laugh within thirty seconds.”
“Thirty seconds? You all got a full minute.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got a huge advantage over all of us,” Aaron retorts. “You and Zooey haven’t stopped making googly eyes at each other since we sat down. Odds are high she’ll laugh her ass off if you so much as smile at the girl.”
I feel my cheeks coloring. Tyler and I have been making googly eyes at each other?
Aaron and Tyler haggle for a bit and finally reach agreement about the game.
“Okay, okay.” Tyler says. He snaps his fingers at me. “Zooey Cartwright! Pay attention! This is important stuff.”
I widen my eyes and give Tyler my exaggerated attention, and he chuckles at my expression.
“Okay, here’s the bet, little freshman. If you last thirty seconds without laughing at me—and good luck with that, by the way—you’ll get a twenty-dollar payday from Aaron. Plus, I’ll have to pay that bastard thirty bucks. Not a good result for me. But if I get you to laugh, then I’ll get thirty bucks from shit-for-brains over there, and you’ll get zippo. Preferred result.”
“When do I pay something?” I ask. “I don’t have any skin in the game.”
“You don’t need skin in the game. You’re Zooey Cartwright. Our reason for being. Plus, you’re ridiculously cute. That’s payment enough.” He winks. “Okay, are you ready, giggler?”
I shake out my arms and nod.
Hanalei holds up his phone set to the stopwatch function. “Thirty seconds starts in three, two, one, go.”
Tyler smiles at me. “Hi there, cutie.”
I force myself to keep a straight face. It’s not easy to do when Tyler’s turning on his charm full-throttle. “Hello.”
“I’ve got four words for you,” Tyler says. He counts them off with his fingers. “Where are Pooh’s pants?”
I press my lips together and stay strong.
Tyler leans forward and puts his muscled forearms on the table. “Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” I reply dutifully.
“Wherefore means.”
I pause for a split second, trying to figure out where this joke is headed. “Wherefore means who?”
“No, Zooey Cartwright! Wherefore means why. How many times do I have to explain that to you?” He makes a face of complete exasperation that pulls an involuntary giggle from my throat. Damn it! It was just a little giggle, but it was unmistakable.
Immediately, everyone at the table explodes in protest.
“Collusion!” one guy yells.
“Damn you, Zooey Cartwright!” another one scolds.
“Are you suffering from Stockholm syndrome?” Aaron asks me. “Blink twice if you need us to save you, Zooey Cartwright!”
“Why do you guys keep calling me by my full name?” I ask, giggling even more.
Everyone ignores my question. They’re too wrapped up in the money changing hands to pay attention to me. While Aaron slumps forward, shaking his head, Tyler leans back in his chair with his winnings, laughing with glee.
“Why the hell did you laugh at that, Zooey Cartwright?” Aaron asks. “That was the stupidest joke ever.”
“Oh, and cheetahs being expelled from the zoo is so fucking clever?” Tyler says.
“It was collusion,” another one of the guys proclaims again. “Plain and simple.”
“It wasn’t collusion,” I insist. “Tyler made me laugh fair and square, guys.”
Everyone protests, yet again.
“He did,” I insist. “Tyler hit me with Shakespeare, guys. He knows I can’t resist Shakespeare.”
I’m lying, of course. Shakespeare isn’t what made me laugh. In truth, it wouldn’t have mattered what joke Tyler told in the end, I was going to laugh, regardless. Why? Because when I’m around Tyler, I feel like I’m sucking on nitrous oxide. Because Tyler willed me to laugh, and I can’t seem to resist giving him whatever he wants, no matter what it is or what’s at stake. The bare truth is that I didn’t laugh because Tyler Caldwell “hit me with Shakespeare.” I laughed because Tyler Caldwell hit me with Tyler Caldwell.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Everyone around me screams like we’re in mutual, mortal pain. Jake Grayson just threw the perfect long ball… I mean the perfect spiraling pass for well over thirty yards…and Aaron Heckerling let the dang ball slip right through his fingers! Oh, the humanity! That was third down! Damn! As the offense jogs off the field and the punting unit jogs on, I take my seat again, groaning along with everyone else on my half of the stadium.
I’ve never had so much fun at a football game in my life. And I’ve been to lots of them with my dad back home, so that’s saying a lot. I had no idea how much fun it would be to sit in the student section with my fellow Bruins, my face painted blue and gold, and cheer on my school. Not to mention the fact that I’m here with Clarissa and Dimitri and his friends, and they’re the sweetest, funniest group, ever. Oh, and to top it all off, we’re playing our cross-town rivals, the Trojans of USC—Boo!—and currently beating them by fourteen points—Yay! Oh, and did I mention the best part of all? I’m watching Tyler play like a god among men down on that field.
Speaking of which, Tyler makes a bone-crushing tackle on the field, and the crowd roars. I glance at the jumbo screen, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tyler’s thug-face. It’s the scary face he almost always makes right after making a big hit, and it never ceases to turn me on.
The view on the jumbo screen switches to an up-close shot of Tyler, but he quickly turns, and the camera catches nothing but his backside as he jogs away from his crumpled opponent. But that’s okay. If I can’t see Tyler’s thug-face, a tight shot of his ass jogging away in his tight little pants is a lovely consolation prize.
I look at the scoreboard. There are about seven minutes to go in the third quarter. Please, God, let us hold onto this lead and clinch the win. So far this season, we’re undefeated, and Tyler’s a huge reason for that. He hasn’t forced a turnover yet today, but he’s been blocking passes and tackling like a man possessed. Plus, in the s
econd quarter, he brazenly stripped the ball right out of a Trojan’s hands, a maneuver that made Tyler look like a Rottweiler and the other guy look like a Chihuahua. I’ve got to think if any NFL teams are watching today to gather intel before the draft in the spring, Tyler’s strip of that ball alone was enough to move him up several spaces on everyone’s list of top prospects.
Of course, I’m thrilled Tyler’s having yet another stellar game, any way he can get one, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m hoping he’ll grab an interception today. First off, I know that’s the stat the NFL boys love to see from a guy in Tyler’s position, and I want him to have every possible chance to make his top ten dreams come true. Second, I also want to see Tyler make an interception simply because I’m a card-carrying Bruin now. And that means I want our boys in blue and gold to not only kick those Trojan boys’ asses today, but do it in a fashion that makes every student clad in cardinal and gold on the opposite side of this huge stadium go back to their sparkling campus across town with their designer tails between their waxed and spray-tanned legs and sob relentlessly into their high-thread-count pillow cases all night long. But, third, despite all that, the biggest reason I want Tyler to get an interception today is that when I texted him this morning to wish him luck in the game, he replied:
If I get an interception today, watch me close. I’ll send you a secret signal, eager beaver.
On the field, Jake counts off hard from the line. The ball is snapped. Jake hands off to his running back and, immediately, the guy gets stuffed hard at the line like he ran into a brick wall. Everyone wearing blue and gold groans in vicarious pain while the trust-fund babies on the other side of the stadium cheer wildly.
“You girls want some popcorn?” Dimitri asks, drawing my attention away from the action on the field.
“Thanks,” Clarissa chirps, taking a handful of popcorn from Dimitri’s bag.
I shake my head. “No, thanks. Too nervous to eat.”
“Nervous?” Dimitri says. “Look at the scoreboard.”
“It ain’t over ’til it’s over, son,” I mutter. “That’s why they play the game.”
