by Teagan Kade
I place the dino dildo down. I’m looking pretty ridiculous sitting on this chair about a foot from the floor. “I don’t know. Taylor’s Taylor, high and almighty. To be honest, she’s a bit of a bitch. I don’t think anyone would disagree with that.”
Willow looks at me. Her hair’s pulled up into a tight ponytail, a single, fiery twist hanging against her cheek, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Without her glasses, her violet eyes are luminous. “So why are you with her?”
Good fucking question. “We’re not together, per se. I don’t think we ever were.”
“Yet you let people believe you are. Why?”
“Convenience, I suppose. Are you jealous?” I add a smile, my dinosaur’s head falling off.
“No.” But it’s hard to miss the light blush that warms her cheeks. Her focus is back on braiding, delicate fingers working fast. I bet they’d be like fucking velvet wrapped around my cock. “I don’t want to become one of your famous conquests,” she adds.
“Who said you’d be famous?” I reply.
She stops, glaring at me. “Wow. How do you even walk with a head that big?”
“It’s called confidence.”
She resumes braiding. “Oh, I can think of many things it’s called, and none of them start with ‘C.’”
Time to turn up the heat. “Come on. Admit you’re attracted to me.”
“I’m not even going to reply to that.”
“Not even a little?” I keep the smile on, pressing her into an answer.
“What’s does ‘attractood’ mean?” sings a little voice between us.
Willow ignores the question. Her face has gone from snow white to Sahara hot, but she manages to remain collected. She looks down at her work. “You’ve got a nice body. So what? I’m not a shallow bimbo who’s only interested in the size of a guy’s… pectorals.”
I laugh. “It’s not the size of my pecs most girls sign up for.”
Now she looks at me. “Are you serious?”
“What’s a pectoral?” calls another kid.
“Nothing Xavier,” she calls back. She exhales, tying off the braid. “There you go, Kimberley.”
Willow stands, hands on her hips. She looks adorable when she’s mad. “Listen, you can try your little pants-removing charm on me all you want, but I’m not going to let you off your duties. You did something stupid and now you have to make amends. So you’re going to miss some precious time at the Quagmire, maybe a few drunken bar brawls or threesomes or whatever it is you get up to. I’m impervious to serial womanizers. Sorry.”
God, now this is turning me on. I have to shift my chair so none of the kids see the giant erection she’s creating in my pants. “I’m not trying to get out of anything. You’ve got the wrong idea, and we’ll see.”
“About what?”
I fucking love this position, looking right up between her legs. I could take hold of her right now, pull her down into my lap… if there weren’t twenty kids milling about. “We’ll see if you’re impervious to my charms.” I stand, rising above her and bending down to whisper in her ear. I don’t miss the way her breath catches when I speak, her body turning rigid as a fucking flagpole. “Because if I were a betting man, I’d say the odds are wholly in my favor.”
CHAPTER FIVE
WILLOW
I’m up high in the stands of the college stadium. They call it ‘The Litterbox’ thanks to its rectangular layout. Others would say the title’s more befitting the state the stadium’s left in post-game.
Early morning mist rises from the field. I spot Asher making his way to the home plate, bat in hand.
The beauty of training sessions is that anyone can watch. It’s actually the first time I’ve been in here. I went to Yankees stadium when I was a kid. We were never well off, but Dad bought me a hot dog and fries. I can still smell it. We were so close you could see the raked infield dirt. I was sold.
He died two years ago, on my birthday.
Being here, in another ballpark, forces those memories to the surface.
I recognize Leon pitching. He fires pitch after pitch, Asher slugging them back with rapid-fire precision. Down there, in his element, he really is something to behold. Another hot flush works its way across my skin. I push my sweater down between my legs to stifle the need growing there, but the more I watch, the more it continues to build and expand until I realize I’ve been holding my breath for the last minute.
I don’t even know why I decided to come this morning. To watch him? A guy who epitomizes all I despise about college?
You’re regressing, Willow.
There’s an extra-loud crack. I watch the ball jet into the air.
Uh-oh.
It starts to fall. It’s coming right for me.
I slide off the seat and crouch behind the one in front, praying Asher hasn’t seen me up here spying on him. He’d never let me live it down.
Mercifully, the ball ricochets off a rail a few rows down, bouncing its way down the stairs.
That’s enough excitement for one morning, don’t you think?
I get out of there before he sees me, my pulse racing, sweaty, but smiling all the same.
*
We’re on a break at the home. Asher’s got marker pen on his face. One of the kids was trying to draw a moustache on him. I think he’s forgotten about it. I figure I’ll keep my mouth shut, give him a chance to discover it in a mirror.
It shouldn’t be long. He probably checks himself out on the hour.
He sees me watching him. “Yes?”
I put my soda down. “You know, you’re not terrible at this.”
He laughs. “Is that your idea of a compliment?”
“I’m serious. The kids really like you.”
“Only because I’ve got a cool leather jacket.”
I smile. “No. You’re good with them. Dare I say it, but you’re a natural—Dad material even.”
He puts his hands out. “Whoa, whoa. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“You know what I mean.”
He rocks forward in his chair, elbows on the table. “You’re pretty good at this yourself. You’ve got nieces, nephews, that kind of thing?”
I take hold of the soda again. “I was an only child, actually.”
“Explains a lot.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The constant search for approval, the studying. I get it.”
I laugh. “You don’t get anything about me.”
“You’d be surprised.”
I put my foot down, my tone turning accusatory. “I actually have to work for my grades.”
“And you don’t think I do?” he fires back.
I laugh again, can’t believe he’s asking the question. “I don’t know if you’ve really worked for anything in your life, least of all grades. I bet you could not show up to a single class and still come out of this with a killer GPA.”
His expression turns slightly serious. “Maybe I’m just really smart.”
I laugh at the ceiling. “Yeah, right.”
“Is it so hard to believe?”
I nod. “Yeah, it kind of is. For one, you’re always out either partying or sexing up some poor girl, which means you don’t actually have any time to study.”
He goes to talk, but I cut him off. “Two, if you were smart, you wouldn’t be here, would you? Dining with me while your baseball buddies live it up back on campus.”
“You’re talking two kinds of smart there.”
“Oh, so you’re saying I’m not, what? Street smart?”
“The streets?” he heckles. “You look like you were born in a convent.”
He said what? “Yeah, well, you look like the illegitimate love child of Axel Rose and Janis Joplin.”
Now he smiles. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is high praise indeed.”
We both relax, my anger subsiding.
He leans over the table. “You want to know the truth?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t find any of the subjects I’m enrolled in that interesting. What can I say? I prefer sports. At least with baseball everything makes sense. It’s simple mathematics, physics. It’s the best classroom in the world.”
And damn it, I’ve got nothing to argue back with. “I like this truthful guy.”
“Like, ‘like’ like?”
I roll my eyes. “And there he goes.”
He pauses, preparing himself for something. “Hey, what about we hang out later? If you’re looking for a little more truth, that is.”
My instant reaction is ‘hell no,’ but the longer I wait to reply the more the idea grows on me, the prospect of spending time with this man-god. Call it an experiment. “You, Asher Slade, ‘Slugger,’ want to hang out with me? What about your bad boy reputation?”
He waves it off. “Fuck that. I don’t care what people think of me.”
Lie. “Do I look like the partying type?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Who said anything about a party? I’m talking you and me. That’s it.”
My insides are tightening up like a freakin’ rubber-band ball. You and me. “You’re talking about a date?”
He plays it cool. “Call it what you will.”
The old Willow is jumping up and down screaming ‘Asher Slade wants to go on a date with me!’ It’s borderline ridiculous how easily I’m letting myself be pulled into this trap. I mean, there’s practically a neon sign above his head blinking, ‘Stay away! Do not capitulate!’
“I can’t.”
He sits back sheepishly, head falling. “Okay. I’m disappointed, but I respect that. I won’t bear a grudge. Besides, I’ve got other plans, I—”
I can almost hear the glurrrrp-ing sound of the way he’s sucking me in.
Don’t do it. “Yes,” I yelp.
He cups his ear. “What was that?” He’s smiling. He knows he’s got me.
I swallow, once, and reply, “Sure. Yes. Whatever.”
Now you’ve done it. Universe imploding in three, two…
He smiles. It’s a genuine, smug, ‘of course you were going to say yes’ grin. “Pick you up at seven?”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
And it’s done. In six hours, twenty minutes I’m going on a date with the Slugger himself.
God help me.
*
As per usual, the first thing Mom wants to know about when I call her is my grades.
“Yes, Mom,” I drawl. “I’m studying hard. No one studies harder than I do.” Least of all Asher. God, why can’t I stop thinking about him? “How’s Jersey?”
“Jersey is Jersey,” she replies, short. “Are you making friends, enjoying yourself? Because you should. I don’t want you to feel like you have to box yourself away all day. Why don’t you join a book club, or what about bridge? I bet they’ve got a fine team at Penbrook.”
I don’t think Mom’s quite up to date with my generation’s definition of ‘fun.’ “Sure, Mom. I’ll think about it.”
“Willow?”
Crap. Mom’s onto me. I haven’t said anything and I can almost see her peering down the line, eking it out of me.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
She’s bluffing. “Nothing, Mom.”
“Is it a boy?”
Bluff. Bluff. Bluff. “No. Of course not.”
“You can tell your mother, Willow. I’m not a prude.”
Ha! “I’m not seeing anyone.” Until five minutes’ time.
She buys it. “Well, just stay safe. That’s all I’m saying.”
“What about you? Did you manage to sort out your email problem?”
“Oh, you know me and technology, baby. We don’t get along. Simple as that, but once you’re a respectable doctor I’m sure you can pay someone to come over and have a look at your poor old mother’s computer.”
“Mom…”
“I’m just saying, Willow.”
“I know what you’re saying, Mom. I’m on top of it. Trust me.”
Maybe you’ll be on top of him next time she calls…
I scald myself internally. “I— I’ve got to go.”
“Yes, I can hear those textbooks calling.”
It’s actually my roommate trying to get in. No doubt she lost her key again. “Bye, Mom.”
“Bye, honey. Stay safe!” she slips in.
I hang up and head to the door, pulling it wide.
It’s him.
Asher Slade is standing in my doorway in a tight V-neck tee and jeans that should be illegal he fills them out so well. I almost want to reach out and check he’s not a wax figure. He wedges an arm into the corner of the doorframe, bicep bulging. “Well, are you going to invite me in or should I stand out here in the hallway?”
I find my voice, opening up to let him through. “Come in. I wasn’t expecting you to—”
He looks around the room, all two-hundred square feet of it. “Come up to your dorm room?” he finishes.
I lean against the wall. I need something to prop me up given my legs feel like they’re going to give out at any moment. “This is the girls’ dorm. How did you get past Linda at the front desk? How’d you even know which room was mine?”
He picks up one of Amy’s bobbleheads and examines it. “One, there are few places on campus I don’t have access to, and two, I asked around. I’m nothing if not resourceful. You look amazing, by the way.”
It’s been a while since I wore a dress. I had to borrow this one off Amy, a simple halter in black. I feel naked in it. It’s like he’s looking right through it. I brush it down. “This? It’s nothing.”
He places the bobblehead down and looks over Amy’s posters. “Can’t say I took you for a K-Pop fan.”
“No. That’s not—”
He turns smiling, hands sliding into his pocket. “I’m kidding.” He focuses his attention on my side of the room. “I figured this—” pause for emphasis “—functional space was yours”.
“I like a clean desk,” I say, somewhat defensively.
He runs a finger across the surface of my desk. “Doesn’t seem like it’s ever seen anything dirty.” This is followed by a wry grin in my direction.
That rubber-band ball somewhere in my center twists tight again. I swallow. “Should we go?”
He straightens up, walking over and placing his hand against the small of my back. It burns there like a hot iron. “We better. The roast should be done by now.”
“The roast?” I stammer. “You didn’t come here and leave the oven on, did you?”
He laughs like it’s no big deal. “Sure. Why not?”
Here I was thinking we were heading to some fancy restaurant for dinner, but no. He wasn’t kidding about this being a private affair. “How much cooking do you do?”
“I can’t say I host many dinner parties.”
“We better get going then.”
Heads emerge from doorways as we walk down the dormitory hallway, everyone keen to see who Asher Slade is taking home tonight. I avert my eyes, unused to the attention, but I have to admit that deep down it does feel kind of good. It feels like a former life.
Yeah, take that, I think, eyeing off a bottle blond who always laughs when I walk by. If only I could snapshot the look on her face now.
It’s a short, breathless drive to Asher’s place just outside of campus. He was in a frat house for a year or two, but got kicked out after an incident with a vibrator, a drone, and the female swimming squad. So, he moved into an apartment the college personally arranged for him. I’ve heard they even subsidize his rent.
I take off my helmet, all that hard work I put into straightening my hair down the toilet. His apartment complex comes complete with its own moat and fountain. You have to step across small river stones to access the courtyard. “Impressive.”
He helps me off the last stone, my tiny hand engulfed by his. “Wait until you see the size of my floor lamp.”
Asher’s apartme
nt is on the top story of the complex and I feel his eyes on my ass as I climb the stairs. I should be pissed off, but in a strange, deluded way I am enjoying the attention. Like, really enjoying it.
Asher leads us to the door at the end of the hallway. “Home, sweet home.”
I stop by the door, hands in front of myself, sniffing the air. “Do you smell something?”
CHAPTER SIX
ASHER
Gordon Ramsey I am not. Mom’s always been the killer cook in the family. Even Dad could put together a mean Sunday dinner, but my roast? Like a log dragged from the bottom of the fire.
Willow looks it over it in hysterics while I swat at the smoke alarm. She prods a blackened potato. “I suppose it’s not that bad.”
I finally manage to switch the alarm off, clearing the smoke with my hands. “What are you talking about? It looks like a lump of coal.”
This sends her into another fit. She collects herself, smiling. It’s the best fucking sight in the world. I’d burn a hundred roasts to see it again. “I appreciate the effort, though.”
She looks incredible bending over the stove. I bet she borrowed that dress, but it shows off her curves perfectly—something her usual sweater-and-jeans combo would never allow. I wonder what she’d do if I was to come up behind her and run my hands up the back of her thighs until they were full with her ass, my rigid cock hard against her back, my lips against her ear telling her all the ways I’d fuck her silly tonight.
Calm down, soldier. Breathe. “There’s a little restaurant downstairs, Italian. How do you feel about carbonara?”
She turns, smiling. “Pretty good.”
I swipe the keys off the kitchen table. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”
I sit downstairs waiting for the food. It’s a good thing I cleaned up earlier, because there’s no doubt she’ll be snooping around, trying to infer my true intentions by the state of my bedroom, bathroom. There’s nothing incriminating save for a box of sex toys I stashed under the bed. Then again, maybe her finding that wouldn’t be so bad. At least then she’d know what she’s in for.
I return fifteen minutes later, placing the food down. “Bon appetit.”
