by Lily Cahill
My face is still hidden when I ask, in a very small voice, “Do you think—not that I’m saying this will happen—but do you think it would be completely horrible to do it with Reggie if I don’t see us going anywhere?”
“No!” I peek up at Chloe to catch her toss her blond hair and grin. “That’s why one-night stands exist. This is college. Get yours, girl.”
“I don’t really think I’m a one-night stand kind of girl.”
She looks at me sideways with her lips puckered. Chloe has had her fair share on one-night stands.
“Not that it’s a bad thing,” I start to backpedal, thinking of the wide swath of senior class guys Chloe has had her way with. Not that I have a problem with that—I envy how sexually empowered Chloe is. I just can’t imagine doing it myself. “I just feel like it would be so awkward. Like, do you establish that ahead of time? Who brings the condom? I’m going to see Reggie for the rest of the football season. He’s not just a guy at a party that I can avoid forever.”
Chloe’s hand on my back starts making soothing circles again. “You’re over thinking it. Reggie is a perfect first time. It might hurt, because, I mean, I’m assuming he’s massive.” She holds her hands in front of her, two feet apart, with wide eyes and a smile. “Just based on his frame, you know?”
“Is this helping or hurting?”
“Okay.” She lets her hands drop. “Seriously, I think it would be great. He’s a nice guy, he’s clearly into you.” I open my mouth to protest, but she keeps going. “Trust me. A guy does not cook for you, unless he likes you. It’s better that it’s not the guy you’re going to marry. There’s less pressure. It’s just sex. And sex is so, so great.”
Am I seriously considering this? What happened to my professionalism? What happened to sleeping over meaning nothing?
Just then, there’s a knock at the door. I freeze, imagining that it’s Reggie, and I know I look like a complete mess. I haven’t showered, and my hair is greasy and falling out of its ponytail. I still haven’t changed from the day before, and my clothes are loose and wrinkled.
“People don’t materialize just because you’re talking about them. Chill,” Chloe reassures me as she strides to the front door.
She’s right. Of course it can’t be Reggie. He hasn’t even texted me since I left his dorm this morning. That seems a great argument against Chloe’s insistence that he’s into me. But then I hear Chloe say, loudly, “Hi, Reggie,” and I nearly choke on the bite of egg I’ve just shoved into my mouth.
And then just as suddenly, Reggie ambles into my apartment and appears before me. I try to wipe the egg from my face and stand up, but I look kind of like a fawn that’s only learning to walk. Reggie looks incredible, of course. His skin glows under our florescent lights and he’s so tall he barely fits in our tiny apartment. When he steps into the kitchen, it’s like he displaces all the air, and I swear I can’t breathe for a second. I have this irrational thought that he’s overheard our entire conversation from the hallway. That literally could have happened. The walls are so thin, he could have arrived twenty minutes ago and just been listening out there. Heat sears up my neck and flares bright in my cheeks.
He takes a step toward me, still grinning, and leans in as if to kiss my cheek. He’s favoring his left, uninjured leg, stepping gingerly on his right and limping heavily. The wheelchair is nowhere to be seen.
I put my hand on his chest and push him away, suddenly all business.
“Why aren’t you in your wheelchair? Or on crutches?”
“I rode my scooter over. I don’t think I need that stuff.” He shrugs his shoulders and looks like a little boy who’s been caught doing something naughty. The contrast of his sweet, kid-like face on his massive, manly body makes me soften a little.
“Here, I’ll help you get to the couch. Chloe, will you make an ice pack?” I give him my arm, and he pushes down on it, using me as a crutch. I’m suddenly glad for our tiny apartment. The couch is only ten steps away.
“This is not okay, Reggie,” I say, helping him sit down and grabbing a throw pillow so he can prop his ankle up on the coffee table.
“What am I supposed to do, sit on my futon forever?”
“No. You’re just not supposed to leave the dorm without your crutches!”
“It was fine. Earlier,” he admits with a wince as I probe the injury.
I sigh heavily. Male pride has to be dumbest thing on Earth. “I know you don’t want people to see you injured,” I begin.
“I’m not injured, it’s just a twinge.”
“If you don’t keep off it, it’ll be more than a twinge,” I say firmly. “It’s a serious sprain. You can ignore it and pretend like you’re fine, but it’s just going to make things worse. You can admit that you’re injured now and let people see you with crutches, or you act like you’re too strong to have an ankle sprain and not play the rivalry game against Arizona.”
Hi grimaces. “I can’t miss that game. They’re already taunting us. Their quarterback was on ESPN this morning trash-talking that they were going to beat us because their program is so good this year, blah blah blah. But there was this glee on his face, you know? They think they can beat us because our team’s been gutted. But they’re wrong. We could be really good.” He sighs and stares off somewhere past me. “If we get past a few issues,” he adds.
“Like a center who won’t admit when he’s hurt?”
He ducks his head, his dreadlocks swinging. “Yeah, I guess.”
He’s on the ropes, but he’s my patient, and it’s my job to make sure he recovers well, so I keep punching. “It’s not just you, you know. If you re-injure yourself, Garrett is going to take it out on me. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on you.”
His head comes up quickly. “You could get in trouble?”
“Yes,” I say, trying to make it clear how serious this is. “If Garrett doesn’t see improvement, he could withhold my recommendation to the graduate program, even fail me. I really need you to take care of yourself.”
He lifts his gaze to mine, those golden eyes tarnished. “I was hoping you would take care of me.”
Chloe clears her throat before she enters the room. “Here’s that ice pack,” she says cheerily. “I’m off to the library.”
“The library?” As far as I knew, Chloe’s plans for the night were to hang out with me and watch TV.
“Yeah, I’ve got that big paper to do, remember?” She smiles at my pointedly, darting her eyes between me and Reggie before picking up her bag and heading for the door so fast I don’t have time to react. “Later!”
The cozy apartment suddenly seems like a trap without her here. Reggie is looking at me, but I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze. “I’m really sorry if I screwed things up for you,” he says finally.
I shake my head, unable to stand the apology in his voice. “Just get better, okay?”
“You know what would make me feel better?”
“What?”
Instead of answering, he pulls me closer to him on the couch. He gives me plenty of chance to pull back, but somehow I end up tucked under his arm, snuggled against his warm body.
At first I feel tense and nervous. I glance up at him, wondering what he’s planning—is this some sort of move? But he’s got his head resting against the back of the couch, his eyes closed.
Gradually, I soften against him. I’m reminded of the Zen-like calm I felt this morning, wrapped in his arms. Maybe there is something about him I can trust. I can hear his heartbeat, slow and steady under my ear, lulling me into relaxation.
“Eggs and toast, huh?” Reggie says, nodding toward the kitchen. The discarded sandwiches are probably still sitting on the table, looking pathetic.
“Yeah. It didn’t come out nearly as good as yours.” I blush a little.
“Let’s call for Chinese,” he says, and I smile.
Suddenly determined, I sit up. Chloe was right. What am I waiting for? He’s right here, right now, and I know what I
want. “Reggie. Do you want to have sex with me?”
“Huh?” His head jolts off the back of the couch so he can stare at me.
I’m sure that, someday, I’ll think of his gaping look and find it funny. Right now, I’m so nervous I can’t think straight.
“It’s fine if you don’t. I just—you keep trying to hang out with me, and you kissed me that one time—”
“Actually, you kissed me.”
“Oh.” God, he’s right. What if I’m reading all the signals wrong?
“And you said you didn’t want to do it again.”
“I did say that,” I reply, my mouth suddenly dry. I can barely speak past the embarrassment choking me when I finally say, “Um, if you could just scrub the last five minutes from your memory, I’d appreciate it.”
“I don’t want to do that,” he says, pulling me back when I try to stand. “You just brought up a topic that I’m pretty interested in.”
Can you die from blushing? The heat in my cheeks is nuclear. “I’m not … I’m not very good at this.”
“At what?” he says, drawing my legs up and over his lap. My senses are in overdrive, being so close to him.
“At, you know, this,” I say, making a helpless gesture that I hope encompasses the whole situation. Well, I’ve gone this far, I might as well tell him everything. “I’ve … well, I’ve never had sex before.”
His eyes widen with shock, then soften into a look that is somehow grateful and hungry at the same time. “And you want your first time to be with me?”
“If you want to,” I say quickly, then duck my eyes in embarrassment at how eager I sound. “I mean, you don’t have to. Obviously. And it’s really not a big deal. I’m not going to, like, fall in love with you because we have sex, I promise. I just … you seem like you like me, and I figured … why not?”
Reggie’s just watching as I babble with a tiny smile on his face. When I finally wind down, he snuggles me a little closer, running his hands up and down my back. “I told you that I could wait to kiss you again until you asked me nicely.”
I swallow hard. There’s amusement in his gorgeous face, but also something more. Something sweet and hot. I abandon all pretense and close my eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I should do.”
“I do,” he says, suddenly so close I can feel his breath on my face. “You should ask me to kiss you. And you should know that I can wait as long as you want for all the rest.”
I open my eyes to see him watching me, and my heart skips a beat. He’s giving me an out, and somehow that makes my nervousness subside. I take a deep breath and know that I am finally, totally ready. “I don’t want to wait. Reggie, please kiss me.”
Chapter Eleven
Reggie
I LEAN IN HESITANTLY, BRUSHING my lips against hers softly. She said our kiss had been a mistake, but it felt so right. And now, after hours of being apart, I feel a physical ache to be near her again. Kissing her is practically all I have been thinking about for the last forty-eight hours. Her lips, her body pressed against mine in my bed, her coconut-scented hair. I should be completely freaked out about my ankle, and as much as I want to get better in time for the big game, what I want more than anything right now is Megan.
I can feel the nerves coming off of her in jittery waves, but she doesn’t back away when my lips brush hers. Her eyes close and her head tilts up to me, her mouth slightly parted. I kiss her again, still lightly, gradually increasing the pressure until her mouth is pressed to mine. She tastes sweet. Not in a sugary way, but the subtle flavor of her mouth is fresh, like she’s made out of flowers instead of flesh.
My hand reaches for her hip, those glorious hips that sway when she walks. No matter how plain her clothes are, her hips always give off a smoldering heat. God, it’s like a fantasy. My hot physical therapy girl is letting me touch her and kiss her. It’s literally a fantasy come true. I have to remind myself to stay calm, keep it slow, because what I really want is to devour her in one ravenous bite.
Not that she seems interested in slow. She tugs at my shirt as she reclines back on the couch, keeping my mouth on hers as she pulls me on top of her. The couch is low and deep, with just enough room for us both. I can’t stop my hands from roving down the curve of her waist, over her hips and thigh. Instinctively she arches her hips toward me, wrapping her leg over mine so she can tug me even closer.
Her mouth has lost its hesitancy, and as she takes the kiss deeper and deeper, I can’t help but rock my hips into her, letting her feel how hot and hard I am. She gasps, and I pull back slightly so I can see her face. Her eyes are wide with apprehension. Experimentally, I rock into her again, and watch as the apparent nerves are flooded away by heat. She clutches at my shoulders, taking over the movement, and though it costs me, I let her explore until she’s grinding against me.
My cock is raging to be inside her, and it takes effort to focus on going slow. I want this to be good for her. There’s not a lot I can give Megan—she’s smarter than I am, and way more responsible. She’s helping me to get better, even when I get in my own way. And she’s giving me this: I get to be the first man to touch her, to take her, to teach her what her body can do. It’s an honor that I don’t deserve, and the thought makes it easier to be tender and ignore my own needs.
I kiss down her jawline, finding her earlobe and licking it. It’s so incredibly soft, like a delicate peach. I suck it into my mouth and savor it, scraping my teeth over it lightly as I enjoy the way the contact makes Megan sigh and moan. Her small, round breasts are pressing into my chest as her hands slide beneath my shirt to run up my stomach and sides. With one hand, I reach back and pull the shirt over my head, dropping it to the ground.
She scoots up on the couch, so I shift back. “Too fast?”
She shakes her head, her eyes on my chest. “I just wanted to see,” she says, running her eyes over me hungrily.
The words make my eager cock twitch. “You can touch, too,” I say, trying to sound casual when my entire body is begging for her.
She bites her hip, causing any blood left in my brain to disappear, as she lays her hands over my pecs. “You’re so hard,” she says.
I run my hand back up her waist and take one of her breasts in my hand. “You’re so soft.” I can feel her heart pounding in her chest—or maybe that’s my heart thundering in my ears.
Her eyes have tracked farther down my body, to the erection straining against my sweats. I didn’t bother with boxers before I came over, so my cock is tenting the fabric, expectant and needy. “No rush,” I remind her, wanting her to feel safe.
Still, I’m disappointed when she shifts off the couch to stand. I remind myself that I wasn’t expecting anything when I came over here—I just wanted to see her, spend a little time with her.
“I’m sorry, we can stop. We can do something else,” I say, trying to salvage the night.
Her smile is female and knowing—anything but virginal. “I don’t want to stop,” she says. “I want more. I want you in my bed.”
My brain is barely functioning, my body so hungry I can barely stand it, but I manage to croak out, “Are you sure?”
She nods her head yes, then pulls me to my feet. As we walk down the hall toward her room, she makes me lean on her. Our progress is slow, mostly because I keep pulling her in for kisses. We’re both a little breathless by the time she pulls open the door to her room.
Inside, it’s organized and full of books. All of the responsible, put-together things you’d expect are right there, just like I imagined. She has a whiteboard calendar on the wall detailing her obligations, her computer is closed neatly on her desk with the proper office supplies lined up accordingly, and a shoe rack hangs over her door, with each pocket filled with one shoe neatly centered, not crammed in any old place. She even has a cardigan hanging over the back of her desk chair. And her bed is made. I don’t think I’ve made my bed once in four years of college, but I get the distinct impression that it’s
part of her morning routine.
But her room is so much more than that, too. Surrounding the white board in every direction are pictures in varying sized frames. Practically the whole wall is covered with them. Megan with other pale and freckled people that must be her family smiling at a picnic table. A much younger Megan in a soccer jersey, flanked by two other girls, holding up gold medals. The medal from the photo hangs on the corner of the frame. Megan skydiving, the wind flapping in her face so hard her cheeks are stretched out and her hair is standing straight up from her helmet. It suddenly hits me that I’m the first man in this room—the first man to see this side of her.
There’s a map of all the fourteeners in Colorado—mountains over fourteen thousand feet, I learned when I moved here from Texas. There are at least a dozen red pins tacked in.
“You’ve hiked all these?”
I’m still leaning against her, and the warmth of her skin is inviting. But I’m just as hungry to know her as I am to touch her. I want to ask her about every item on her wall.
“Yep,” she nods with a smile unfurling. “Slowly but surely.”
“Wow.” I turn back to her. “I’ve lived here for four years, and I’ve never gotten around to hiking a fourteener.”
“Maybe we can hike one together. Once the season is over.”
It’s a casual comment, but it gives me hope that this isn’t just a short-term thing with Megan. Maybe she’ll want to spend time with me, even after my ankle is healed. “I’d like that.”
A light pink flush decorates her cheeks. She raises herself on her toes and kisses my smiling mouth. I settle my hands on those gorgeous hips, my thumbs dipping low into the hollow inside her hips. She purrs in response, settling her body into mine and leading me in a never-ending kiss.
My hands trail up under her shirt, and I feel her tremble when I brush my palms over her skin. She’s silky soft, and I’m struck all over again with gratitude that she’s giving herself to me. She steps back, her eyes on mine, and lifts her shirt over her head so I can finally take in that body hiding under her modest clothes. The curve of her hips taper into a nipped, narrow waist, and her breasts … wow. Her bra is white, but her rounded breasts swell over the top, just begging to be touched. She probably thinks the bra is nothing but practical, yet it’s also sexy as hell—just like her. Then she sits on the bed, holding her arms out to me, and I realize that I’ve never wanted a woman more in my life.
