by Claire Adams
“Well in fairness to him, the last one was all you.”
I shook my head, still smiling, and turned to go back to my room.
“Oh! Did you by any chance think to grab my bag?” My cheeks were burning again and I realized I had forgotten all about the fact that I’d left my backpack behind in the dining hall when I’d fled Zack’s public declaration of love.
“I did, in fact. What would you do without a conscientious roommate like me?” Jess went into her bedroom and came back out a moment later, carrying my backpack.
“If I didn’t have a conscientious roommate like you I wouldn’t have been the subject of two very embarrassing public displays because I would have never run into Zack at the party you made me go to.”
“So then, you still wouldn’t be getting laid, is what you’re saying.”
I couldn’t say anything to that—she was, technically, right. “I can get my own guys!” I shouted as Jess sauntered back to her room.
I had to hurry to get ready; there was my assignment for class to print out, and of course I couldn’t walk across campus in my bathrobe. I found my clothes and put them on while I printed my assignment for the class, humming along with the music still playing on my computer. My body was tingling still, and I could feel a ghost of the sensation of Zack’s cock inside of me, the lingering wetness between my thighs from the sex we’d had.
****
I managed to make it to class on time, hurrying across campus and avoiding everyone’s gaze as my cheeks burned. I didn’t know how many of the people I passed on the walkways had seen Zack’s pronouncement of love in the dining hall—or how far the word of it had spread throughout campus since I’d gone back to my room. It had been an hour and a half since I’d run back to my dorm—so it could have easily spread throughout half the campus already. I wondered, feeling mortified, if someone had gotten a video of it; they probably had.
Once I was in class, I tried to turn my thoughts firmly onto the task at hand, but I found my attention straying every few minutes. I imagined Zack at practice, running through plays, doing the standard exercises that seemed to always come up for football players. I assumed that the routine at the college level wasn’t that different from what I had seen Zack work through when we had been dating in high school; there were only so many ways that a team could practice. I thought, remembering the article I had turned in and the stakes of the last game, that running plays and staying in fighting shape were more important than ever for the team. As long as they managed to win the next big game, our team would go on to national championships—a major bowl game that could bring fame to our school. If Zack were the man in charge of the team when that happened, he’d have a permanent reputation at the college for years to come.
In a flash, I remembered Zack’s hands on me, the image of him in my mind firmly replacing the thoughts of him virtuously at practice, focused on running plays. My cheeks burned with a deep blush as I played through the way Zack buried his face between my legs, my mind sending ghostlike jolts of remembered sensation through my body as I tried not to squirm in my seat, heat rushing through my body from head to toe. When we had dated in high school, Zack had been okay with his hands—I could easily remember him getting me off with his fingers—but he’d never been too interested in going down on me. I shivered in the memory of how enthusiastic he had become.
I took notes mindlessly, hearing and not hearing the lecture going on in the front of the classroom, thinking about the strange set of events that had led to having Zack in my bed. I smiled to myself, remembering the sight of him stretching; the thick, dark patch of hair tangled around the base of his cock, the ripple of his abdominal muscles, the deep cut of his hip bones. I felt giddy and satisfied, worried and contented all at once, and I knew—in a sudden flash—that I was every bit as infatuated with Zack as I had been in high school, that it would be incredibly easy to fall head over heels in love with him just the way I had before. The thought of that gave me a moment’s pause. I had fallen completely and totally in love with Zack when we’d dated in high school, and he had ended up breaking up with me—he had left. We were in the same position in college as we’d been when we’d first started dating; even if we lasted the semester, and then Spring, what would happen when it came time for Zack to graduate?
But it was too soon to be worrying about what would happen years in the future. For the moment, I could let myself think of Zack without too much danger. He was undoubtedly every bit as hot as he’d been when we’d dated before, but he’d changed too. He was better in bed by far than he had ever been when we were both in high school. The subject of Zack apparently going to the library every day tugged at my mind; was he really studying? If he was, then he had definitely changed. If he was goofing off, then it was a little strange that he would pick that location. I felt a flush of heat rush through my body as I remembered the time we had sex, on the couch of his frat house; I thought about how he had seduced me so easily, kissing me until I was so turned on I couldn’t have formed the word no if I had wanted to—and I certainly didn’t want to. I shivered as I remembered how eagerly he had buried his face against my pussy, sucking and licking until he brought me to an intense orgasm.
I went from one class to another and still couldn’t shake the thought of Zack; I relived the acute embarrassment of his impulsive decision to apparently announce his love of me to as much of the campus at one time as he could. I saw him in my mind’s eye climbing up onto the table and getting every last person’s attention, looking at the girls and the guys at his table before telling everyone, “I want everyone to know that I am stupidly, head-over-heels, hung up on Evelyn Jackson. She’s the only girl for me. No one else could ever compare with her.” I couldn’t quite make myself believe that he was actually in love with me, per se; but when I thought about the way he’d done something so rash and stupid to shut up the girls making fun of me, I had to admit that my reaction had been a bit much.
I was struggling to pay attention during the last class of the day but failing miserably as my mind kept drifting back to the incredibly hot sex that Zack and I had in the aftermath of our fight. I smiled to myself as I remembered telling him that I could get him off just as thoroughly as he’d brought me to orgasm, and the silly wager we had made—and of course how I’d won it. Zack’s words, in his low, pleased voice, filled my mind. “God, you’re going to ruin me. Good at oral, full of great ideas for how to make sex better—I’m going to fail out.” I made myself pay at least enough attention to get the notes off of the board; it was lucky for me that my last class of the day was English Literature, something that I could do well in even if I occasionally lost myself in thought. In spite of the bone-deep satisfaction I felt after my afternoon tryst, my mind kept coming back to the question of whether it was all going to end this time the way it had before; was Zack just going to move on once he graduated? Or would he wait for me? I shook off the thought as best as I could. We’d had sex twice, and Zack had publicly declared his love for me—but that wasn’t exactly an indication that there was anything serious between us, no matter how tempting that possibility might be.
****
After class ended, I walked back towards the dorms, still distracted by thoughts of Zack. He wanted to see me again; well, I thought, of course he did. Even if he wasn’t serious about me, I knew good and damned well that I was an excellent lay. I didn’t need his confirmation of it, but his words had expressed how much he’d enjoyed himself—just as much as I had. So of course Zack would want more of that. I grinned to myself as I swiped my card to get into the building, barely noticing the world around me, my thoughts alternating between the homework I had to do and the thought of when I might see Zack again. Would he ask me on another date? And if he did, where would he take me?
I took the stairs once more, climbing them slowly and dreamily, able to feel the aching tenderness between my legs. I would text Zack once I got back to my room, I thought; he should be out of practice and maybe we
could make plans. I had to get my homework done, but maybe Zack would be willing to come up to my room and we could study together and then have sex again. That was a good date, no matter who you were. Or maybe Zack would be up for going to the movies in a few days, and coming back to my room afterward; in spite of the fact that our first sexual encounter at the college had taken place on the couch at his frat house, I didn’t like the idea of going to the frat house to be with Zack. I could still remember his brother’s comment about me being Zack’s piece of ass. I didn’t think that Zack took the same view—I hoped he didn’t—but I didn’t want to hear it from anyone else, either.
My mind kept going back to the way Zack had improved in the time we had been apart. The thought of him—of what it was like to have sex with him—was so intense that I felt myself getting turned on in spite of the fact that I was walking around campus, into the dorms, up to my room. I thought about calling Zack, inviting him over to have one more little quickie in my room before dinner. I could still feel the ache between my hips when I moved, the sweet feeling of tenderness between my thighs that was so satisfying. I wanted more of it—I couldn’t help but want more. I smiled to myself. I could easily just offer Zack a massage; after practice he’d definitely want one, and he’d know right away that it was the perfect opening for sex.
I was so lost in thought that I didn’t spot the guy in front of my dorm room until I was nearly at the door. I looked up and saw one of the guys who had been sitting with Zack in the dining hall at lunch standing right there, looking up and down the hallway. The sight of him confused me; since he was on the team, I had to suppose that I’d been right—practice was over for the day. But what was he doing hanging around in front of my dorm room? The guy was bigger than Zack—bulky and hefty where Zack was lean and muscled, with dark hair already starting to thin at the top in the crew cut he wore. He shifted uncomfortably and watched me as I approached, his pale gray eyes firm and his lips pressed together.
“Uh, hi? Who are you and what do you want?” I shifted my backpack, feeling an instinctive fear creeping up from my stomach.
“Hey,” he said, trying to give me a friendly smile, but I could tell he was tense about something. “I’m Robbie—I’m on the team with Zack. How’s it going?”
I shrugged, feeling impatient. “I’m doing pretty well—or I was until I found some strange guy standing outside of my door looking like a creeper.” I raised an eyebrow and Robbie shrugged uncomfortably. I set my jaw. “Maybe you’d rather just get the point of why you’re here.”
Robbie looked at his feet for a moment before meeting my gaze. “Look,” he said, “You need to just cut Zack loose.”
I frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?” My heart was beating fast, and I wondered if Zack had told all of his teammates about me.
“I know you don’t know me and we’re not friends, but consider it a personal favor. Don’t hang out with him, don’t go on dates with him, leave him alone.”
I felt anger mixed with confusion rising inside of me. “Excuse me, but I don’t have any reason to do you a favor. I don’t know what’s going on in that big blockhead you’ve got going on, but this was probably the dumbest way to ask me to stop seeing Zack.” I shook my head in disbelief. “You don’t know me and you can’t do anything about what Zack wants to do.”
“Listen—hey—I get it, but just hear me out…” The guy started forward, giving me an opening. I darted around him and got my key in the door quickly, unlocking it with a wrench and yanking the door open.
“Get the hell out of here before I call one of the RAs and tell them you’re harassing me,” I told the big, beefy guy, scowling at him before I slammed the door in his face. I twisted the lock and stormed away from the door, telling myself I’d give him two minutes before I checked to make sure he was actually gone.
I went into my room and threw myself onto the bed, shaking slightly. Who was that guy to tell me not to have anything to do with Zack? I shook my head, feeling the anger boiling up inside of me, twisting my stomach into knots. I couldn’t get comfortable. I sat up, threw myself back down, got out of bed and sat down at my desk; I couldn’t even manage to get into the reading assignment for one of my classes. Part of me wanted to call Zack and tell him what his teammate had just done. I went through my bag to find my phone and looked at it for a long time; but I couldn’t quite make myself make the call.
I put my phone back down and considered it. What reason would the guy have to ask me to stay away from Zack? The guy would have had to have come directly from practice to be waiting at my dorm when I got there; had something come up during practice—had Zack told his teammates about ending up in bed with me? The thought of that brought the anger boiling up even more; if he had told his friends he’d gone straight from the dining hall to my dorm and convinced me to sleep with him, I would kill him. But then, I remembered the spectacle he’d created. The guy who’d been at my door had been sitting right next to him—he had probably taken the proclamation of love at least a little seriously.
I chewed on my bottom lip, thinking about it. Even if Zack hadn’t told his teammates about getting into my pants, I doubted that Zack went around jumping onto tables and proclaiming that he was hung up on girls on a regular basis. The team was reaching the end of its season, and they were close to that elusive ideal—the perfect win-loss record. I got up from my desk and left my room, going to the door to the common area and opening it hesitantly. The guy who’d stood there waiting for me was gone. I went back to my room and climbed into my bed, thinking about the situation from the team’s perspective. I could see where they’d be worried that Zack would get distracted by the prospect of dating me—or anyone. The team only had one more game in the regular season to get through, and then they would be into the national championships. With their record they would be playing against a top-tier school for sure—but a perfect record would definitely bolster their hopes.
I looked at my phone again and decided that at least until the end of the season—only a couple of weeks or so away—I could afford to put the possibility of a relationship with Zack on hold. It wasn’t that I was doing what I was told; it was that I didn’t want to distract Zack, and I didn’t like how fast things were going between us. I told myself firmly that I would just put the brakes on things for a little while, let things cool down. There would be time after the season ended to reconnect with Zack if he was really, truly serious about being with me—if I wasn’t just some kind of convenient fuck buddy for him.
I felt a wrench in my chest at the possibility that if I did decide to slow things down—in reality, to stop them until after the season had ended—I might lose Zack altogether. It was a risk I had to take, I told myself firmly. If Zack moved on to another, easier girl while I wasn’t around, that was on him, and I would just have to move on. It wasn’t as though we’d been dating seriously anyway; or even, really, at all. We’d gone on one date together, and at that it was because Zack made it a condition of answering my interview questions. I thought about the fact that about a week after we’d had sex for the first time since high school, he’d told me flat out that it was just sex; if that had been his attitude, then I could easily give him up. I put my phone down and turned my attention back onto my homework as best as I could, even though I was still haunted with the possibility that I would really, really regret my decision.
CHAPTER TWO
For the next few days, I buried myself in schoolwork. I barely left my room except to go to classes or the library, and I always made sure to get in early enough to book a private study room. Midterms had passed, but I knew that if I gave myself too much free time, I would come to regret it. Jess rolled her eyes at my diligence, reminding me of her “all work and no play makes Evie a dull girl” crack—but I couldn’t quite bring myself to tell her exactly what had happened, only that I had decided to take a little break from Zack and even dating in general.
It was harder than I had even imagined; I knew th
at it was easy for me to become infatuated with him—but I hadn’t counted on how quickly it could happen. I couldn’t exactly tell Zack what had happened either; I didn’t want to start a fight amongst his teammates, and I honestly didn’t know how to explain it to him. I felt guilty, but I couldn’t think of any other way to deal with the situation. The first time Zack texted me—right before dinner hours at the dining hall—I simply responded to his invitation to sit with him that I planned on getting something to go and studying in my room.
After that I couldn’t bring myself to answer any of his messages or calls. While I sat at my desk in my room going over the class readings the day after my altercation with Zack’s teammate, my phone buzzed.
Practice was canceled today, the message read, with a little smiley face. We could hang out…maybe you could show me more of those skills you picked up.
I pressed my lips together and didn’t even pick my phone up to contemplate replying. It buzzed again, breaking through my focus.
Or if you don’t want to get down we could just hang out and watch a movie.
I took a deep breath. No—I wouldn’t respond to him. I wouldn’t even reply to tell him that I was too busy with homework. If I did, he might offer to come up and study with me; of course, knowing Zack, he would be able to very quickly convince me to do anything but study.
The next day, he tried again. I was in the library, in the private study room that I’d reserved for the afternoon trying to make heads or tails of the new Stats lesson. My phone buzzed, on silent per library rules.
Hey, are you mad at me? Can I at least get a chance to figure out what I did wrong?
My heart wrenched in my chest. It took all I had not to open the message that was flashing on my screen and reply to it—tell him that he hadn’t done anything wrong, that I wasn’t mad at him, that I just needed some space and thought he did too. But instead I turned it off altogether and tried to bury myself in my textbook.
