He chuckles, rising from the couch. “Coffee?”
Damn, that does sound good. “Yeah, thanks.”
I hear him in the kitchen, packages rustling and mugs clinking against the counter. Soon, the delicious aroma of hazelnut fills the air. My mouth waters as he returns with two mugs in his hands.
“So, what is your idea for this week?” I ask.
Sam dives into his plan for the presentation. It’s like Wheel of Fortune this time, and he’s already found the perfect spinner icon. We whip it out in no time, each of us downing three cups of coffee in the process. I’m certainly awake and focused by the time we’re finished.
“That didn’t take long at all,” I say, tilting my cup up to drain the last few drops.
“Glad the coffee was good.”
“Coffee is always good.” I set my mug down. “But now I’m going to be up until midnight.”
Sam’s lips curl into a mischievous grin, and he scoots closer to me. “I have an idea of how we can burn off some energy.”
I do a double take at his bobbing eyebrows, laughing. “You’re not serious, are you?”
“Hey, no one ever said there was a limit.”
My mouth opens, but I can’t form any words. I’m a little flabbergasted at his proposition. I mean, we just had sex, and don’t get me wrong, it was fantastic, but are we really going to do it again? “I don’t know, Sam...”
“We don’t have to make it a big thing.” He leans in, putting his lips on my shoulder. “Let me fuck you on the couch.”
“What?” I pull away, my eyes widening.
He gives me a look like he’s offended or something. “I’ll still make sure you come.” The offense melts away to a saucy expression. “That’s my favorite part.”
Well, when he puts it like that, how can I not be flattered? But it’s still an outrageous idea, right? “You really want to have sex again?”
“Brynn, asking a guy if he wants to have sex again is like asking Isaac Newton if he believes in gravity. The answer is always ‘yes.’”
I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “Okay, then.”
“Really?” The excitement on his face is adorable.
I nod. “I mean, why not?”
With a content moan, he wraps a hand around my neck and pulls my face toward his, stopping when our mouths are millimeters apart. “Leave the lace on this time.”
***
I spend the next two weeks in a haze of sexually fulfilled bliss. Sam started a trend of us having sex both before and after the presentation prep, and I have to say, it was a brilliant idea. In more ways than one. Not only are we both enjoying ourselves, but our daily interactions have become less tense.
For one thing, he’s actually speaking to me during lab, instead of just making snarky comments. For the last few months, he’s rarely consulted me on anything, unless it’s been a table project where we’re forced to work together. Mostly, he has stuck to talking to Maya.
I’ve never minded because I always found him infuriating, and her to be supremely annoying. I thought they’d be perfect together. Even if I did feel a strange prick of jealousy over it.
But now, Sam’s talking to me for nearly the whole two hours of lab time. He’s still technically not my lab partner, but he walks into lab with me, leaves lab with me, and checks his answers against mine as much as possible. It’s getting me the icy glare from Maya, but I don’t mind.
In fact, I’m finding myself enjoying his attention. Which is absurd, because I still hate his guts, but I think I hate him a little less. It’s both relieving and irritating at the same time.
I don’t want to like him. We’re rivals. We’re both vying for a coveted position at the end of the year, and I will be the one who gets it. No amount of his attention or mind-blowing sex is going to change that.
The Friday before Thanksgiving, Sam and I are wrapping up our study session and heading out the door. “See you tomorrow?” he asks.
I shake my head, an incredulous look on my face.. “Um, next week is Thanksgiving.”
