His enormousharddick.
Maybe I could stay in bed today. There’s really no need to move from this very spot. And then maybe I’ll disappear from sheer mortification.
My phone rings, and I cringe. If that’s Billy, what do I tell him?Sorry I passed out on you when I was about to pounce on your junk?
Ugh. Moving to the pool house in my parents’ backyard sounds pretty good right now.
Reluctantly, I pick up my phone and see it’s Charlotte. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Are you okay?” she asks. There’s an echo to her voice like she’s in the bathroom or somewhere cavernous.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Weren’t we going to meet for breakfast today?”
“Oh my God! Charlie, I’m so sorry! First I fall asleep on Billy and now this.” I glance at my clock and groan. “I must’ve slept through my alarm clock and now I only have half an hour to get to class.”
“It’s totally okay. I’m just relieved nothing’s wrong.”
After I get off the phone, I rush around my bedroom and get dressed. I toss on a t-shirt, jeans and sweater and lace up my hiking boots since it’s dreary outside.
I barely make it to my sports journalism class on time. Afterward, as I hustle to the counselor’s office, my phone buzzes with a text from Billy.
Hey, Sleeping Beauty. How’s your day going?
Do I just come out and apologize? Or do I pretend it didn’t happen?
Ugh, no, Roxanne. Don’t be a wuss. It’s not your style.
OMG, Billy, I’m SOOOO sorry I fell asleep on you last night!
He responds with three laughing emojis.I won’t take it personally.
If it means anything to you, I woke up thinking I’d had the best dirty dream ever.
As long as I can keep your spank bank full, we’re good.
I smile down at his response.Can I make it up to you? I have a busy week, but maybe Friday night we could hang. How do you feel about Netflix, homemade enchiladas, and…I add an eggplant emoji and a splash.
Count me in, gorgeous.I’m about to put my phone back in my bag when he adds,I had fun last night.
I did too. Thanks for the date! See you at home. :)
He sends one more text.I’m shocked to admit this, but I like living with you, biscuit. You smell much better than the guys, and you’re a great little spoon.
I’m still smiling when I reach the admin building. I’m hoping to switch my broadcast course from the fall to the spring semester next year, so I have to meet with my counselor.
After I knock on Mrs. Lockwood’s door, she waves me in. “Roxy Santos?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ve spoken on the phone a few times.” I sit in the chair and clutch my bag.
She types on her keyboard and scans her computer. “That’s right. You’re Coach Santos’s daughter. How can I help you?”
“I was wondering if broadcast journalism was being offered second semester next year. I didn’t see it listed online, but I wanted to double-check.”Please let it be available.
The room fills with the sounds of her clicking the keyboard as she checks. “I’m sorry. It’s not. Why can’t you take it first semester?” She stares at me over the rim of her glasses.
I bite my bottom lip, hating that I have to admit my situation to a relative stranger. I glance at the open door, and no one is standing nearby, but I lower my voice anyway. “I’m pregnant and due in early August. So while I might be able to swing it, I’d rather take the course second semester.” I’m hoping that gives me enough time to lose any baby weight I gain.
