“Your boyfriend, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” she bites her lip, and fuck me. She’s effortlessly beautiful. Her hair is piled on top of her head, her sweatshirt hangs off one shoulder, and her leggings mold to her ass and thighs in the most delicious way. If I knew what I was doing, I’d lean in for a kiss.
“That is what we agreed on, right?” she asks, pulling me from my wayward thoughts.
“Yeah, but…only if you’re sure.” As much as I want Mel’s help, I don’t want her to do anything she doesn’t want to. And I sure as hell don’t want her to feel like she owes me or has to help me.
“I’m sure,” she says with confidence, and I get the distinct feeling that Mel Cohen doesn’t say yes to things unless she’s one hundred percent on board. She’s no people-pleaser. She’s a ballbuster. And I love it. “It's got to be realistic, right?” she says, and I find myself nodding. “We need to convince our friends—and your teammates—that this,” she motions between us, “is real. It’s not going to work, otherwise.”
“Yeah, absolutely.”
“But we need to set guidelines, of course.”
“Of course,” I parrot, taking a bite of my food.
“And a timeline.”
“Uh-huh,” I manage around a mouthful of ginger shrimp.
“I’m graduating in December, so that gives us kind of a natural stopping point. We can just tell people that long distance will be too hard, and we’ll part ways. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah, definitely,” I say, because she’s thought of everything.
“Think you can put up with me for three months?” she asks, and there’s that flirty half-smile again. Pretending to be half in love with Mel is not gonna be an issue.
“I’ll muddle through,” I joke.
“Ok, that’s settled,” she says, smiling. “We just have one more thing to discuss.”
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Will, we need to talk about sex.”
And that’s when I start choking.
25
Mel
Oh. My. God. I’m going to kill this poor kid.
If Will doesn’t die from shock, he’ll die from choking on Thai food while sitting on my couch.
“Put your arms up,” I tell him, repeating the line my grandma used to say. I have no clue if it works, but my Gran was a smart lady, so I’m going with it.
I hand him a glass of water, but he waves it away in a coughing fit. His hands are not up, but he’s not beet red and wheezing anymore, so I’ll call that a win.
“Seriously, take this,” I shove the water back at him. “But just little sips to start.”
He does as directed and his breath evens out enough that my heart stops racing.
“Shit, sorry,” he mutters. “Went down the wrong pipe.”
“You okay now?”
He shoots me a smile that weakens my knees. “Me? Yeah, totally cool. I know all about the sex.”
“Really?” I say, not bothering to hide my surprise.
