Because I want him.
He teases my slit with his length, then presses in slightly. Van’s bigger than my high school boyfriend, but more importantly, he knows what to do to make us both feel good.
“Give me your words, Josie,” he says, his voice a little breathless.
“I want you inside of me.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, he’s filling me up. His hands are on my hips as he seats himself fully. Mindlessly, my hands stray to my breasts, cupping them and playing, doing anything I can to make this last. It feels so good, so impossibly perfect, that I’m almost afraid to move. But I do, and it’s even better. The friction is incredible, and when his thumb finds my clit again, I let out a string of curse words that will force me to put a ten dollar bill in the swear jar.
“Josie,” he croons, “this is even better than my dream.”
He rocks in and out of me in a rhythm that ignites another orgasm, this one faster, but just as powerful as the first.
“Fuck,” he curses. “God, that’s good. Too fucking good. Josie—” My name is on his lips as he finds his release.
It takes a few minutes for both of us to come back to Earth, but soon it’s impossible to ignore the thumping bass of the sound system or the fact that we just made love in some guy’s room. Van takes his t-shirt and gently cleans me up before sliding my jeans up over my legs and hips. I find my shirt and pull it on while Van does the same with his hoodie—although he’s turned it inside out at least.
“Oh, god,” I say, my cheeks burning. “That’s probably ruined.”
“Ruined? Hell, no. It’s now my favorite shirt,” he says, pressing a kiss to my lips.
I wish I could say that things stayed as perfect as they’d been in that borrowed bedroom. But less than a week later, everything fell apart.
And that’s what I need to remember. We weren’t right for each other; we weren’t meant to last, and that’s why I need to keep my distance and remain detached. If I have to keep tutoring Van, there’s no way I’ll survive it unless I treat him like we don’t share a past.
8
Van
It’s been two days since my tutoring session with Josie. And I didn’t spontaneously combust or bang my head off a wall during either of my classes today, so I’m calling it a win.
I just resubmitted the lit paper I bombed last week. Schoenbauer’s a stickler, and lucky me, I have her this semester and next. She makes us do all our writing in class since she’s convinced we all cheat off each other and use AI generators to crank out papers. She may have a point, but sitting in silence for an hour and writing a whole ass paper is my personal nightmare. The only way I’ve managed to stay in college so far is by using voice-to-text software to write my papers and then letting GrammarPro clean them up and make them look presentable. But that’s not an option in Schoenbauer’s class.
I worked hard as hell on that paper. I’m pretty sure I broke a sweat. But I gave it my best, so hopefully, that’s enough.
It’s a warm fall day and the quad is crowded with people soaking up the last of the decent weather. I scan the crowd to see if Ollie’s around, but I don’t spot him. Instead, my gaze lands exactly where it shouldn’t. Josie’s on a bench by the fountain, her long hair pulled up in a bun.
I force myself to look away. Her avoidance the other night made it clear that's what she wants—no discussing the past. Ok, fine, we can just keep going like we have been, splitting campus in half and pretending like the other doesn't exist. Which, really, isn't too difficult. It's not like we hang out in the same groups. Well, ok, now that Mel and Will are together, there's a little crossover, but it's not like Josie would ever tag along to the hockey house to hang out. Hell no. If we can't even have a conversation about the past in a public place, there's no way she'd be willing to hang out at my house.
I stride across the pavement, determined to head for the athletic center when I feel her eyes on me. I look over my shoulder, thinking maybe I’ll catch her watching me, but no. My view is blocked by a couple standing in front of the fountain sucking each other’s faces off.
Haha. The universe has jokes, but the message is clear: my days of seeing Josie are numbered. Hopefully, I can study hard enough to get by, and even if I can't, Josie felt the awkwardness just as much as I did, so she’s probably looking to get out of having to spend four nights a week with me.
Before I know it, I’m halfway across campus at the athletic center. My phone dings with a notification and I figure it’s Santos asking where the hell I am, but it’s not. My Medieval History test grade just posted. I’m afraid to look, but how bad can it be? I studied my ass off for that test.
That’s gotta count for something, right?
I tap the app and look at my score.
It's a D-
Fuck.
It’s not the worst grade I’ve ever gotten, but it’s not the grade I need. I push the double doors open with more force than is necessary. I’m pissed and frustrated and I need to burn off some of this extra energy. A grueling hockey practice will do the job.
Thanks to our run for the title last year, we have a new gym facility. The rest of the arena could probably use some upgrades, but the gym is state-of-the-art, so I head there to shake off my bad mood.
Before I reach my locker, I hear Coach calling for me.
“What’s up?” I ask, hoping like hell he hasn’t heard about the test I bombed.
