“His dick,” Nova supplies, way too chipper.
I want to die. “Jesus Christ, Nova.”
“Listen,” she says, voice conspiratorial. “Does he know?”
“No!” I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, trying to smother myself. “God, no. And that’s the problem. I’m living in this house, pretending to be normal while my brain is stuck in a permanent loop of ‘what-if’ scenarios that involve me and Turner and very few clothes.”
“Oof.” Nova whistles. “That is rough, babe.”
“Yeah.” I flop back against my pillows, the tension coiling in my gut. “And now I have to go out there and pretend like nothing is wrong. Like I don’t want to throw him against a wall and climb him like a tree.”
Nova laughs. “Good luck with that.”
“You are not helpful! We live together. I can’t avoid him. I stare straight at his door when I walk out of mine. What if these… thoughts ruin everything?”
Nova snorts. “You’re overthinking it, Poppy. You haven’t done anything.”
“Exactly,” I mutter, throwing an arm over my eyes. “But in my head? Oh, I’ve done everything. I mean, I’m talking rated R, triple X, somebody-call-the-exorcist filthy.”
“What kind of filthy?” Nova demands, her tone turning conspiratorial. “Like… straddle-him-on-the-couch filthy? Or tie-him-to-the-bed-and-make-him-beg filthy?”
I press my palms to my cheeks, feeling them burn. “All of it. Every possible filthy scenario. I mean, I’m picturing him grabbing my hair and making me look up at him while he tells me what to do, and it’s like… I can’t even make eye contact with him anymore without picturing his face when he comes.”
Nova gasps dramatically. “You dirty little slut.”
“I know!” I groan. “And he’s just so… ugh. His hands, Nova. His hands are like… the size of dinner plates. And I just keep imagining them on my ass. Or pinning my wrists above my head. Or sliding down my?—”
“Okay, I need you to stop before I combust. You’re giving me secondhand horniness,” Nova says. “And you haven’t done anything? Not even a little ass grab?”
“Nope,” I say miserably. “And it’s getting weird. I’m acting like a total perv, just sitting here marinating in my own filthy thoughts while he’s probably out there, like, eating cereal and being oblivious.”
“Oh, honey.” Nova sighs. “You’re not a perv. You’re a girl with a big, fat crush and a dirty mind. Welcome to the human race.”
“It’s more than a crush,” I say, biting my lip. “It’s… it’s like I look at him and my ovaries do a tap dance. And then my brain just goes straight to ‘how fast can I get my panties off and my legs around his head?’”
Nova barks out a laugh. “Oh my god, Poppy. You are unhinged. I love it.”
“I hate it,” I mutter, rolling onto my side. “I mean, what if I slip up and say something inappropriate? What if he catches me staring at his hands and just knows I’ve been thinking about them cupping my boobs while he whispers filthy things in my ear?”
“Uh, maybe he’ll think it’s hot?” Nova says. “Like, men are usually not that subtle. He’s either clueless or he’s picturing you naked too.”
“Great,” I mutter. “So now I get to go out there and pretend like I haven’t mentally ridden his face ten different ways.”
“You could always just ride it for real,” Nova says casually. “Put yourself out of your misery.”
I groan, shoving my face into the pillow. “Why am I like this?”
“Because you’re horny and he’s hot,” Nova says cheerfully. “Now go forth and be awkward. Maybe flash a tit. Maybe don’t. The choice is yours.”
I disconnect the call, tossing the phone to the bed. My room feels both too small and too big at the same time.
Taking a deep breath, I roll my shoulders back and push off the bed.
I give my body a shake, bouncing on the balls of my feet like I’m about to run a marathon or step into a boxing ring.
Cool. Casual. Breezy. Definitely not about to accidentally moan his name or climb him like a jungle gym.
“Yes!” I pump myself up. “You got this.”
