Honestly, over the years I’ve forgotten about her. She became a memory, just someone I used to know. But when my eyes lit on her in the hallway I recognized her instantly, but the shock and awe gave way quickly to anger, because she was leaving my best friend’s room. It was dumb, childish anger that roared inside me, this primal feeling of I saw her first and it hasn’t dulled since this morning. It also didn’t help when I realized she’s the girl I almost ran over yesterday. I don’t know how I didn’t recognize her then, but I guess I was too lost in my head.
She’s got fire in her and my dick should not find that nearly so appealing considering she’s done the walk of shame out of Cole’s fucking room. I don’t have many standards, but I won’t do a girl after my friend’s had her. That feels way too up close and personal.
Her spunk both surprises and amuses me, especially when she stands in front of Cole looking shy and awkward. She sure was neither when she swiped my towel from my waist this morning. My lips threaten to tug into a grin at the memory, but I force them to stay in a straight line. Especially when we came out of the diner and Cole spotted her across the quad, he smacked me on the shoulder and murmured, “That’s the girl.”
The one he gushed about this morning, telling me how beautiful and sassy she was. Apparently she’s a fucking amazing good kisser too. While he spoke I made non-committal noises in response, my head stuck in the refrigerator so he couldn’t see me making faces.
After his, that’s the girl, declaration he jogged over to her side and the two began speaking. That’s when the itch for a cigarette grew too strong and I grabbed the fresh pack from my pocket, the one I’d carried for over a week without opening. Today I broke my streak.
“Cole!” My voice carries across the grassy area, the anger biting. He’s talked to her long enough.
The asshole holds up a finger telling me to wait. My jaw clenches and I take another drag from my cigarette.
I narrow my eyes when he takes her phone, grinning at her.
This isn’t his smug, knows-he-can-get-any-pussy, grin. It’s genuine and that kicks me in the gut. I wasn’t at Harvey’s last night, but clearly whatever happened he really likes her.
And how can I possibly forget that while I was dead ass asleep Cole was fucking her brains out. Fucking the girl I grew up with. The one who lived next door. The one who ran a lemonade stand with me when I was seven and she was five. The one who meant so much to me then and now…
“Cole!” I yell again, my teeth grated.
This time he gets the message and jogs over. I’m not paying attention to him. My eyes stay on Rory—Aurora—my lips snarling as I glare at her.
I have no explanation for the hate boiling inside me. Yes, I used to know her, but I don’t own her. She can fuck whoever she wants, even my best friend. This feeling has to be just because I’m so surprised to see her, right?
“What the hell man?” Cole interrupts my thoughts. “Stop trying to cock block me. It was a surprise seeing her here. I wasn’t going to miss my opportunity.”
I slowly swing my gaze his way. “Since when have you wanted a girl for more than one round?”
He looks over his shoulder to where Rory is now walking away in the opposite direction. “Since now.” He gives a simple shrug.
I have to fight the irrational desire to punch my best friend in the face.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Ten years, that’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen her. She was a little girl then. She’s nothing to me now. Nothing.
Maybe if I say it enough to myself I’ll start to believe it.
“Are we going to the gym or not?” I toss the cigarette butt on the ground, watching the smoke curl up before toeing the end of my shoe against it. I watch the ash crumble against the concrete so I don’t have to make eye contact with Cole.
I’m in a pissy mood—again—and I can’t even explain it to him because I’ll sound psychotic.
“Yeah, of course.” Cole merely shakes his head, used to my mood swings.
The two of us head in the direction of the on-campus gym reserved for athletes only. It’s state of the art and usually pretty empty unlike that gym designated for all students.
Cole and I head to the locker area—each athlete is assigned their own—and switch our clothes.
Luckily Cole doesn’t ask me to spot him on the bench press, I’d be likely to let him drop the bar on his chest in my current state of mind, and we each head to separate parts of the gym.
Sticking my air pods in my ears, I crank my music up to drown out what’s playing over the speakers in the room, and hop on the treadmill. A lot of people hate running, but I love it. When I run I don’t think so much, it gives me time to forget about whatever I’m mad about and I usually work up a decent sweat. Plus, working on my endurance helps me with baseball.
Across the room I see Cole working with the free weights.
My thoughts want to drift to the idea of him and Rory, especially if he’s serious about liking her, but I chose the treadmill for a reason—to not think about this fucked up situation—so I push the button, going faster than I probably should.
By the time I get off my body is drenched in sweat. I wave at Cole to get his attention and once I have it I point to the locker room so he knows I’m going to shower.
Grabbing my soap from the locker I nod at a couple of guys on the football team I hang with time to time. The showers are empty and I pick one, closing the curtain behind me.
My shower is quick but thorough since I don’t want to smell like B.O. the whole fucking day. Leaning my head back, unbidden thoughts steal inside my head. I picture Rory standing on the quad today wearing those fucking pigtail braids. The image changes to another, one of her bent over my bed naked as I fuck her from behind. Those braids wrapped around my fist.
I growl as blood rushes to my dick. It grows and thickens.
Not fucking happening.
The last thing I want is a hard-on because of Rory Abbott.
I switch the water over to cold, the sudden jolt in temperature startling all my senses.
When it doesn’t work fast enough I start naming off some of my dad’s hedgehogs. That’s sure to kill my erection.
Pokehontas.
Quill Smith
Edgar Allen Poke.
Winston Churchquill.
Quillie Nelson.
And my hard-on is successfully gone.
Chapter Seven
Rory
“No, no, no! You have got to be fucking kidding me!” I yell, bouncing around my tiny room and into a pair of jeans.
It’s the first day of classes and of course my alarm chose today not to go off on time. To say I’m going to be late is the understatement of the century.
“Shit, fuck!” I curse when my knee slams into the wall during my struggle. I bite my lip from the throbbing pain in my kneecap.
I button the jeans and zip them up, grabbing the first shirt I get my hands on. It’s a black t-shirt with a frowny face stitched over the left breast. How appropriate. Shoving my feet into my boots, I then gather my un-brushed hair up into a messy bun, push my glasses up my nose, and grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulders.
Li and Kenna are already gone, and probably assumed I was too.