Best I Ever Had

These thoughts plague me when I have no idea what’s happening with the two of us. I need to shut my mind off when it comes to her and get my shit together so I can graduate next semester.

When I return to the bedroom, Story’s already asleep. Soft slumbering sighs escape from her barely parted lips as she lies under the covers we had previously shed. I grab a pair of her baggy-for-her, too-short-for-me pajama pants from the drawer and pull them on.

Before settling in for a nap with her, I set us up. The cup on the nightstand is empty, the remains of her concoction coating the bottom, so I take it to the sink. I pull two fresh ones from the cabinet to fill with water—one for her and one for me—and place them on either side of the bed.

I’m not sure how she’s feeling, but judging by what we just did, I’m thinking she’s on the mend. She sure moves like it. Fuck, she’s hot.

I climb in on the other side of her and lie there. I should have pulled the shade to block some of the daylight flooding the room, but I leave it. I can’t sleep the day away. Though she makes me want to if she’d stay tucked in next to me.

Where are these thoughts coming from? It’s too soon to be this into a girl. I’ve been attracted to girls before, fucked them, and we went on our own way. Is it that Story and I haven’t gone all the way that has me panting around her like a damn teenager? Am I really that easily manipulated? Or have I really changed this much in the twenty-four hours after meeting her?

Story isn’t a game I’m playing. That’s what separates her from other girls. That and a million other things. But I can’t keep who I am hidden for long, especially considering she’s already onto me.

I should try to enjoy whatever is happening here before it’s too late. My name won’t be a warning, but once she finds out about my reputation and other things I’ve done, that should do the trick.

Moving toward the center of the bed, I pull her close and hold her in my arms. While I’m wrapped around the back of her, she stirs, and whispers, “Thank you for the money.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

There’s a fissure felt deep in my chest from the question. I’ve already lost her trust. Already. I can’t lose her before we have a chance to explore where this is going. “I swear I was coming back after getting clean clothes and lunch for us.” Leaning over, I kiss her cheek. “But I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Her eyes never open, but a smile graces her lips as she relishes the intimacy. “I’m holding you to that, Cooper Haywood.”

I kiss her temple and then close my eyes. Leaning my forehead against hers, I savor every minute I have with her. “I hope you do, Story Salenger.”

10

Cooper

“Mr. Haywood?”

I left Story’s apartment last night, letting her get a night of studying in and returning to mine when the power was restored. She’s been on my mind all morning during my first final. Fortunately, I knew the information inside and out. My memory serves me well sometimes.

I thought I’d drop my paper off and then take off, but apparently, my teacher has other plans. I stop and turn back. “Yes, Professor Greene?”

Other students pass me after turning in the hard copy of their final papers. It’s odd to even turn in a paper with everything else sent electronically these days. She holds my paper up. “I’m looking forward to reading this over the break. I saw you were signed up for my advanced communications course. I know you consider my courses as hurdles in your pursuits, but have you considered steering your interests in another direction?”

Walking back to her desk, I block the other students, becoming a divider between the professor and myself to keep eavesdroppers from intruding. “Is this an unsubtle hint to drop the class?”

“I don’t understand what you’ll gain. You’ve shown no interest in this course, so why would a more rigorous class be any different? It seems you’re setting yourself up for failure. Or should I just forget how you disrespected me this semester and then pulled rank by using your name to garner a second chance that most students never have the ability to do?”

She sounds bitter. I get it, but that’s not my issue. While she straightens her black jacket, she ignores me despite the question she threw out. Trying to temper my irritation, I reply, “This is the recommended path for pre-law. I don’t make the rules.”

“And you don’t follow them.” She taps the stack of papers on the top of the aged wood desk and then shoots me a glare. “I may not be a lawyer, but I understand that manipulating the system to work to your advantage will only do more harm than good once you leave this campus.” Acknowledging a student when she drops her paper down on the desk, the professor silently dismisses me.