Campus God (Campus)

Now imagine it against your clit.

I have to clench my thighs together in an attempt to stifle the need coursing through me. The problem is that I can totally picture it. I can imagine exactly what it would feel like.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I tug the material over my head and smooth it down my body. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. Another spiral of electricity sizzles through my veins before being followed by a rush of guilt.

Allowing him to kiss me had been a mistake.

One that can never be repeated.

When my phone rings, cutting through the silence of the room, I startle, forcing the dark-haired guy from my head before swiping the slim device off the dresser. I’ve been waiting all day to talk with Chris.

As soon as I hit the green answer button, his voice floats over the line.

“Hey, beautiful.”

“Hi.” I settle on the bed, rolling onto my stomach so I can swing my legs back and forth. Chris is exactly the kind of guy I need in my life.

Not Crosby.

My breath falters as my eyes flare.

Holy crap.

Why would that thought even enter my head?

There’s no way I’d date Crosby Rhodes. He’s just another player like my ex. How stupid would it be to trust someone like him? Someone who blows through girls like Kleenex?

No, thank you.

We kissed. It wasn’t a big deal, and it certainly doesn’t mean anything.

“Sorry about being a no-show today,” he says, interrupting the whirl of my thoughts.

“It’s fine. No worries.”

“Thanks for being so understanding.” There’s a pause. “I’ve been thinking about you all afternoon. How did dinner go?”

The way he’s so easily able to tell me that I’ve been on his mind sends a burst of warmth rushing through my veins. That feeling is immediately chased by thoughts of my mother. I groan, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction. She’s ruined enough today. I don’t want her tarnishing this, too.

“I’m sure that’s the last thing you want to hear about.”

“I know you were dreading it, and I want to make sure you’re okay. You can talk to me about anything. I’m here for you.”

My heart spasms in my chest. Could I like this guy any more than I already do?

He almost seems too good to be true.

As soon as that thought niggles its way into my brain, I shove it away. There’s no reason for me not to trust Chris. He’s been nothing but upfront and honest. How many guys can you say that about?

“Come on, beautiful. Tell me what happened.”

That’s all the prompting it takes to give him a blow-by-blow of dinner.

When I finally run out of steam, he says, “I’m sorry. That really sucks. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Honestly, I feel better after talking to you about it.” Which is strange but true. Somehow, I feel lighter. Buoyant. More like myself again.

“Good. I’m glad.” His voice softens. “There was no way I could go to bed without checking on you.”

His genuine concern only makes me fall harder for him. Have I ever dated a guy who took time to make sure I was all right?

It doesn’t take much mental searching to discover the answer.

A groan slips free when I remember the party I’ve been strongarmed into attending.

“What? Did something else happen?”

“It’s not a big deal,” I mutter. “Just a fundraising event this weekend at their estate. The only positive is that Mom will be busy playing the part of gracious hostess, so our interactions will be limited.” And that’s always for the best.

“Hmmm. Sounds painful.”

He has no idea.

“Oh, it will be.”

“Sorry, babe. I wish I could be there for moral support, but I’ve got a family thing this weekend.”

My heart constricts that he would even throw the offer out there. After our failed attempt to meet for coffee today, I was afraid to mention us getting together again.

“I appreciate that.”

“I know it’s not much, but just remember that I’m only one phone call away. I’ll support you however I can, all right?”

How is this guy so sweet?

And how hasn’t he been snatched up already?

“That really means a lot to me. Thank you.”

We talk for a few more minutes before he asks what movie I watched with my friend. I cringe as Crosby forces his way back into my brain for the umpteenth time. Unwanted memories flicker through my head like a slow-motion picture show of me straddling his muscular thighs and what it felt like to kiss him. Or rub myself against his thick erection. And it had, in case you were wondering, been thick. Guess the rumors I’ve heard swirling through campus all these years are true.

Heat rushes in to flood my face. The only saving grace is that Chris isn’t here to see it.