I raise my eyes to his and ask, as playfully as I can muster, “where’s your place?”
“South Campus.”
“One of the frats?”
“Yeah. A Sig. Is that a deal breaker?”
I shake my head slowly. South Campus is only an eight-dollar Uber ride to my apartment. Definitely worth not having to dirty up my sheets. I’ve got travel ballet flats and makeup removing wipes in my clutch, and the weather app says tomorrow is supposed to be clear and rain-free. Plus, still not feelin’ the idea of a stranger in my space. So, his place it is.
“Sounds good,” I say, trying to hide the shake in my voice. “Just let me head to the bathroom first. Meet you out front?”
Inhale slowly through my nose, exhale slowly through my mouth.
“Yeah, great.” Brock smiles eagerly, and I try to focus on that. He’s been kind and decent and this will be fine. I remove his hand from my waist and walk quickly to the bathroom.
Once inside, I shut and lock the door and rush to the sink. I wet a paper towel and run it over the back of my neck.
“You got this, Ivy,” I say to myself in the mirror. “This is all you. You’re a dangerous mountain lion of greatness. You’re in control. Just a regular hook-up like a regular twenty-one-year-old college student.” I close my eyes. “This is sex. You enjoy sex. This will be good. Everything will be good.”
I take another deep breath through my nose and release it slowly through my mouth, then open my eyes and look at myself one last time in the mirror. “Orgasms,” I say firmly with a nod.
Opening my clutch, I take inventory.
Pepper spray, check.
Condoms, check.
A single white pill, check, but only as a last resort.
Once my heart rate is settled, I take out my phone and share my location with Jesse for the next twenty-four hours. He sends me a thumbs up emoji followed by an eggplant emoji, which makes me snort out a laugh, and I head out to meet Brock in front of the bar.
You’ve got this, I tell myself again. You’re in control.
Brock gets a little handsy in the back of the Uber, but I don’t mind. He doesn’t breech the clothing barrier, and he’s a pretty decent kisser. He knows how to work his mouth, and if I can get him to take that tongue a little lower, I’ll probably get at least one orgasm tonight. I’m not naïve enough to expect one from the penile penetration part of the evening. I stifle a laugh at the thought. I can practically hear Kelley poking fun at me for the clinical terminology.
Just say dick, he’d tease. C’mon, Ivy Jean. You can do it. You can say the D-word.
I roll my eyes with a smile and give my head a little shake. Focus on the task at hand, Rivenbark. Right. Head in the game.
Once in his room, I take off Brock’s baseball cap and toss it in the corner, raking my fingernails over his scalp. I pull my tank top over my head and throw my arms around his neck.
Brock pushes me lightly onto the bed, and I watch as he takes off his shirt and jeans. He’s standing in front of me in just a pair of boxers.
When did he take off his shoes?
I scan the room for the black and grey Jordans but don’t see them. Did he leave them downstairs? Surely, he wouldn’t irresponsibly leave his shoes in the common room of a frat house. There are probably around one hundred guys in this frat, so at least one of them is bound to be untrustworthy. Those Jordans had to be worth a pretty penny—my mom would have had to pull doubles for a week to get those shoes. I know because Jesse has a sizeable collection, most of which he refuses to even take out of the box. I can’t for the life of me understand spending so much money on shoes that you won’t even wear, but to each their own, I suppose.
Perhaps they appreciate in value?
I make a mental note to research the investment opportunities with a Jordan collection. Then I give myself a pat on the back for the involuntary direction my thoughts went. Musing about over-priced tennis shoes is much better than having to force a grounding exercise to keep my fight or flight response in check. It’s a good sign.
Brock drops himself on top of me and presses hi
s mouth to mine, effectively silencing my inner monologue. When I place my hands on his shoulders and lightly try to guide him downward, I hear him laugh lightly.
“Eager?” He breathes into my neck.
“Yes,” I say, and push a little harder. This time, Brock doesn’t resist and starts sliding down my body, kissing me as he goes. He pops the button on my jeans and pulls them off. Just when I think he’s going to settle between my thighs, he climbs back up and latches his lips to mine. I huff out a frustrated breath through my nose and press his shoulders once more, but he resists again, and I give up.