CHAPTER FIVE
WAKING TO MYalarm the next morning brought me back to the sharp reality of my life. Today I had three classes on campus, and I also had to do some writing so I could finish my projects and get paid on time.
I rushed to get ready after lying in bed for an extra 20 minutes after my alarm went off. Leah must have slept in, because I hadn’t heard her getting ready for her 8 a.m. class this morning. Oh well, not my problem if she wanted to sleep in and miss class. I, on the other hand, had shit to do.
I put my hair into a quick braid after showering and threw on a plain sweater and some leggings. Most days I chose comfort over style, especially when I’d be sitting in hard chairs in cold classrooms for hours on end. Tossing my laptop into my backpack, I braced myself against the frigid winter air as I walked to campus.
Classes passed agonizingly slowly, with my first professor—who was old, cranky, and nostalgic about when his career started when “things were different” fifty years ago—droning on about professionalism in the workplace for entirely too long. As if those of us about to graduate didn’t already understand the importance of dressing professionally and not being an asshole when we’re on company time. The class was small enough that he would call people out directly if they didn’t seem to be paying attention, so that left me staring at him and trying to not let my mind wander for the better part of an hour.
My second class started an hour later, but by the time it took me to buy a coffee and walk to the building across campus, it only left about 10 minutes before class began. This one passed much more quickly, with writing assignments and group discussions to keep me busy.
My last class of the day was not for another three hours, so I found a quiet place to sit in the library and do some writing. Since I had started freelance writing, I had built up enough of a repertoire and clientele to support myself. Barely, but still. It beat working a shitty retail job, yet paid about the same (which wasn’t much).
My current project, which I needed to have done by Wednesday, was an article for a blog about the benefits of an active lifestyle, particularly for college students. It felt ironic to me, considering I had been majorly slacking on exercise and healthy eating in the past year. The small voice in the back of my mind came back, reminding me that I had gotten a pretty decent workout over the past weekend, though . . .
Damn it, I thought. By keeping myself busy for most of the day, I had managed to avoid thinking about the past few days. I needed to keep it out of my mind for good. It was a fling and nothing more. Plus, Alex was kind of an asshole. Sure, they were hot, and yes, they had made me feel incredible in more ways than one, and they had protected me from a guy who could have done God-knows-what.
But I didn’t have time for a man. I didn’t need one or want one, let alone two who had some weird woman-sharing dynamic. What was up with that, anyway? I had been so preoccupied with being hungover, then later being fucked, that I had managed to ignore that completely.
Focus, I told myself. I needed to finish this article. And so I did. I breezed through the rest, the words coming easily once I got in the zone, and I started on the next project. By the time my alarm chirped to warn me to head to my next class, I had finished that one as well.
My final class, and my favorite of the ones I was taking this semester, flew by, and then I was finally walking back to my apartment ready to eat some dinner, do some homework, and relax. I checked my phone, and to my surprise, saw a text from Damien. It read, Just wanted to see how you’re doing. I know you’re probably missing me ;) then another one sent immediately after. But really, I wanted to make sure you’re okay after everything that happened this weekend.
I couldn’t help but smile as I read his texts. It was sweet of him to check up on me, at least. I typed a reply. Everything’s fine. Lots of work and homework to catch up on. Also, you texted me first, so who’s missing who here? I added a kissy face emoji for good measure.
We continued the conversation, flirting back and forth, until I reminded him I had work to do and that he was entirely too distracting. He took it as a compliment and told me that he’d love to distract me some more.
A COUPLE OFhours later, I had finally finished my homework, so I turned on the TV for some much needed respite. I decided on a movie that I had seen a hundred times, and even if I knew it word-for-word, I still loved watching it. It wasn’t even a particularly good movie by most people’s standards, but watching it gave me a sense of comfort. I hadn’t texted Damien again after telling him I needed to get work done earlier. I didn’t want to get too attached, and I also didn’t want him to think I was clingy with random, unimportant messages.
Two hours later, Leah hurried through the door as the movie was ending and the sequel was beginning. She stopped when she saw me, as if surprised that I was home, but regained her composure quickly.
“Hey, look, you’re alive,” she joked. “Where have you been?”
“Oh, I got kidnapped by a couple of big, sexy men at the bar after you guys left me.” I said the first part as if it were a joke but intentionally added a bitter tone to the end of the sentence.
“I knowww,” she whined, “I’m sorryyy. The change of plans happened so fast, and I was drunk, and you looked like you were enjoying the company of the guy at the bar, anyway. Oh, by the way,” she added, pulling something from her pocket, “here’s your key.” She placed it on the counter.
“It still would’ve been nice for you to at least tell me you were leaving and see if I wanted to come, especially since you and Angie were the ones who convinced me to come out.”
“I knowww,” she whined again, her high-pitched voice grating on my nerves.
“And,” I added, “the guy at the bar, the one who you thought was cute, tried to drug me. I was about ten seconds away from taking a sip after he had apparently dropped roofies or some shit in my drink. Two random guys just happened to see it and saved me from getting raped or murdered or God knows what else.”
“Wait, so you really did go home with two guys? Were they actually hot?” She asked excitedly, now much more invested in what I had to say. As if I didn’t just tell her I almost got roofied by a stranger who could have hurt me or killed me. I guess that proved just what her priorities were.
“Seriously?” I scoffed, then snatched my bag off the floor and went upstairs to my room. How could she be so insensitive? I could hear her stammering, trying to explain her shitty behavior away, but I wasn’t listening. Fuck her.
There were still a couple hours left in the evening before I had to sleep, so against my better judgment, I sent Damien another text. What’s up?
He replied less than a minute later. Playing some darts with Alex. You could come join, you know.
I’d love to, but unfortunately I have too many responsibilities to deal with during the week.
Maybe next weekend, then? :)
Did I want to see them again? The question immediately brought to mind the image of me, bent over the couch, getting fucked by Alex while Damien watched. I couldn’t lie to myself; doing that again would be totally worth it. I thought for a moment, then replied, Maybe. Don’t you two have to work at some point? I had been wondering how they seemed to have so much time on their hands, and neither of them had mentioned anything about a job when I was there over the weekend.
Yeah, but we have weird schedules. Pick you up Friday at 5?
I’ll see if I can fit you into my schedule ;)
You better,was his only response.
Or what? You can’t make me.I grinned as I hit “send,” feeling giddy with the silly flirtation and hoping he knew that I was just messing with him.
Oh, I bet I could. And if I had to make you, you’d better be ready.
For what?
For me to spank you so hard you can’t sit for a week.
I didn’t realize I had been biting my lip until it began to ache from the pressure. Damn, he was sexy, even through text. Part of me wanted to keep playing, make him want me more, but I was getting tired. Fine, see you on Friday, I replied. As I changed out of my sweater and into my pajamas, I snapped a picture of myself wearing only a pair of black panties and sent it to him.
Holy shit, you’re fucking incredible, he responded. Sweet dreams. Can’t wait to see you again.
I slept deeply, with murky dreams of heat and entwined bodies and the rush of skin on skin.