Lost Boy

“So does she if the length of her robe is anything to go by.” A smile tilts my lips. I’ve seen her in less. She kinda feels like another roommate. “And you?” he asks, coming to the couch and taking a seat.

“Me what?”

He turns to face me, dissecting. “Do you like being on display?” The room shrinks around us. Is he flirting? Twisting the dynamics of our friendship? No.

We’d been friends since he transferred into my cognitive psych class eight months ago, and he never gave the impression he saw me as anything other than a friend.

“You know me better than that.” I raise a brow, taking a bite of a brownie.

His mouth breaks into a broad smile as he chuckles to himself. He does that a lot. There’s always more going on in his eyes, however. “Your face just then was a real picture.”

I throw a pillow in his direction and offer a scathing glare, making him laugh harder. “You want to study?” he asks.

Reaching for the remote, I shrug. “We could watch a movie instead.”Cold drops of water trickle over my face, waking me abruptly.

My eyes open to see Charlotte standing over me, a bottle of water in hand. I’m still on the couch. I sit up, my head a little groggy, my eyes going to where Stephan was sitting before I fell asleep. “He left,” Charlotte informs me.

“What time is it?” The TV is still on, but there’s no sound. Water droplets run down my face. Wiping them away, I stretch, yawning.

“Nine,” she informs me, walking over to the window and looking out. “He was watching the apartment opposite. He said weird noises were coming from the window.” I push off the couch and join her. A breeze is blowing in. He must have opened our window to listen. The woman opposite has hers open too, but there are no lights on. Just pitch-black stares back.

“She works nights,” I mumble, rubbing my arms to chase away the chill. “She’d be at work by now.”

“I hear nothing.” Charlotte shrugs, pulling our window closed. “Stephan is a great looking guy,” she announces, changing the subject.

“We’re just friends, Char,” I groan. We’ve had this conversation before.

“Girls can’t be friends with guys.” She shakes her head.

“No, you might not be able to, but other people can.”

“Do you not think he’s hot?” She puts me on the spot, staring at me, willing me to indulge her.

“Why are you doing this?” I huff out, irritated.

“I just want you to be careful, okay? You have to still go to class with him if things don’t work out.”

“He knows we’re just friends. He’s never pursued me for more,” I snap, shaking my head. There’s no way he likes me in that way. He knows I’m broken. “He called me weird,” I add defensively.

She rolls her eyes and goes to the fridge, putting her water inside. “Weird is the new cute. Just make it clear nothing is going to happen between you two.”

“Do you want him for yourself? Because fucking him and then throwing him out the next morning would also make it weird for me.”

“What if I didn’t throw him out?” she counters, dipping her head.

“Charlotte,” I warn. Having to listen to her with him would be more than uncomfortable.

“I’m kidding.” She waves her hand dismissively.

“Are you?” I quirk a brow.

Smirking, she waltzes past me, leaving me watching her bedroom door as it closes on me. Going to my room, I flop down on the mattress, pulling my phone out.

Sorry I crashed.

A soft hum of music sounds from above, then the movement of feet. My limbs grow heavy as I stare up, wondering what he’s doing up there.

Stephan: Charlotte is intense. I’m not sure if she hates me or wants to fuck me. I didn’t want to wake you.

A smile tugs at my lips. I think it’s the latter. It’s Charlotte we’re talking about.

The music above turns off, and the pipes creak to life. He’s showering. An overwhelming ache throbs between my legs. It’s crazy to fantasize about someone I’ve never even seen, but my hand slips down into my panties to alleviate the ache. I’m soaking wet just thinking about the idea of watching the stranger as he showers. Slipping my fingers through my folds, my breath catches. I embrace the moment, allowing myself the pleasure—the fantasy—the stranger. I imagine a strong, powerful body braced against the shower wall, the water pounding down against his tensed muscles. My back arches from the bed as I thrust inside myself with two fingers, pushing the heel of my palm against my clit. I’m lost in my head. My shower guy lifts his head and the penetrating green eyes from the guy earlier pushes me over the edge. I moan out loud as my body quakes, my clit throbbing as I orgasm around my fingers. Heat claws over my chest and up my neck, flushing my skin. A heavy thud sounds above me, causing my eyes to spring open. I’d been so lost in my release, I hadn’t noticed him return to his room.