your point, Jackson?"
"My point is no matter how much you hurt yourself, he's not going to change."
I placed my head in my hands. He sat down next to me and put his arm around me.
"Dude, I'm looking out for you because you're my best friend, but I am tired of watching you self-destruct." Jackson squeezed my shoulder.
"You're not going to hold me and tell me how much you love me are you?" I asked as I shrugged his arm off my shoulder.
"Fuck you, Josh." He pushed me back and stood up.
I stood up.
"Listen, I hear you and I get it."
"Yeah, good," Jackson said. “And if you need extra motivation, well, think of Carrington's ass."
"You noticed it, too?" I smiled.
"Dude," Jackson shook his head, "you want to hit that, I suggest you be on your best behavior."
He made it sound so easy.
Any hope of hitting anything vanished with Carrington ignoring my calls and texts all weekend. Either humiliation or embarrassment prevented her from answering or maybe my charm eluded her.
#
In class on Tuesday, I walked in as the professor started his lecture. I spotted Carrington in her usual seat, but as soon as I walked in, she averted her eyes. I figured I had my answer. I made a beeline for a seat on the other side of the room.
Chapter Eight
Carrington Olivia Butler
He walked into class and I turned my head away as soon as he looked at me. It was all rather dramatic, and I didn’t even mean it. It was a reflex. I was embarrassed.
Snippets of the other night and my behavior kept popping in my head at the most inopportune times—I thought back to the way he looked when I showed up at his door.
It was the same look he held now, walking into class. He took care of me, when I half expected him to shut the door in my face. He invited me in, he cleaned me up and put me to bed, and how did I repay him—by ignoring him.
Real mature, Carrington.
I watched him from this angle. I imagined how messy his hair would look if he wore it longer. He carried the ‘rolled out of bed’ sexy look well. It might be why I kept having naughty dreams about him, none as real and explicit as the one I had when I woke up next to him.
My face went flush as he turned to stare at me again. I looked away.
I needed to suck it up and talk to him. I figured I had until the end of class to figure out something to say. I would start by apologizing for not returning his calls. Thank him for taking care of me the other night and try and persuade him to give me another chance. He would give me another chance because he liked me. He had asked me out in the first place, right?
My anxious heartbeat slowed to a relaxed rhythm, and I stopped sweating.
I tried paying attention to the professor, but Calculus held no interest up against the saga I created in my own head.
Lost in one of my fantasies, I caught Josh in the corner of my eye, gathering his stuff and walking out the door.
Where is he going?
I panicked.
The entire class turned to watch Josh exit.
I gathered my stuff and bolted down the steps. As I exited the room, the professor held his hands out and asked, "Anyone else need to leave?"
I ran down the hall and out the door. I assumed he exited this way. A desperate squeal escaped my lips, but it morphed into a squeal of excitement. I spotted him as he walked down the path to the student union.
I took off running but began slowing down halfway.
What am I going to say?
I caught up and fell in step two feet behind him. I reached out and grabbed his shirtsleeve and the book in his arm fell with a thud.
"What the fuck?" he said as he turned around. His expression softened, but then it got all hard and stern.
His eyes darted around, and he cleared his throat.
I fought the urge to bolt.
"What?" he yelled. Students stopped and stared.
He bent down to grab his book. I needed to figure out something; in a few seconds, he would stand up and walk away. I needed to speak up, or he would walk away forever.
My mind went blank.
He stood back
"My point is no matter how much you hurt yourself, he's not going to change."
I placed my head in my hands. He sat down next to me and put his arm around me.
"Dude, I'm looking out for you because you're my best friend, but I am tired of watching you self-destruct." Jackson squeezed my shoulder.
"You're not going to hold me and tell me how much you love me are you?" I asked as I shrugged his arm off my shoulder.
"Fuck you, Josh." He pushed me back and stood up.
I stood up.
"Listen, I hear you and I get it."
"Yeah, good," Jackson said. “And if you need extra motivation, well, think of Carrington's ass."
"You noticed it, too?" I smiled.
"Dude," Jackson shook his head, "you want to hit that, I suggest you be on your best behavior."
He made it sound so easy.
Any hope of hitting anything vanished with Carrington ignoring my calls and texts all weekend. Either humiliation or embarrassment prevented her from answering or maybe my charm eluded her.
#
In class on Tuesday, I walked in as the professor started his lecture. I spotted Carrington in her usual seat, but as soon as I walked in, she averted her eyes. I figured I had my answer. I made a beeline for a seat on the other side of the room.
Chapter Eight
Carrington Olivia Butler
He walked into class and I turned my head away as soon as he looked at me. It was all rather dramatic, and I didn’t even mean it. It was a reflex. I was embarrassed.
Snippets of the other night and my behavior kept popping in my head at the most inopportune times—I thought back to the way he looked when I showed up at his door.
It was the same look he held now, walking into class. He took care of me, when I half expected him to shut the door in my face. He invited me in, he cleaned me up and put me to bed, and how did I repay him—by ignoring him.
Real mature, Carrington.
I watched him from this angle. I imagined how messy his hair would look if he wore it longer. He carried the ‘rolled out of bed’ sexy look well. It might be why I kept having naughty dreams about him, none as real and explicit as the one I had when I woke up next to him.
My face went flush as he turned to stare at me again. I looked away.
I needed to suck it up and talk to him. I figured I had until the end of class to figure out something to say. I would start by apologizing for not returning his calls. Thank him for taking care of me the other night and try and persuade him to give me another chance. He would give me another chance because he liked me. He had asked me out in the first place, right?
My anxious heartbeat slowed to a relaxed rhythm, and I stopped sweating.
I tried paying attention to the professor, but Calculus held no interest up against the saga I created in my own head.
Lost in one of my fantasies, I caught Josh in the corner of my eye, gathering his stuff and walking out the door.
Where is he going?
I panicked.
The entire class turned to watch Josh exit.
I gathered my stuff and bolted down the steps. As I exited the room, the professor held his hands out and asked, "Anyone else need to leave?"
I ran down the hall and out the door. I assumed he exited this way. A desperate squeal escaped my lips, but it morphed into a squeal of excitement. I spotted him as he walked down the path to the student union.
I took off running but began slowing down halfway.
What am I going to say?
I caught up and fell in step two feet behind him. I reached out and grabbed his shirtsleeve and the book in his arm fell with a thud.
"What the fuck?" he said as he turned around. His expression softened, but then it got all hard and stern.
His eyes darted around, and he cleared his throat.
I fought the urge to bolt.
"What?" he yelled. Students stopped and stared.
He bent down to grab his book. I needed to figure out something; in a few seconds, he would stand up and walk away. I needed to speak up, or he would walk away forever.
My mind went blank.
He stood back
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