Lindsay looks past my shoulder and into my dorm room, then furrows her brow. “Where’s Knox?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, rubbing my eye with my palm. “He dropped me off last night and went back to his place.”
“What?” Lindsay’s eyes nearly bug out of her head. “You mean he didn’t make a move to peel that dress off you?”
“Nope.” I sink into one of the armchairs in the common area. “We made out a little in his truck, but then he walked me to my dorm and kissed me good night. When he got back to the loft, he sent me a sweet text, and then I went to bed.”
“How on earth did you two not do it last night? I’m honestly becoming sexually frustrated from you two not fucking.”
I shrug and lean my head against the back of the chair in a dreamlike state. “It’s more than just sexual attraction between us. We like each other past everything physical. I truly like being around him and getting to know him.”
“Still, how do you keep your hands to yourself?”
“It’s hard.” I think back to being in the truck last night when I was on top of his lap, the hem of my dress almost around my waist as I straddled him. His hands roamed my back, mine ran over his thick chest. We kept things to our mouths only, but God, was I tempted to beg for more. Just from the strength and command in his hands, I know he’s going to be amazing in bed, but now I feel determined to keep working on our friendship. The man I’m getting to know is one of the nicest—and often cockiest—I’ve ever known. I actually think our sexual relationship will be better the more we know about each other. Am I horny? Yes. So much. But, friends first. Always.
“Well, props to you for being so strong-willed. I would have sat on his face the first time he noticed me.”
“Aren’t you classy,” I joke. “How are things with the freshman?”
“Ugh”—she flops to the side—“he’s so immature.”
“Well, he is fresh from high school, after all,” I point out. “I’m sure it takes them at least a year to mature. What’s he doing?”
“I can’t tell you.” She drapes her arm over her eyes.
“Well, now you’re going to have to tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Dottie asks, coming into the room, coffee in hand, her hair looking like she stuck her finger in a light socket overnight. She pushes Lindsay’s legs up, sits, and then drapes Lindsay’s legs over hers.
“Apparently Lindsay’s freshman fling is immature,” I provide.
“You haven’t told her about the whole boob thing?” Dottie asks in disbelief. “Oh my God, Lindsay, you need to tell her.”
“What happened?” I shift in my seat, ready for a story, because with Lindsay, the stories are always good.
“I just can’t. You tell it.”
“My pleasure.” With a huge smile, Dottie says, “The guy likes boobs.”
“Okay, so . . . he’s a breathing male, makes sense.”
“No.” Dottie holds out her hand. “Like really likes boobs.”
“Ohh-kay,” I drag out, not sure where this is going.
“Two weeks ago, Lindsay invited him back to the dorm after class, when we were both gone. They started to get handsy, and he asked if he could see her boobs. Naturally, our very provocative friend said yes and whipped her shirt off along with her bra.”
“Nothing new there,” I tease.
“But then our good old freshman friend sat there, staring . . . for five minutes.”
What the what? “No touching?”
“No,” she groans past her arm.
“None,” Dottie continues. “And when she tried to move things along, he stopped her and slowly circled his finger around her areola but never actually touched it.”
“Like he was using some weird spiritual force,” Lindsay adds.
“But no actual touching.”
“No.” Lindsay shoots up from the couch. “And he had the biggest boner I’d ever seen while doing it.”
“Tell her the best part,” Dottie urges.
She groans again. “After staring for five minutes, he left, and then the next day”—she takes a deep breath—“he gave me a pencil sketch of my boobs. It was so realistic, I even got turned on by the gesture.”
“And she ended up having sex with him three times that day.”
“I’m so ashamed,” she groans.
“What?” I laugh, louder and harder than expected. “But you think he’s immature?”
“Yes,” she shouts. “Because now every time I see him, he gives me a boob sketch. I think it’s hotter and hotter, and I end up fucking him again. Who has time to sketch boobs? That’s so immature. And let’s not even talk about what’s wrong with me and why I like it.”
“You like it because he’s worshipping your body. Any girl would like that, even if it’s in a weird sort of way.”
“You don’t think it’s immature?”
“It’s different,” I say. “But different can be good. Look at me and Knox, our relationship is all kinds of weird, but it works for us. You do you, boo.”
“This is annoying,” Dottie says, looking between the two of us. “I need to find someone to be weird with.” Oh, Dottie. Our sweet, diabolical, and charismatic friend. Her someone weird will eclipse Lindsay’s and my men in weirdness. He’ll have to be a man of steel to welcome her strength and passion.
“It will happen, just give it time.”
Chapter Twenty-One
KNOX
“Look at those sweatpants. How can you even deny yourself?” Carson asks, looking Emory up and down. “Holes, dude, there are holes. That shit is sexy.”
“So sexy,” Emory says, trailing her finger up her leg, around said holes, and then to my chin where she tilts my head and presses a sloppy kiss across my lips.
We’re lounging in the loft, skipping a party this weekend, even though we’re leaving for Christmas break next week. Finals are wrapping up. I have one left and so does Emory, but when I asked her if she wanted to study, she said she was good, as she feels confident in the material she’s studied. Probably because after our date last Friday, we’ve really only talked on the phone, rather than seen each other. Oddly, I’m okay with that, because every night, I talked with her for over an hour.
“Stop trying to get me to break the bet,” I say in between kisses.
“You’re an idiot.” Carson chucks a throw pillow at me. “If I was dating Emory, I would have given in to that bet after the first day.”
“Because you have zero self-control.”
He pops an Oreo from my stash in his mouth. “That’s true.”
Changing the subject, Em says, “So, Garrett, your freshman, he likes to draw boobs.”
Carson laughs out loud, tipping his head back. So does Holt, who sets his phone down momentarily. “Fucking Garrett. The dude loves tits.”
“Yeah, my roommate’s.”
“Those are your roommate’s tits he’s been drawing?” Carson sits up, looking shocked. “Damn, Ealson, how come you never introduced me?”