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I knew she would.
And thank God she doesn’t say anything.
She just sits there, squeezing my leg and not saying a fucking word.
Because there is nothing to say.
Nothing will take this away or make it better.
CHAPTER 6
CASEY
We had two away games this weekend, and I spent the whole fucking time looking in the stands for a redhead.
At away games.
She wasn’t even going to fucking be at them, and still I kept an eye out for her.
Because that’s what I’ve been doing for the past five weeks. Looking for her.
I don’t want to be, but I can’t help myself.
Anyone with red hair is catching my eye these days, and it’s fucking painful.
I’ve tried to get her out of my brain. The week after our ultimate hookup, I was determined. I went on a mission to get myself laid, and I did.
There was the bathroom sex at Offside, the back-seat-of-the-car sex behind the Humanities building—risky as fuck and a total turn-on—and then there was the puck bunny I screwed in her dorm room.
And after each time, as I walked away, my brain was flooded by the redhead.
Yes, I’ve forgotten her name already. I knew I would.
But I haven’t forgotten her.
Which is why I’m lying in my bed on Sunday morning, jacking off to images of her perfect blue eyes rolling back in ecstasy while her luscious fun bags bounced in time with my thrusting.
“Ah.” A moan spurts out of me as I start to come.
Fumbling for a tissue, I catch my cum and jerk on the mattress, closing my eyes and riding out the orgasm.
It’s good.
But it’s not enough.
“Fuck, I need to get her out of my head,” I growl.
I have no idea why she’s plaguing me this way. It’s been five fucking weeks.
This hardly ever happens to me. I’ve had the odd chick who lingers, and she gets herself a tattoo on my arm.
My eyes pop open and I stare at the ceiling, mentally slapping my forehead.
A tattoo! Of course. That’s what it’s gonna take.
Scrambling out of bed, I jump through a quick shower, then race downstairs.
“Hey, man. Where’s the fire?” Asher laughs at me while I wrestle my Converse on.
