It’s CrossFit isn’tit
Ethan
Possibly
Troy
How did you know??
Freddie
He’s already bought the special socks,
He just came into the gym to show me
At least it’s not hot yoga again, that shit was weird. I didn’t like seeing you in leggings bro.
Ethan
THAT WAS ONE TIME
Troy
You passed out and the instructor had to sage the room
Aflie
I second Freds.
I didn’t approve of the leggings.
They were way too tight.
I never haveanyonein my room. Not for studying, not for fucking, definitely not for sleeping over. The guys think I don’t get laid because I’m too focused on my research. They don’t see the nights I slip out, find release with strangers who don’t expect anything more than a good time. Easier that way. Cleaner.
It’s not because of the house, though the thought of some poor girl running into Ethan in the morning, his red hair sticking up everywhere while he makes some crude joke, is enough to kill anyone’s libido.
It’s about keeping my space mine. Let someone in your room and suddenly they think they’re special. Think theyknow you. And I learned the hard way that letting people in only ends in shit.
But here’s Tara, cross-legged on my fucking bed wearing a skirt that’s riding up her thighs and a thin white t-shirt that shows she’s not wearing a bra. Her nipples are hard against the fabric and my dick responds immediately. Like I need another reason to not be able to think straight around her.
She showed up at 5pm sharp with homemade cookies, do all Hawkins just make cookies all the time, like this is totally normal. Before I could stop her, she was taking the stairs two at a time, her skirt bouncing with each step. Now she’s made herself at home on my bed like she belongs there, and my body’s got some definite opinions about that. Though, I have no idea what to do about it.
Having her here is intimate in a way I wasn’t prepared for. It’s not just because she’s in my personal space, but it’s the way her eyes are soaking everything in, assessing every detail like she’s collecting pieces of me.
“Tara,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Hm?” She’s found my bookshelf now, fingers trailing over the spines. Physics textbooks mixed with astronomy journals. A few novels I’d never admit to reading.
“Are you done checking my room for murder weapons?”
Her eyes crinkle with amusement. “Hm, I don’t think I am.”
She bounces off the bed—Christ, don’t watch her bounce—and moves to my dresser, peering her nose over to take a look. I jump up to shut it immediately. My sketchbook is in there, filled with drawings I’m not ready for anyone to see.Especially not her.
“Private,” I say, maybe too sharply.
But she just grins, undeterred. “Ooh, secrets? Now I’m really curious.”
