Well, shit.
“If you're on academic suspension, I won’t be able to see you compete.”
Ugh, again, because she’s right, of course.
Unfortunately for me, fencing only has one big competition at the end of the year. We have monthly tournaments, but those are so easy and over so fast that I hardly count them. An academic suspension would definitely get me benched from that, or at least it should.
I’m pretty sure I could convince the coach to unbench me, but I can’t be sure. One thing I do know is that I would love a chance to show off for Wren, show her my skills.
Again, my cock twitches, and while I didn’t mean it like that, I’m also not opposed.
“In most of my classes I can swing a C to pass. It’s just calculus that might take me out,” I pout, peeking an eye open to look up at her. She isn’t looking at me; instead, her gaze is fixed on Nolan, who seems unsure what to do with her attention.
Big guy isn’t used to small talk. Usually, he picks a girl, fucks her, and sends her on her way. She’d be lucky to get more than a handful of words from him, let alone a real conversation.
That’s not who Nolan is, or at least I didn’t think it was. Right now, he seems very much like any other guy struggling to find the words to talk to the pretty girl.
“Yeah, he’d need at least an A- on his calc test to ensure he stays off suspension.”
A smile pulls at her lips, and when she looks down at me, I feel like I’m looking up into heaven, and she’s an angel.
“Why are you so close to failing, Julez?”
Fuck, hearing her say my nickname… The only thing that would be better is hearing her moan it.
Ugh, if I get much harder, it’s going to be impossible to hide it. I knew I shouldn’t have left sweatpants on around her.
“Julez has the attention span of a goldfish.”
“Hey!” I shout, lifting my head enough to glare at Nolan, even if I can’t deny it.
“Studying just isn’t really my strong suit. I like to move. I don’t do well with sitting still, reading.” I tell her honestly.
I’m not ashamed of who I am or my flaws; if anything, they make me a better fencer and maybe even a better violinist. A lot of people tell me they enjoy the way I move with the music.
Against my better judgment, I sit up when I see her eyes flick to the cup of coffee I’d made her this morning. The second I move, she’s going for it, chugging it all down in one go.
Adorable and full of caffeine rage, perfect for me.
She takes a second to check her phone, something she doesn’t do often, and I can’t deny I’m curious.
She’s not great at texting, leaves me on delivered and read for hours, and, as far as I know, only Nolan and I really talk to her, so who could she be messaging?
Or, I guess, who is messaging her is the more accurate question.
“D” is all the contact says, so that doesn’t tell me shit, but whoever it is appears to be having a conversation with themselves.
What can I do? How can I fix this Blondie?
I pull a face at the super unoriginal nickname, watching as her fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before she swipes the app closed and sets her phone down, and I bite back a smile.
That’s what he gets for picking such a lame nickname.
“What if we made it fun?” she asks, her voice much quieter now as she chews on her lip, clearly nervous to have suggested it, which is silly because I’m already sold.
But who would I be if I didn’t take this time to tease her?
“Pookie, if you want a kiss, all you had to do was say so. You can get one any day.” I pucker up and lean toward her, and she freezes, her eyes going so wide I fear they might fall out of her head.
