1
Scarlett
“One more time.” I roll my eyes and push his sweaty body off mine. It takes me a few blinks to register the room again without my head spinning. The dark blue walls blink back at me as I focus on the framed Marvel posters on his bedroom walls that I forgot about. I groan as I sit up, my legs and back feeling sore.
“Not today. I’ve got to go," I sigh, twisting my body to the side of the bed to fish up my underwear from halfway across the floor. God. Did I really get that desperate that I couldn't even make it to the bed?
I ignore the warning bells that are going off in my brain as I pull on my dress, trying to look presentable. I feel his hot large hands wrap around me from behind when I’m close to the door and his chin rests on my shoulder. If I wasn’t so eager to get back to my own home and my own bed, I would let him take me again. And again. The three times we did it last night are enough for me. “I'm being serious. I do have to go.”
“Are you going to do this every time?” he groans into my skin. I shut my eyes tight before turning to him and stepping out of his grasp. His huge hands fall limp at his sides as he stands naked in front of me.
“There's not going to be a next time, Charlie. This is the first and the last time we’re doing this,” I smile, and he groans, throwing his head back. “C'mon. You knew that going into this.”
“I thought you’d change your mind.” He smirks.
“I didn't. You’re not as good as everyone makes out.” I shrug.
“Ouch,” he groans dramatically, clutching his heart. I don’t let my eyes travel any further down than his chest as he stretches.
There’s something so undeniably hot about a naked man stretching in front of me. If I don’t keep myself in check, I’ll do yet another stupid thing I’ll regret.
He smiles as he says, “You could have left me with some dignity, God.”
“Sorry,” I say. For one of the first times, I actually am sorry. Charlie's a nice enough guy and the sex was…okay. I just don’t want to see him again in case he figures out who I am and realises he’ll want more or nothing at all. Instead, I lie. “I'll see you around.”
I slip out of his room and do the walk of shame through his frat house. This is my favourite part of this whole routine.
Kidding of course.
It’s not as bad as it used to be. Sure, my friends say having sex with random college guys is not healthy for me, but who cares anymore? At first it was nice for the thrill. The escape. Then it became edged into my routine. School at 8:30, lunch, homework, hang out with the girls, more homework and then do something a little reckless. A little out of control. Over the last few days, I've needed that out-of-control feeling a lot more.
I could get any of the nice, well dressed, and well-mannered guys that my mom keeps handing me off to, but I don't want that. I want something messy. Rough. Dirty. Quick enough that they don’t register my surname. With the proper men I'm exposed to at weekly family events, it makes my stomach turn thinking of how they’d treat me in bed. And not in a good way.
There's something exhilarating about the boys at NU or nearby, with little to no common sense, that makes my nerves sing. They can expect a little sex and nothing more. Plus, most of them are too eager to even ask any of the important questions. The few guys I've been with that attend the Bailey Foundation event every year always expect something more. They would get down on one knee on the first date if they wanted to just to expand their businesses. Hell, I've known some people that got engaged at eighteen from that shit. That is the last thing I want or need.
Instead, I force myself to walk across campus and down to my apartment. It’s a few weeks into September, and I’m still not used to the winter air in Salt Lake. I should’ve brought a jacket with me. Or drove. But no. I have to walk in the cold in a black minidress and flats.
My best friends and roommates, Wren, and Kennedy, are used to these weekly antics, so they’re not surprised when I walk through the door in the same clothes I had on when I left yesterday.
Kennedy blinks at me from the kitchen counter, her spoonful of Cheerio’s pausing at her mouth when she raises one eyebrow up at me. I shrug at her before searching the fridge for a drink.
“Fun time?” she asks around a mouthful. I grab a water and lean against the sink, drawing my face into a puzzled expression as I stare at her. I slowly pull the bottle to my lips and take a sip silently. “From the state of your dress and your hair I’m going to take that as a yes.”
“Do we have to do this every time?” I ask, bored. I take another gulp, setting the drink down onto the counter.
“I guess not. I just like to piss you off sometimes. You’re easier to wind up than Wren,” Kennedy says, spooning more cereal into her mouth. Her brown curly hair drops down into her face and she flicks her head dramatically to push it out of the way, her brown skin glowing a deep red from the sheer effort she’s putting into making sure she eats. Nothing can get between this woman and her food.
“Yeah, where is she?” I ask, looking over her shoulder into the empty living room.
“She says she has practice, but we both know what that means,” Kennedy murmurs, wiggling her eyebrows.
For the past year, our best friend and favourite NU figure skater, has been dating Miles Davis, a hockey player at NU, who has been head-over heels for her since day one. At the beginning, she was only dating him to regain her social status and to help him get back on the hockey team, but then things got real, and they fell for each other. Hard. Since then, they’ve been all over each other and fucking like bunnies.
It’s starting to get disgusting being around them or just being in my own home. I’ve walked into my own living room too many times to them doing stuff while watching the TV. Our whole friend group knows how they are, yet Wren still tries to hide it by claiming she’s going to ‘practice,’ when really she’s going to his house.
“Right,” I whistle, draining the last of my water before throwing it in the trash. “I need to catch up on work for class. Are you going into the studio today?”
Kennedy’s face lights up at the mention of her safe place: the art studio. The same way I’m obsessed with numbers and spreadsheets, Ken loves to draw and create. Studying art and photography at NU has been the best thing to ever happen to her after her dad passed away.
