Page 107 of Embrace

I chuckle into her skin, feeling her warmth spark up my spine. As long as I get to touch her, I have no problem. “Deal.”

She furrows her brows. “Wait, no. Why did you agree so quickly?”

“Scarlett, I can get off on just the thought of you.” Those words stay pinned in the air. “Gettingyouoff is how I want to spend time.”

The soft column of her throat moves. “F-fine. Then you get it wrong, you can’t make me come.”

My head lifts instantly, and my jaw ticks. But I nod, focused as ever, ready to ace her little test even as I make small circles with my tongue.

She’s taking her time, thinking of each question. “Cohen’s d equals 0.8. What does it mean?”

“Large effect. Strong practical impact,” I answer immediately.

She seems surprised by my quick response. I smile, already knowing I’m right. But that only eggs her on, making her think harder for the next one. “In a repeated-measures design, sphericity is violated. What’s the consequence, and what correction would you apply?”

It’s almost like she’s not trying. “Violating sphericity inflates Type I error. Use Greenhouse-Geisser or Huynh-Feldt corrections.”

She pulls back, lifting my chin so I can look up at her. “Are you cheating?”

“I happen to have some very, very good motivation.”

Then she’s got no more questions for me, and the only sounds out of her mouth are a series of yeses.

Thirty-seven

Scarlett

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Kian was at an away game today, which means I watched the whole game on my laptop.

He texted me when he got to his room, and since then I’ve been debating what to text him back.

I’m not exactly well-versed on the “I want you” dating etiquette. Are we even dating? Is that what you call this? We haven’t even slept together. It makes me nervous to know I haven’t given him the one thing I know I’m good at, and he hasn’t even asked. I can’t be who he needs me to be, and I want to be as useful as he is for other people.

Earlier I threw on my blue lingerie and stood in front of my mirror, taking pictures. Now I scroll through my camera roll for the third time, and they all suck. Too forced, too shaky, too…everything.

I’m out of practice.

The first time I sent pictures to a guy, it was exciting, a new experience. It came in the form of aU up?text at midnight. It was freshman year, and I was awake, going through old photos and found one of me and Victor on my seventh birthday. It was depressing as hell,so of course I replied to that text just to have some semblance of a distraction. TheSend pics?request came immediately.

I wasn’t stupid, I knew he wanted nudes, and I knew he’d stop texting me if I didn’t send them. I needed something. I couldn’t take the memories of screaming, and crying, and slammed doors. I didn’t want to relive any of it. So I sent them, and each one of his praises lit me up. It made me feel alive, and when I asked if he wanted to meet for a date the next day, he said he was busy.

But Kian takes care of me like it’s easy. He would never ask me for pictures, I know that, but I want to give them to him. I want him to have something as a reminder. A tinydon’t forget me!It’s the reason I woke up with a guilty feeling the night after our date. Like I was taking something that was never meant for me.

I feel desperate to keep him interested, to make sure I could still be what he wanted, even if he saw everything I have to offer. Maybe as a thank-you, or just so he knows there’s no pressure with me. That I’m okay with whatever pace he wants to take it. I’m willing.

Without another second of hesitation, I send them. The whoosh of the message makes me hold my breath. I don’t think too hard, but I notice an instant pang of regret. The fear that he’ll be able to see all my insecurities through the screen. When my gaze flicks up to my vanity mirror, they reveal themselves to me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, jump right back into my bed, and close my eyes until I fall asleep.

It’s just a few short hours after that morning light blinds me, when Sierra knocks on my door. She pushes it open, already dressed in her all-black skating outfit.

“I’ll be home late,” she says.

I give her two thumbs up. Sierra knows everything about me. All the hookups and the things I’ve sent guys. She never judged me. Always reminded me to be careful and would vet every dude I talked to without me knowing. But it was the few I snuck off with that she didn’t know about, or at least she never asked me about.

“You okay? You were up late last night.”