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Because his eyes drop to my skirt and I hug my books to my chest, my nipples so hard and sticking out that they poke through my white blouse and my chunky sweater.
I swear I see a thick vein in his arm pop. I even see him take a step forward, keeping his gaze pinned to my skirt as if he’s coming at me.
As if he doesn’t care that there are people loitering about and that they’re starting to notice that the campus celebrity is staring really hard at the campus bad girl.
The bell rings then and he whips his eyes up, his cheeks flushed dark, the tendons on his neck standing taut.
Just to be naughty, I stick out my lower lip at him while he watches, before mouthing, Bye.
The whole day passes in a haze. I do all my classes in a haze. I talk to my girls and eat lunch and meet Miller for our weekly appointment in a haze.
But when I open my locker at the end of the day, my haze breaks. Because inside, I find a once-folded note. I’m so overjoyed that I don’t even care how he got into my locker in the first place. Besides, who cares? I’ve got a note from him!
Is this another attempt at seducing me, Salem?
Because let me tell you that I was nice to you the first time. Very, very nice. But I’m running out of patience now. So think really carefully before you leave another note for me to find.
Also, you should know that I’m pretty used to girls passing me things secretly. Although I have to say that most of them have been articles of clothing rather than a clumsy sexy note written in the back of a trigonometry notebook.
PS: The equation you had on the back of your note was wrong. Find the correct solution below.
PPS: Do not be late for one-on-one soccer practice tomorrow after dinner.
I grin.
Even though I know I fucked up, writing him that letter on the back of a trigonometry equation, I can’t stop my smile.
He wrote back.
He wrote back!
The guy I’ve been writing secret love letters to for the past eight years, wrote me back. Even though it’s not a very encouraging letter per se. I mean, he’s not falling on me like a dying, desperate man but it’s something.
Something that makes my heart race and makes me write him another note that I leave in his mailbox the next day.
My Darling Arrow,
Are you challenging me? Are you saying that I can’t sneak secret articles of clothing into your mailbox?
You should know better by now. You should know that I’m very well capable of leaving my tiny thongs and bras in your mailbox if you want me to.
The only problem is that I don’t wear any, remember?
By the way, you should really stop glaring at me in the hallway. I’m not sure if you know this but it makes you look really sexy. Also it makes me wet. So fucking wet and horny and achy that yesterday, I had to excuse myself from my trig class and go to the bathroom so I could do something about it.
And I did.
I touched myself while thinking about the dark color of your eyes and that arousing clench of your jaw.
Yours,
The Rebound Girl
PS: Thanks for solving that trig problem. Miller was surprised at my fake math skills.
PPS: I’m really excited about our one-on-one session tonight.
PPPS: I want you to know that the orgasm I gave myself had nothing on the one you so very nicely gave me. Also, you were right. My pussy is swollen and tight and pouty. Perfect for a big, fat cock such as yours.
Again, I go through my day in a haze but when the time comes to get on the soccer field, I’m bursting at the seams.
I get there early even, hoping to impress him, but he’s already there.
He stands at the edge of the field, watching me walk over to him, his expression smooth and his arms folded across his chest.
I open my mouth to say hi to him when he abruptly clips, “We’ll work on your running.”
“What?”
“Running,” he says tersely. “We’ll work on it.”
“Why?”
“Because running involves knees. And we need to work on your knees.”
I look at my pale knees. “What’s wrong with my knees?”
He looks at them too but there’s a certain absence of emotion. He does it all so clinically, so professionally that I’m… disappointed.
“You need to lift them up more when you run,” he explains while raising his eyes back to my face. “It helps with the posture, and that helps with striking the ball and making goals. That’s pretty much what soccer is all about.”
He looks so coach-like right now. Like he did back in his office.
At least in his office there was a thrum of emotion sitting just under his skin. Here, he is completely emotionless.
