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Chapter One
Ryan
This is me on top of the world. I'm on my hands and knees while one of the frat boys, (Tim, maybe?), has my hips clutched tightly in his hands as he thrusts into me. It's ironic that the music in the background is about wanting to know my fantasy. This isn't it. He doesn't last much longer and he's already pulling away. Damn it. If I was a wee bit sober, I'd make him come back and finish me off too. No problem. I can do it myself. He left, who knows where, so I fall onto my back on the bed. My legs are spread open, and my hand reaches down to get the job done.
“Seriously, Ryan?” he says, entering the room just as I finish. Hey, at least he knows my name. More than I can say for myself about him.
“Should have done it for me,” I slur, singing the last part a little. Satisfied and too drunk to hold my eyes open any longer, I pass out before he can say anything else.
When I wake up, I'm still naked and my head is pounding like there's a jackhammer grinding into my skull. Fuck, this sucks. I wipe my cruddy feeling eyes and have some sort of contentedness that I'm alone in frat-boy's room, if it's even his room to start with. My memory is hazy, so I still don't know who he is. The room doesn't have any obvious clues either. Oh well. My mouth tastes gross, and I'm immediately dying to brush my teeth. Ugh. I have to get back to my place first. Thank God for rich parents. At least they are good for something. I get to live off campus for free.
I begin a search around the room for my clothes, but all I find are my bra, thong, and shirt. After looking for a solid minute, I give up on my pants. I can drive home without them. While I was in high school, I became a pro at sneaking in and out of the house, and this will be no different. My parents weren't opposed to me going out, but being sneaky about it was so much more fun. There's a thrill that comes with it, and when they didn't care I was leaving, I decided to pretend the stakes were higher. So I would sneak in and out of my house like I would be in serious trouble if I got caught. I can easily do this. For one, it's my house. The tricky part will be that it's broad daylight, and I'm not wearing pants. No biggie. I got this.
With my shoulders squared and my head held high, I walk out of the frat house filled with more passed out bodies, my heels dangling from two of my fingers. My eyes squint once I open the door, and I groan. Fucking sun. I shield my eyes with my hand and spot my car parked by the curb. Thank you, sober Ryan. Looks like I was smart enough to park close to the building. I run to my car, open the little, square door to the gas cap, grab my keys, and then slide into the driver's seat.
See? Like a pro. I should be a pro by now, not because the amount of time I've been doing this, but for the number of times I've done this. I grab a scrunchie from my gear shift and throw my wavy, dark red hair up. Then I put on my sunglasses to help with that god-awful sunlight before finally pulling away to drive home. Now, I feel like I could conquer the world. Last night wasn't a good example of my normal Saturday nights, so I'm ready to get home, shower the filthiness away, and brush my damn teeth.
I hate Sunday mornings. Hate. Them. We're near a college town for God's sake. Why does everyone drive like old people who are loafing around on a lazy Sunday evening? Why? To piss me off probably. I've already given two people the finger as I passed them. I am so that driver that everyone hates and pisses people off. How it happened, I'm not sure. I still have a good fifteen minutes to go when the worst sound in the world begins.
Sirens. Blaring loudly to alert me of the unwanted presence behind me.
Fucking cop. Great. Just what I need this morning.
I pull onto the side of the road and attempt to make my shirt cover more of my thighs, but it's useless. Well, let's hope this guy likes legs and then I can get away with a warning. He steps out of his car, so I roll my window down while he walks up to me.
Smiling my sexy grin, I sweetly say, “Good morning, Officer.”
He's older than I am and very hot. His name tag simply reads: O'Connor. I can't see much of his hair, but I know it's brown as are his eyes and beard, which is a little thick. His eyes immediately land on my bare legs, and I swear he blushes. What kind of man blushes? This should easily be a warning, though. He quickly focuses on my face.
“License and registration, please.”
“Yes, sir.” I lean over, probably giving him a view of my bare ass, as I reach into the glove compartment for the registration. “My license is in my purse, which is in my backseat. One moment,” I tell him, holding up my index finger once I've handed over his first request. If he didn't see my ass before, he certainly does now.
“Why,” he clears his throat as he looks over the license I gave him, “aren't you dressed?”
My shoulders lift and fall in a shrug as if this isn't a big deal. “I stayed over at a friend's and misplaced my jeans. I got tired of looking. Aren't you a little young to be a cop?”
I'm half expecting that to piss him off, but he just chuckles and gets back to business. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“I was obviously doing something I shouldn't have been doing. Are you going to give me a speeding ticket or something?” Intentionally, I pull the corner of my lower lip between my teeth. Guys love when I bite my lip. “Unless you have a better idea of what to do with me?” I question hopefully.
“Ma'am,” he begins, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks, but my big mouth decides to interrupt him.
“Ma'am? Am I over fifty?” My headache
