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I start moving again, past Mags's closed door, and let myself into my room. Echo races past me to her bed in the corner.
I sink onto the mattress, chewing on my thumbnail as I contemplate his words. "Does this girl reciprocate your feelings?"
There is silence on the other end, and my stomach rolls. Did he want to hear something else?
"I hope she does," he admits, and I understand how much it means for him to open up this way.
Any other girl might have started playing games to get more reassurance from him, but not me. I inhale deeply. Here goes nothing. "She does." I feel ridiculous talking about myself in the third person, so I amend, "I do."
My heart is pounding in my throat, waiting for his next words.
"Can I pick you up for class tomorrow?" He knows I don't go to MPU, yet he treats me like I'm any other student.
My stomach somersaults. "I, um…don't you have practice?"
"Not until late afternoon. I have to be there at two. We could grab lunch after your second class, and I can take you home before heading to the field house."
He even knows that I attend two lectures tomorrow. "Are you asking me on a date, Weston Sheats?"
"I guess I am, Kingsley Monroe." The laughter is audible in his reply.
I fall backward on my bed, letting out an inaudible squeal, and kick my legs like a lunatic. My free hand covers my face, and I look at the ceiling between my fingers.
"Yes."
"Good. I'll be out front at at eight thirty."
"Okay." No question, he can hear my ridiculously wide grin as my voice pitches.
A chuckle reaches my ear. Yup, he totally heard it. "I'll see you in a few hours."
I peer at my alarm clock. Oh shit, I'm gonna need a lot of caffeine.
"Night."
"Night, King."
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
What the actual fuck?
I'm standing outside King's second class, rubbing my palms against my jeans. I don't remember ever being this nervous to see someone. Especially because Exhibit A: I've already seen her today. I picked her up only a few hours ago. And Exhibit B: I had my hands on her bare ass and her nipple in my mouth last night. So again, what the fuck?
The clock on the wall opposite me shows one minute to noon. The noise level inside the lecture hall gets louder, and I wait for the first student to exit.
When the door opens, I involuntarily hold my breath. Of course, it's some geek in khakis and a tucked-in, light-blue polo shirt. A black belt and brown loafers complete the cringe-worthy outfit. I fight the compulsion to take a picture for D—she would have an aneurysm at the color combination. Chuckling at the thought of her reaction, I miss my girl exiting until she is right in front of me.
"What are you laughing about?" She scrutinizes me with her head slanted, hands on her hips.
"Nothing, just admiring your classmates." I pull her to me until her body is flush with mine. She raises herself to her tiptoes, and I press my lips to hers.
Her arms wind around my neck, and I slip my fingers into the back pockets of her black jeans, rocking my already hard cock against her belly.
Drawing back far enough to meet her eyes, I murmur, "Have I told you this morning how hot your outfit is?"
King snorts and rolls her eyes. "I'm wearing jeans, an oversized hoodie, and my DMs. Your taste is lacking, Sheats."
"My taste is spot on." I place a kiss on her cheek. "For starters, you are wearing my hoodie." (When she was shivering in her thin, long-sleeve shirt this morning, I forced her to put my spare hoodie on that I always have in the car.) "Secondly, I don't think I have ever seen a sexier ass." To emphasize my point, I squeeze so hard that she yelps and shakes her head at me. "And thirdly, I would take your Doc Martens over those ridiculous heels"—I cock my head in the direction of a group of jersey chasers that are openly glaring at King—"anytime."
