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Paola comes out of nowhere as she throws her arms around me from behind, and I pretend to stagger at her weight.
"I'm notthatheavy," Paola says huffily.
"I know." I swiftly shove all thoughts of last night out of my mind and paste a smile on my lips. "I just wanted you off me."
Paola looks at me closely. "I gotta say...you look amazingly unbothered even with Tara painting a huge target on your back, and everyone convinced you've got a sugar daddy bankrolling you."
Crap.
I've been so caught upfantasizingfretting about sex with the Devil that I actually forgot how certain circumstances have made me go from nonexistent to notorious in less than 24 hours.
"Are you sure you're alright?" my friend asks in a sober tone.
"I'm sure this will all blow over in a day or two," I answer determinedly, "and everyone will forget about me by then."
Paola looks relieved to hear this, and I'm glad one of us is buying the lie since no, I'm not actually alright.
At all.
Aside from my newfound notoriety and Tara likely plotting my demise this very minute, I'm also worried about how close I am to emptying my savings account since I still haven't found a job the Devil considers "safe", and then there's my parents asking me to visit them again, and me needing to come up with an excuse to say 'no' because I don't want to risk being around them until my mess is all sorted out.
Phew.
To say I have a lot on my plate is an exaggeration, but as horrible as this is to admit, last night is what bothers me the most.
How can you let that happen, Sheena?
I still can't believe I was so out of my mind with need that the Devil was able to make me cum.
Devil!
Me!
Cum!
The words pop repeatedly in my mind like gunshots while Paola and I head to class, and my friend looks at me in amused surprise when I start slamming my head against my desk as soon as I'm seated.
"Uh...what are you doing?"
I straighten up with a glum sigh. "Just trying to knock some sense into me—-"
Paola chokes back a laugh.
"But I don't think it's effective."
Our Lit professor enters the room just as my phone starts ringing, and all eyes are on me as I hurriedly go through my dress's pockets for my ear buds. I can't even remember if I brought them with me—-
"Feel free to leave the class and answer your phone," Professor Chant says politely.
"I'm so sorry, Professor, I just—-"
The older woman points to the door. "I insist."
Crap, crap, crap.
I hear other students snicker as I leave the room, and I want to kick myself in the head when I actually do find my ear buds when it's already too late.
Why am I so unlucky?
