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When I knock on her dorm door, I don’t expect her to answer dressed like every man’s wet dream—or at least, my regularly scheduled wet dream … of her.
The short jean miniskirt she’s wearing shows off every curve of her body, a white shirt hangs off one shoulder, and she’s wearing some type of heel shit that isn’t exactly a heel.
Platforms?
Shit. My sister wears them …
Wedges.
They’re wedges.
Unlike my sister, Carolina isn’t a frequent wedges wearer.
At least,myCarolina isn’t.
Maybe shit has changed. She did say she was anewCarolina.
I just hope to fuck thisnewCarolina doesn’t leave me.
“Damn, where are you going?” I bite into my lower lip.
Her dark hair is down—unlike my usual Carolina who regularly sports it in a messy bun. She’s wearing makeup—her bubblegum pink lipstick drawing my attention to her plump lips—and she replaced her glasses with contacts, showing off her coffee-brown eyes. Her standing in front of me, looking sexy as hell, reminds me of her outfit of choice at the party.
Carolina’s sweaters have started disappearing. I miss those ugly-ass things.
I suppress a moan, and my cock jerks in my sweats, reminding me of how much I want her … as more than a damn friend. When we had sex, when she insisted it wouldn’t change anything between us, it didn’t.
Well, it didn’t change the dynamic of our relationship.
We still hang out, talk, and are normal around each other as if it never happened.
Emotionally, it has changed me.
I’ll never forget the happiness shooting through me when she laid down on my bed and trusted me with something she’d held on to for so long. The perfect feeling of sliding in and out of her will stick with me until I take my last breath. That night, I knew Carolina would never be just a friend, but I also knew I needed to act like she was. It was the best and most awkward sex I’ve had in my life.
I’m a stupid guy.
Selfish at times.
I’d take her heart, sure, and I’d make her come a few times, but I could never give her everything she deserved. She’s a romantic. She wants the marriage, the family, the man who knows how to be in a relationship, and that isn’t me. So, I play it cool when we’re together, acting as though she doesn’t hold me by my heart and balls. I love her enough to never fuck her again, but that doesn’t mean I don’t imagine her naked and moaning my name.
But when she’s dressed likethis, fuck, it’s hard not to reach out and touch her. It’s hard, not telling her how amazing her body is and how I’d love to have her again.
“I’m going out with a friend,” she answers with a slight shrug, like it’s something she does on the regular.
“A friend?” I look around her to peek into her room, searching for thisfriend.“Is it Margie?”
God, let it please be Margie. Please fucking be Margie.
Also, God, one more request: please also don’t let it be Margie dragging her to another party.
I like Margie. She’s cool people, and I know her intentions of getting Carolina to enjoy college life are pure. I just wish it were going bowling or shopping, not partying with dudes who look at her with sex eyes.
“No, I have more than one friend, you know,” she replies with a frown.
She turns, giving me space to walk into her room. For the first time, I feel uninvited in here.
I’ve lost count of how many chicks I’ve ditched to be with Carolina.
