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No one does bagels like New York. I had to get my fill before I left for the new semester.
I’m not at all like the specimen lying next to me or the girls he’s used to. And if I can see all of him in this bright light then he can see all of me.
Instinctively, I cover myself as much as possible with my arms.
“I don’t plan the parties, I’m just stuck dealing with them,” Nick answers my question. “From what I remember you're not a fan of them either. What did you call it? A pathetic excuse for the frat guys to show off their testosterone levels?”
I snort out a laugh.
I did say something like that.
“Please don’t remember me like that.” I groan. “That was pure hatred for the specific frat party happening that night.”
I can’t believe he remembers that. I blurted it out when he asked why I wasn’t going to it.
A shiver runs throughout my body giving me goosebumps. He’s still running his knuckle along my side and hit a spot that makes me squirm
“You’re giving me chills doing that,” I say, not wanting him to think I’m squirming for a different reason.
He grins a sheepish smile, looking down at the goosebumps all over my arms and side.
“Good. I’m trying to get your nipples hard, but your arm is blocking them from my view.” He teases, hitting that same spot again.
I swat at him playfully, but he’s too quick. He grabs my hand and pulls me onto my side to face him as he lowers his mouth onto mine with a growl. Wrapping my arm around his neck, I pull him in deeper.
I could get used to this. Used to Nick Miller’s lips caressing mine. I shouldn’t and I won’t, but I could.
Our lips part and then I feel my stomach gurgle. I try to hold it back, but it’s too late. It was those damn carbonated drinks! The punch had so much soda in it, I could feel the bubbles filling me up as I drank it.
I belch, not able to hold back.
Yup, a tiny burp right into Nick Miller’s open mouth.
It was small. Maybe he won’t notice.
Nope, he noticed.
He stops and leans back to look at me with wide eyes.
“Did you just burp into my mouth?” He tilts his head, questioning me.
He’s disgusted. I’m disgusted.
Soda always makes me gassy. I usually stick to non-carbonated drinks.
Why did I drink the punch? What was in it anyway?
I can’t believe I just did that.
“Excuse me?” I innocently say, hoping he doesn’t kick me out of his bed.
He drops his head back and laughs. A full-on cackle.
“It was that punch and the beer. I’m not used to drinking anything with bubbles.” I admit, making excuses for my utter display of disgustingness.
My face turns beet red, but at least he isn’t kicking me out of his bed for being the most disgusting girl ever in it.
“Oh no, you didn’t drink the punch, did you?” He asks between bursts of laughter.
