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I had to practically push her out the door.
It’s nice to have a caring friend, obviously. Most people go their entire lives without ever having a friendship like Casey and I have. But the last thing I want is for my friend to think I’m so fragile that she can’t spend a Friday night at her boyfriend’s house without worrying.
Although, I don’t know if they’re technically boyfriend and girlfriend yet. I know she hasn’t referred to him as her boyfriend, so they must not be.
A situationship, maybe?
What even is a situationship?
Ugh, I’m a twenty-two-year-old college girl and I’m having to ask questions like that as if I’m an old person who saw a new term theyoung peopleare using on social media.
I should know what a situationship is—I should’ve at least had one or two by now!
Instead, I had an emotionally and physically unfulfilling relationship with my skating partner who dumped me the moment I was no longer useful to him. And that’s it.
I was planning on just watching a movie tonight, but now I feel restless.
I’m happy for Casey to have found someone she likes spending time with, no matter how long that amount of time ends up being. But as I sit plopped on our living room couch, staring blankly at the Hulu homepage on our TV, too indecisive and uninterested in it to pick something to watch, I can’t deny that I feel …
I’ll say it, I feel envious.
I think back to a couple days ago when Casey told me how she and Nick went to his place to hook up between classes. She was practically gushing over how good the sex was.
And I was happy for her, but … there was a sort of tightness in my stomach as I thought about how much I missed out on while wasting time with Blake. How much I’vekeptmissing out on since he broke up with me.
I’ve never had the kind of sex Casey was talking about, the kind of sex you read about in steamy books, where your body is on fire and every touch from your partner makes you quiver. I’ve never felt what it’s like to climax from someone else’s touch, rather than from my own fingers or a toy.
I close my eyes and imagine it as best I can.
I imagine big, strong, rough hands ranging over my body. Hands that take their time, hands that aren’t just in a hurry to undress me and find their own satisfaction—hands that touch me because they wantmeto feel good.
I imagine lips closing on my inner thigh, tingles of anticipation dancing up my spine. I imagine a head settle between my legs as I lie naked on top of a bed; in my imagination, I look down to see a thick head of hair between my thighs, and my core clenches.
With my eyes still closed and my body buzzing with arousal, I imagine the head between my thighs looking up—immediately, my eyes snap open.
Why the hell did I just imagine Hunter Landry looking up at me with smoldering eyes from between my bare legs?
Surprisingly, the shock wears off, and my eyes settle closed again. I don’t fight the image in my head. I let it play out.
I let myself imagine Hunter Landry’s full, plush lips close around my throbbing clit as he grips my thighs, the rough pads of his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he holds me steady.
A ball of tension throbs low in my core, and needy pressure builds at the base of my spine as I dare to imagine howgoodit would feel.
I draw my bottom lip between my teeth and bite down as my hand, seemingly of its own accord, inches underneath the waistband of my sweatpants.
Just as I imagine Hunter’s tongue flicking against my clit, I lightly graze my fingers against the nub, and a wave of pleasure rips through me, making me suck in a quick and short gasp of air.
Then, my senses come hurtling back to me. Like I just touched a hot stove, I pull my hand out of my pants quickly. My eyes jolt open and I shake my head back and forth to snap myself out of this fantasy.
I shouldn’t be fantasizing about Hunter Landry. I shouldn’t be imagining my lifelong rival and enemy between my legs.
Even though, after he walked me home a month ago, he kind of feels less like an enemy than he ever has.
Which is why I’ve been avoiding him at the rink.
I’ve been going out of my way not to talk with him. Our relationship—though I’m reluctant to use a word as loaded as that when it comes to Hunter—feels like it’s on a different footing after I spilled my guts to him that night and he showed himself to be a surprisingly good listener.
After that, going back to pushing each other’s buttons and bickering every time our paths cross kind of doesn’t seem right. But I’m just not sure how to coexist with Hunter in any other context.
