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That’s not something we are—not something we can ever be.
This is just sex. That’s all it can be. We haven’t talked about how long this is supposed to last or what the endgame’s supposed to be. Satisfying the burning, immediate physical need we feel around each other has taken precedence over long-term planning.
Rationally, I know that we come with an expiration date.
For one, I know that Zoey is the kind of girl who wants a real relationship, even if she’s not actively looking for one right now. She won’t be satisfied with just sneaking around behind her dad’s and her best friend’s backs, just for secret sex, forever.
No matter how hot that secret sex is.
A knock sounds on my door, and my face flushes hot. Just a knock on my door while I’m thinking about Zoey makes me flustered, like someone’s looking over my shoulder while I type out a message that’s supposed to be secret.
“Yeah? What’s up?” The words come out staggered.
“You jacking off in there or something?” It’s Hunter.
“No, asshole, I’m just,” I pause, flailing for the next word; because what I’m actually doing, thinking about Zoey, is a lot more private than jacking off. “I’m studying.”
There’s a beat of silence from the other side of my door. “Okay, so you’re jacking off. That’s fine, dude. Just knocked to tell you dinner’s ready. We won’t wait up.”
I roll my eyes as I hear Hunter walk down the steps to the first floor.
When I get my thoughts settled enough to feel ready to head down and eat, a delicious scent hits my nose. My nostrils wide, I follow the scent down the stairs and into the living room.
“Damn,” I say, my mouth watering. “What is that?”
“Walsh made meatballs.” It takes some interpretive skill to understand Cole’s answer, as he mutters it through a full mouth, his jaw busy chewing.
I walk over to the kitchen, where a pot full of meatballs in sauce is steaming on the stovetop. I step over it and inhale a whiff of the savory flavor. The sauce smells delicious mingled with the meat, and I can tell the meatballs are perfectly tender and juicy just looking at them.
“Shit, dude,” I say, hurrying to grab a plate and utensils. “Where’d you learn to cook like this?”
“I grew up cooking for my family,” Walsh says. He doesn’t elaborate. That’s normal for Walsh. He’s a taciturn dude for sure.
I pile meatballs on my plate and push aside some clutter on the dining room table to take a seat. My eyes roll as I bite into the first piece, flavor flooding my mouth.
“I love him, but after tasting this, I’m glad Ryder moved out,” I joke.
Walsh moved in last semester, taking Ryder’s place when he got kicked out because his dad cut him off financially. That turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him, though, because he ended up finding a room in a house with his current girlfriend, Candace, even though she couldn’t stand him at first.
“I think you made a mistake finally revealing this talent of yours, dude,” Tristan says after swallowing a big bite. “We’re gonna be hounding you to cook nonstop.”
Walsh shrugs. “No problem. I missed doing it.” He pushes his plate to the side and reaches into his book bag that leans against one of the legs of his chair. He opens a thick, heavy textbook and his eyes start scanning the pages. “You guys can chip in by taking care of the dishes so I can study.”
The rest of us chuckle, shaking our heads. Walsh is definitely the most serious among us about school. He’s an engineering student, taking a heavy load of hard, math-based classes. Don’t ask me how he does it.
We all pitch in doing the dishes. The guys are chatting about something, but I’m tuning it out, lost in my own mind.
There’s just one thing I’m thinking about: the thirty minutes after class tomorrow when Zoey and I will have her apartment to ourselves.
18
ZOEY
“Oh my gosh, Zoey.Thatis an incredible picture.” Megan takes my phone to get a closer look at one of the pictures I snapped during this evening’s home game. “Likes and shares are going to go through the roof on the post we attach this photo to. Are you sure you still want a career in the non-profit sector? You’re a natural in sports.”
I blush as Megan hands my phone back. “I’m sure,” I say with a chuckle, though I’m happy for the compliment.
Ecstatic for the compliment, more like.
