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“No, because it was never posted on the internet. It was passed around through an app, and when the school found out, they put a stop to it.” She tsks. “I’ll find out more about it and tell you.”
“Not sure I want to know more.”
“Of course you do.”
She’s right.
“And the final touch…” She rummages in her drawer and pulls out a black choker, which she puts on me with a flourish. “All ready to go to the ball.”
I study myself again.
It’s me and it’s not me. I’m a nerdy girl. But I’m also a sexually frustrated vixen. I’m not light, like I told Jethro at the concert. There is some darkness in me. The things I want, the things I crave… they aren’t pure vanilla.
They aren’t what most girls want.
With less mascara, a less clingy top and shoes I can actually walk in… Yeah, this could be the new, updated me. The me who has a date with Joel Kingsley and may end the night with a glass of wine and a discussion about history and books, or more likely with wild, kinky sex.
With his roommate watching.
Oh crap, here I go again. No, brain. No.
Why do I have a feeling this is going to be a disaster?
Chapter Eight
JOEL
“You got this, mate,” Jet tells me as I do my stretches at the starting line. “You’re ready.”
“Yeah.” Not sure I am. Running track is fun, but school competitions stress me out. What if I don’t run fast enough this time? What if I don’t win anything? What will my coach think of me?
What will my parents say? What will everyone think?
“You got this,” Jet says again. “Go get them.”
Jet at least won’t yell at me if I come last.
I can do this.
Jesus, what sort of loser has doubts about something like that? I can date a girl, take her to my place and not fucking panic that I can’t perform. She turns me on. I’m fully hard whenever I’m around her.
This has to fucking work.
I run track. Marathons. I have endurance. I perform. In everything. Bring it on.
But as she walks out of the building toward my car, I find myself gripping the wheel of my car like a lifeline.
I shouldn’t have worried, though. Not about getting hard, anyway. She sways her hips a little as she approaches, and holy fuck, is that the same girl I kissed three days ago at the bookstore? My sexy little nerdy girl?
In a tight, short black dress and heels, with her blond hair swept up and her golden-brown eyes lined with black behind her glasses, she’s goddamn hot. Hotter than ever. The dress is pretty conservative, but the cleavage shows off the lushness of her boobs, the curve of her hip, the length of her shapely leg.
She’s still herself—and as she slides into the passenger seat I notice that her earrings are dragons, which pleases me in its nerdiness—but she’s also something else, something more. Something darker than the gold of her hair and the bronze of her eyes, the white of her skin and the pink of her cheeks.
An old soul. An honest soul. A girl who likes sex. Who wants sex. Who’s made for sex.
I’m so hard it hurts.
I reach for her glasses. I take them off, then I slide my hand around her neck, along her smooth, satiny skin, and pull her to me for a deep kiss. She gasps in my mouth, and I thrust my tongue past her sweet lips, needing her. My other hand, still on the wheel, is threatening to break it. My gut clenches so hard I think I might come just from her taste, the feel of her.
