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Then again, I’ve never felt this kind of excitement about spending the night in a girl’s bed before.
It’s kind of a trip walking into Phoebe’s house for the second time. Pretty crazy how much things can change over the short space of time since I broke in here for them. Back when Phoebe still looked at me like she wanted to slap me every second she was in my presence.
Hm. Being slapped by Phoebe sounds kinda hot. Maybe we can employ some rough play in the bedroom some time.
“You two gonna try to be quiet for me or should I put on some headphones?” Casey asks, her smile bright and teasing, pointing at Phoebe. I chuckle, knowing that my girl’s cheeks must be blazing red right now.
Did I just call her my girl?
That’s not what she is, is it?
I shove the question out of my mind. I’m too happy right now to waste mental energy over thinking what Phoebe and I actually are.
I know what I plan on doing with her tonight—that’s enough for now.
“You won’t need headphones, Casey,” Phoebe replies, exasperation in her voice.
“Yes, you will,” I say. I turn my head to Phoebe, because I just have to see the color I know her cheeks are. “She’ll try to keep it down. But I won’t let her succeed.”
Oh, yeah, those cheeks are turning darker, alright.
Casey laughs. “I knew you two would end up banging eventually,” she says, brushing past us to the living room.
I laugh while Phoebe gasps.
“You did not!” Phoebe protests.
“Come on, “Pheebs,” I say. “Show me your room.”
A thrill pulses in my chest when I step into Phoebe’s room. I’ve felt excitement walking into a girl’s room before, but this is … different.
It’s gentler, sweeter, more tender. This doesn’t feel like walking into a convenient space with a bed, a room that could be any other room, only useful as a place to satisfy our physical urges.
It feels like more than that. When Phoebe shuts the door behind us, it feels like the rest of the world is a million miles away.
I peruse her room.
No surprise, she’s got two full bookshelves packed with books.
Her floor is a hell of a lot cleaner than mine is. Also not a surprise. Her desk is organized, with her closed laptop, a lamp, a stack of three notebooks, and a desk organizer holding pens, pencils, markers, and highlighters.
Phoebe’s always done great in school, which blows my fucking mind because I know that she dedicated as much time and effort to her sport as I did to mine—and with all the time and energy I put into hockey, I barely kept my head above water academically.
Somehow, Phoebe managed to excel in figure skating and in academics. How she managed to pull it off is beyond me.
Sure, I do well in history classes and always have, because I love the topic. But my math and science classes were constantly hovering at the bare minimum grades I needed to keep my GPA high enough to stay eligible to play hockey.
“It’s nice,” I say, nodding my head as I look around. She’s even got framed art and other decorations hanging on her walls.
“Thanks. It’s a little cluttered right now, but …”
My laughter interrupts her sentence. “Are you kidding, Phoebe? You’ve seen my room, right?” A wicked smirk curls on my lips. “Or maybe I’ve just made you come so hard every time you’ve been in it that it’s damaged your memory.”
She rolls her eyes. “So cocky.”
I step up to her, capturing her chin in my hand and lifting her head up, my gaze falling into her rich chestnut eyes. “You like that I’m cocky.”
She blushes. Glancing down to our feet, she shrugs. “Maybe.”
