Today is the day after Hamilton and I gave each other orgasms. And neither of us hated the orgasms as much as we hate each other.
And that’s the weird thing. It’s not like my feelings toward Hamilton have changed. It’s not like I rubbed all up on his dick for a few minutes and suddenly think he’s worth the light of day. Not a bit. He’s a petty, mean, egotistical asshole. But my body? Well, I quickly learn it has a mind of its own.
But it’s not how it was supposed to be. The first guy I ever did this kind of stuff with was supposed to be nice. He was supposed to be sweet and caring, or—at the absolute bottom barrel of standards—not be the person responsible for making my life a miserable, isolated mess.
I walk down the hall toward first period and it’s like whatever happened between us has raised my awareness of him tenfold. I instantly spot him lounging against the wall near his locker. Images of him from the night before flash before my eyes, unbidden. Hamilton leaning over me, daring me to lose control. The want in his heavy-lidded eyes when my bathing suit fell. The way his hands felt, cupping my breasts, brushing against my nipples. How hard and hot he felt beneath me, the way I could feel him twitch against my center when he came. The part of his lips as he panted against my own, face twisted in the same sweet ache of release I was feeling, too.
Now, he’s talking with Reagan, which is... good. It’s fine. I’m not laboring under the delusion that what we did meant anything. The faculty at this school are clearly hell-bent on forcing us into these frustrating situations together, and what else could be expected? No, all of this—the kissing, the making out, the orgasms—was simple physical catharsis, that’s all.
A one-time thing.
Okay, a two-time thing.
Well, a three-time thing, at absolute maximum.
I cram the last piece of muffin in my mouth as I walk toward him into the classroom, stopping at a trashcan to toss the wrapper. But now my fingers are covered in sticky chocolate and I don’t have time to go wash my hands. I look woefully down at them before deciding to just lick off the residue. I start toward the classroom, my eyes being drawn toward the door. Hamilton stands there, stormy gray eyes zeroed in on my mouth. The knuckles of the fingers clutching his book are bone-white.
When our gazes meet, we both seem to just freeze. The heat in his eyes sends a white-hot spike of want down my spine, but I finally pass him, grazing his arm in the process.
A three-time thing, I repeat to myself.
That’s all.
I beat Tyson to the cafeteria and intentionally sit on the opposite side of the table. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice, just slides his tray acr
oss the table, a piece of pizza already hanging from his mouth.
“How long did that meeting with Coach James go last night?” he asks after swallowing. “I waited for you, but I had to get back to the dorm.”
I take a deep breath. “He wants us to co-captain.”
Tyson’s eyes pop. “Wait, what? The two of you? Isn’t that like asking those Oasis brothers to make another album?”
“That’s what we told him.” I roll my eyes. “He didn’t care. He thinks that our feud is causing a problem for the team, and if we can’t work together, then he’ll pick someone else.”
“So what did you say?” he pushes the hair out of his eyes and glances over to where I know Hamilton is sitting. “From the looks of it, I’m assuming ‘no’.”
I frown at him. “What do you mean?”
“Because Bates has been shooting daggers over here since I sat down. I figure he’s pissed at you for turning it down.”
I steal a glance. It’s a dumb move because he’s not looking, but Reagan is. Her fingers are playing with the curls at the back of his neck. She might as well just pee on him.
I pull a face. “Well, actually…”
“Seriously?” He honks a disbelieving laugh. “You’re going to co-captain with him? Is it even possible for you to work together? The way I hear it, if the two of you meet in this timeline, you might cause some kind of world-ending cataclysm.”
That’s certainly one way of putting it.
I shift in my seat. “We’re going to try, I guess. We managed to get through the first day of detention without killing one another, at least.”
Barely.
“That doesn’t seem like a very high bar.”
“I know.” I push my salad around with my fork. “Coach had some pretty good arguments, and I’m not the only one making concessions. We both have to cooperate.”
He shrugs. “If this is what you want to do, I’ve got your back.”