My thumbs type out a response before I can think.
Me:You were drunk.
Golden Boy: Not that drunk. I’m a big boy Wes.
My stomach flutters. I know he doesn’t mean it like that, and I can tell he’s getting annoyed, but all I can think about now is how he felt against me. It took so much restraint not to touch him that night. Not to undo his jeans and take him in my hand.Great. I shift uncomfortably as my dick begins to swell against my stomach.
Me: I didn’t want to take advantage.
I read over our conversation, my mind reeling. Is he saying he wants more? I honestly thought it was a one off. Although, I’d really hoped it wasn’t.
Golden Boy:Maybe I wanted u to take advantage
Me:Which is why I left. If I hadn’t, things could have got messy.
My response is typed and sent before I can think. I’m not arguing about this. I did the right thing. I’m not going to be made to feel bad for it.
Golden Boy:Messy?
I groan.
Me:Wrong choice of words. I meant complicated. But probably also messy.
True. If we’d continued grinding against that door, at least one of us would have needed a change of underwear. The response doesn’t come quickly, and I watch the three dots start and stop, over and over again. Either Sol’s writing an essay, or he doesn’t know what to say.
My eyes have grown heavy, the phone dropping back against my chest when his response finally vibrates against my skin.
Golden Boy:I don’t mind mess
I stare at the words, wondering if he means literally or figuratively. He must mean literally.Right?Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. This is why I don’t date. It’s too fucking complicated. I like things to be black and white. I don’t do gray areas, and Sol is one great big sexy gray area.
Me: I don’t even know what we’re talking about now
Honesty is the best policy. If he’s flirting, he needs to say what he wants to say. I haven’t got time to figure out cryptic—
Golden Boy:I’m talking about how u got me hard then walked away
I blink.Oh. My mouth runs dry as I re-read his response, my own cock currently hard and aching in my boxers. Are we sexting right now? I’m not shy, and I’d be more than happy to tell Sol, in graphic detail, all the ways I’ve imagined taking him, but I don’t know if that’s what he wants. I don’t want to scare him. I hate this. If I say the wrong thing, it’s going to get all sorts of awkward, but at the same time, I can’t just leave it.
Pushing my head back into the pillow, I let out a groan of frustration as my cock rapidly softens under the stress of the situation. Worst sexting session ever. Okay. I settle on a reply he can interpret whichever way he wants. We can either kick this texting session up a notch, or it’ll halt it in its tracks. Feeling quite pleased with myself, I tap out my response.
Me:You know what to do if you want more.
He reads the message instantly, and I bite my lip as I wait for the three dots, but they don’t come. Okay then. I exhale and let the phone fall against my chest. I should be relieved. That was the most stressful conversation I’ve had since Dean Mason threatened to pull The Howl.
Checking one more time, and finding nothing, I put my phone on flight mode and place it screen down on my bedside table. It’s fine. I shouldn’t have been encouraging him anyway. He’s the human equivalent of a stray puppy following me home from school. Yes, he’s cute. Yes, I could take care of him.In more ways than one.But do I want that responsibility? No.
This is exactly why I sent that goddamn thumb emoji.
SOL
The weeks between Thanksgiving and winter break are the worst. I swear, I don’t know why they don’t just make December a write-off. The weather is terrible, the lecture halls are dark and dull with the shorter days, and everyone’s pissed that they had to leave wherever they went for Thanksgiving for the sake of a few weeks. Some don’t bother coming back. I can’t blame them.
I’d been looking forward to coming back. Until I got here, and realized I was chicken shit. I’ve looked at that last message from Wes a thousand times and I still can’t figure out what he wanted from me. Lying in my room in the dark, I said things I’d never have had the balls to say to his face. But then he goaded me, and I bailed.
I do want more. It still scares me a little and I can’t quite get my head around it, but I want to explore these feelings. And I want to explore them with him.
My pulse races, my breath in foggy bursts, as I jog around the running track that loops Franklin West. It’s icy, and I’m grateful for the fact I have to concentrate hard or risk falling on my ass. But it’s not the jogging that’s causing my heart to race.