How is he not choking on that? It's like he's a damn animal.
Romantic, my ass. He's the most juvenile man I've ever met.
"You were just saying you didn't want to see Colton's penis, and he brought you a whole bunch of penises," Sable recounts as she collapses against the loveseat giggling.
"I even told her she could see the real thing," Colton adds.
"You should take him up on that," Sable advises. "Most of the time, slutty guys know how to work it."
"Trust me." Colton looks directly at me. "I know exactly how to work it."
My cheeks warm under his gaze, the look in his eyes telling me exactly how much he wants me. That is probably my imagination, I tell myself. He's obviously much more comfortable with my roommate than he is with me.
And that's fine with me.
"You should take Cass out," suggests Sable, oblivious to my discomfort. She smiles when I glare at her. "Like on a date. Or, you know, keep her in on a date."
"I —" Colton starts, but I interrupt.
"There is no 'going out on a date'," I say huffily. "There's a rule against fraternization. Not that it would matter, because I wouldn't be going out on a date with Colton anyway."
"Be persistent," Sable coaches Colton.
"Do not be persistent," I say.
Sable keeps going. "Persistence is always rewarded when it comes to Cass."
"Are you advising my student to keep stalking me?" I ask. "Persistence is not ever going to be rewarded in this case."
"I'll wear her down," Colton promises. He grabs another slice of pizza. "This is a pretty nice place. It's a lot less messy than my house."
"That's because your place is filled with naked girls and spilled beer," I remind him. As much as Colton seems hell-bent on getting a rise out of me with his innuendos and inappropriate behavior, I haven't forgotten that first day I met him.
The day I saw his cock.
He's not lying about how big it is, that's for sure.
He might not be lying about how well he works it, either.
I put the thought out of my head and grab a slice of pizza from the coffee table. Just because Colton and Sable seem to think that a discussion of my potential deflowering is totally appropriate casual conversation is no reason to starve.
12
Cassie
I click through the millionth page of results for adult toy products online. I'm searching for inappropriate gifts. This should be a lot more fun than it is, but after ten pages of bachelorette party items, it got super boring.
Colton sent me a bouquet of penis lollipops, so obviously I can't let that go with absolutely no response.
"Are you searching for sex toys?" Sable asks. She walks in from the kitchen carrying a bag of chips and a bowl of homemade salsa. She peers at my laptop screen, her face over my shoulder. "Because there's this brand of vibrator that's amazing. It's kind of pricey, but –"
"I'm not searching for sex toys for me," I interrupt.
"Ohhh," she says. "So you're going to take my advice and get laid by the football player? I'm so proud of you. Jumping into sex toys right away, though? Maybe you want to take it a little slower. You know, because of the whole virgin thing."
She stage-whispers virgin like it’s a secret.
"I'm not screwing Colton," I say. "I told you that."
"Who are you screwing, then?" Sable asks. She sets the bowl of salsa between us and throws herself back heavily on the couch, tearing into the bag of chips. This girl never stops eating, but you'd never know it. She never gains an ounce. There's just no justice in this world.
"I'm not screwing anyone," I say. "Colton brought those stupid penis lollipops over here because he thinks I'm going to be shocked by his juvenile humor. So I'm looking for an appropriate counter-gift."
"Ooh, I like this! A game of one-ups-manship between two people who clearly just want to bone each other but can’t say it in a mature, adult way so they say it through gag gifts."
"It's absolutely nothing like that," I say. "It stops here. I just need to find something to get him back."
"You should get him a blow-up doll," Sable suggests.
"I'm not bringing a blow up doll to his house."
"Send it to him," Sable says.
"No blow-up doll. Too pricey."
"A pocket pussy," Sable says. She flips the channel on the TV and casually pops a tortilla chip into her mouth like she just said something about the weather and not pussy.
"Should I even ask what that is?"
"Search it online," Sable says. "It's perfect. He got you dicks, you get him a pussy. I mean, it's obvious both of you really want to give each other the real thing, but if you insist on this back-and-forth instead of verbalizing your wants, then by all means continue."
"I do not want to give him the real thing," I protest. I'm not sure if I'm lying more for her benefit or for my own. I look at the search results. "Oh my God."
"You found them," Sable notes, distracted by reality TV. "Did we miss an episode of this or something? Did this bitch get brought back on the show?"
"I don't know," I say absently, far more fixated on the listing of rubber pussies on my laptop. They're horrifying, but cheaper than a blow-up doll, which makes them perfect. "They're… kind of gross."
"Why?" Sable asks. "They're just a jerk-off thing. Like a vibrator. Funny and more useful than your dick bouquet. If I were Colton, I'd have gotten you a bouquet of vibrators so you could chill the fuck out. Oh my God. This girl is crying on a date. That's just embarrassing."
I throw a decorative pillow at Sable.
Would Colton actually use the pocket pussy? An image of him sliding it onto his hard cock flashes into my head and I have to force it away. Why the hell am I thinking about Colton jerking off?
I shift uncomfortably on the sofa because of the tingle that shoots through me at the thought. Do not think about Colton jerking off. It's a funny gag gift. That's all it is. Getting him back for those stupid dick lollipops.
* * *
I'm running late, taking the steps to the academic center two at a time. The assistant coach wants a "status update" on Colton. I guess he wants to personally make sure Colton is progressing with tutoring.
I'm totally nervous about meeting with the assistant coach. He's slightly frightening, and if he doesn't think Colton is progressing, I'm probably fired. Which would suck big-time.
And if he found out I sent my student a pocket pussy? I can't even begin to imagine.
My phone vibrates in my bag. I scramble for it as I walk down the corridor toward the athletic center. This place is a freaking maze. I can't remember where Coach Walker’s office is.
I slide my finger across the phone screen as I crane my neck to get a look around the corner.
Hilarious gift, Teach. I used it last night.
It's followed up with a second text:
Ask me what I thought about
I push the button on the side of the phone and shove it back in my bag, heat rising to my face. What Colton thought about while he jerked off into my gift is literally the last thing on earth I need to be thinking about right now when I'm supposed to meet with his coach to impress him with how well Colton is doing in his classes.
"You." Coach Walker is rounding the corner. "Tutor. Status update. You need to walk and talk with me."
He doesn't wait for a response, taking long strides down the hallway, forcing me to pick up my pace. He unlocks his office door and circles around his massive desk, rummaging through drawers. "Let's have it," he orders, his face buried in the bottom drawer of his desk. "Status. Colton King."
"Right," I say, forcing an air of authority into my tone that I definitely do not feel right now. I feel more like a child in the principal's office being chastised for an infraction. "Colton King. He's attending tutoring sessions."
And showing up at my house.
"He's actually doing the work during sessions?" the coach asks. "He can be… difficult to handle. He's bee
n focused, not inappropriate?"
"What? Inappropriate?" I ask. I think my voice just jumped an octave.
"Yes," the coach says, pulling out a folder and putting it in the middle of his desk. "Inappropriate. Getting you sidetracked during the sessions, anything like that. These players have been warned about inappropriate behavior. They're there to study."
A mental picture flashes of Colton holding a bouquet of dick lollipops and I swallow hard.
"Inappropriate?" I repeat, hoping I look like I'm trying to recollect inappropriate behavior and coming up short. "Nope. Nothing inappropriate. Perfect gentleman."
The coach nods. "Glad to hear it."
"He got a B on a history paper. It was just a one-page reaction paper, nothing major but it’s progress." I blurt out the words before he can ask, feeling slightly defensive and pretty nervous. I tell myself to stop babbling. "And he's been studying. Outside of sessions. He's working hard."
I hope.
The assistant coach nods. "Great. Good talk. Keep me posted."
End of conversation.
He opens a door on the far side of his office. When he looks back at me, it's like he expects me to be gone already. "The door's right behind you," he says.
Of course.
Outside in the hallway, I look around. Okay, I came down this hall and to the left… damn it, this place is a maze. I'm going to be lost in here and late for tutoring Colton.
My phone vibrates in my bag and I grab it.
No response? Not a good sport, Teach. I'm running late for our session, btw.
I pause to text him back.
Good, because I'm lost in the maze of hallways in your building.
My phone vibrates again.
Where are you?
I stop and text him.
In the athletic center. I was talking to your coach.
The phone rings almost immediately. It’s Colton.
"Why were you talking to Coach?" he asks.
No hello, nothing. Straight to the point.
"I guess it was your assistant coach or whatever," I say, distracted as I wander down the hall past a bunch of offices. "Coach Walker. I had to give him an update on your progress."
"How am I progressing, Teach?" he asks. God, he can make the most innocent or mundane of things sound like they're just laced with innuendo.
"I told you to stop calling me that." Right turn here, I think… or was it left? "I told him you were attending tutoring sessions and doing fine."
"Nothing else?" he asks. I hear male voices in the background, loud and obnoxious. Obviously, his teammates.
I look around the hallway, even though I already know it's empty. "Yeah." I drop my voice to a whisper. "I told him that you gave me a bouquet of dicks and offered me yours."
Colton laughs, a deep warm sound that makes me unable to keep from smiling, despite the fact that he's totally annoying. "Nice," he says. "Where are you exactly?"
"Standing in a hallway … in the middle of a bunch of offices," I describe to him. "I think I'm lost. Tell me how to get out of here."
I hear the voices fade into the background and it's quiet. Colton's voice is low in the phone. "Ask me what I thought about when I used your gift."
My breath catches in my throat. "I'm not asking you that," I whisper. "I'll find my own way out of here."
"I'll tell you anyway. I thought about you, spread out on my bed –"
"I'm hanging up." I warn him before he keeps going and I'm too turned on to make it through the tutoring session.
Colton laughs. "You're no fun. I'll give you directions out."
I exhale with relief – not at the offer to give me directions, but at the fact that he's no longer describing what he wants to do with me. "Good. Direct away."
I follow his guidance, weaving through hallways and deeper into the athletic center. At least, I think. "Are you sending me in the right direction?" I ask. "You realize I need to get over to the tutoring rooms. And so do you. Where are you, anyway?"
"I'm taking you out the opposite way because it's shorter," he tells me. "And I'll be there in a few."
I sigh. "Fine. Where am I going now?"
"There's a shortcut," he says. "Go through the next room – it's one of the training rooms but no one's probably in there right now."
"I don't know how this is a shortcut," I say, entering the weight room. It is empty, though.
"Cut through the locker room on the far end of the second room," he instructs me.
I stop short. "No way. I'm not cutting through a locker room. Have you lost your mind?"
"It's the girl's locker room," he assures me. "Women's softball and shit. If no one's training, no one will be in there anyway. It puts you right out into the hallway. You turn right and you're out near the tutoring rooms."
"Fine."
I push open the door, walking past a set of lockers and… right into a shower room filled with steam.
And naked guys.
I stop short, my brain too busy processing the sight of hot, muscular men with towels loosely wrapped around their waists or completely naked. Someone whoops as he walks past me.
Fucking Colton King sent me to the male locker room. What a total and complete dick.
Suddenly that dick materializes right in front of me. Naked.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, smirking. I want to slap that smirk right off his face.
I turn around and march right back out into the empty locker room area I just came through.
"Don't be mad," he calls out, following me and opening a locker nearby. "I'll grab my clothes and walk you over to the tutoring room."
"Don't be mad?" I ask, keeping my voice low so that what I assume is the entire football team doesn't hear me. "You bring me to a room full of naked guys and expect me not to be mad?"
"I think you answered your own question there," he says,
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