by Jana Aston
Well, that was an answer, and specific enough to have me blushing again. I drop my face to the plates spread before us and take in his boring egg white omelet.
“Why are you eating that?” I ask. “If you were any fitter I wouldn’t be able to walk today. Surely you can handle a pancake?”
He pats his abs, clearly on display since all he’s wearing is a pair of grey sweatpants, and the movement distracts me. “I’ve gotta stay fit to keep up with my younger girlfriend.”
“Do you typically date younger women?” I’m curious.
“No,” he says, then pops a grape into his mouth. “I haven’t dated a student since I was a student, I can tell you that much.”
“Why does my brother want you to stay away from me?”
“Eric?” he says, as if I have more than one brother. He looks confused by my question for a second then nods. “Look, Eric and Finn are four years younger than I am. They grew up asking me for advice. They got all their best moves from me. Hell, those little shits used to listen through the walls when I brought my high-school girlfriend up to my room—”
“Eww!” I plug my ears. “La, la, la, stop talking. I do not want to know any of this about my brother.”
He stops and smiles, a dimple flashing in his cheek, mirth lighting up his eyes. “I’ll talk to Eric.”
I shoot him a look to kill and he clarifies.
“I’ll talk to Eric and tell him how much I like you, platonically. I’ll tell him how much I enjoy you, and make sure he understands I’m not using you for mind-blowing sex. It’s just a bonus.”
I shake my head. I am never winning this. “Can we be done talking now?”
“Why? Did you want to have more of the mind-blowing sex?”
“No, I’m too sore.” I shift my bottom on the bed and cross my legs.
“Really?” His face flashes a look of surprise and he eyes me up and down. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
I ignore him and shove a piece of pancake into my mouth.
“So my performance put your worries to rest?” His lips twist in amusement.
I blink for a moment before all of my fears from the night before come flashing back to me. I have to force myself to swallow the pancake because I’m already laughing. “I was genuinely getting myself worked up,” I agree, and I snort, I’m laughing so hard. Then I cover my mouth, the snort so funny to me tears leak from my eyes.
His head is tilted in fascination, watching me laugh.
“Yes, you’re good at the sex,” I say, composing myself. “I was worried,” I admit, “you’re too good to be true.”
Concern flickers across his eyes and he frowns, looking away. “There is something I should tell you.”
My eyes widen to saucers. I knew it. My mind races with possibilities—drugs? Arrest record? Wife?—before I spit out an apprehensive, “What?”
“The thing is,” he starts, dragging his eyes back to mine, “depending on the market, I’m not technically a billionaire. Most days my net worth is still in the millionaire category.”
“Oh, my God. You’re an idiot.” I groan and laugh, flopping back onto the bed.
“Honestly, the money is a hassle most of the time.”
“A hassle?”
“Draws more attention than I’m interested in, truthfully.” He rubs his forehead. “Investors, media, security.” He drops his hand. “I’m not interested in being a Wikipedia page, you know?”
I nod. I can understand that.
“And my future children, I already wonder if I’m going to have to send them to the playground with security. Shit, I know I will. They’ll be worth too much. Do you want children, Everly?”
“I do,” I say carefully. “Of course I do. But I’m twenty-two. I want them in the future, and not the three- to five-year future, but the five- to seven-year future. I want to be settled first.”
“Settled how?”
I take a sip of soda and think about how to explain it. “I want to be married for one. I want a wedding that is about us as a couple, and not timed around a baby bump.”
He nods for me to continue.
“My parents are really happy, you know? And I want that for my children. I want to bring them into a secure relationship and I know there are no guarantees in life, I do. But I can make the right choices now to set the odds in my favor. Most of my friends’ parents were divorced or miserable. Everyone had all these half-siblings and step-siblings and depending on custody weekends, sometimes the only time they saw each other was at school. It was hard.”
“Life isn’t always that neat, Everly.”
“I know. I do. But I can at least try to get it right.”
“We will,” he says, then stands and carries the breakfast tray out of the bedroom. I flop back and stare at the tray ceiling over the bed while I mull over his words. We will. I hear the water start in the adjoining bath, and then he’s back asking if I’m ready for a shower.
“Nice place you’ve got here, by the way.”
He looks around, shrugs. “It’s convenient.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be one of those girls.”
“Which girls?” He’s confused.
“You know, one of those girls who throw a fit because you’ve had sex on this mattress before? Then demand you get rid of it and bring in a virgin mattress for us to fuck on?”
“Is that an actual thing?”
“Oh, it’s a thing. Chicks do it.”
He wraps a hand around my ankle and drags my bottom to the edge of the bed, causing me to yelp. “I think we’ve already determined that you’re not like most chicks, Boots.” He scoops me up to carry me to the bathroom.
“Hey!”
“Problem?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I just realized you were joking last night about sex tapes being your kink.”
“And you’re disappointed?”
“A little bit,” I admit, holding up my finger and thumb an inch apart.
He’s still laughing at me when he walks me into the most perfect walk-in shower ever. All thoughts of sex tapes are gone about a minute after that.
Thirty
“So you’re dating Sawyer, not Finn?” Sophie asks, her nose wrinkled in confusion.
“Yup.” I nod and smile. “Hey, I did not see this coming either. I really thought my story ended with Finn, you know?” I look at her expectantly. We’re at Grind Me, the coffee shop we both work at part time. The morning rush is over and I’m finally catching Sophie up on what’s been going on the past few weeks.
“Well, I did notice your fascination with Finn seemed to be completely in your own head,” Sophie says, refastening her hair tie.
I shrug. It’s true. What can I say? I pull out a roll of register receipt tape and peel back the glue keeping it from unwinding, preparing to swap out the roll that’s about to run out of receipt paper in the register.
“But there was no telling you anything,” she says, waving her hands in the air, “you were so determined that Professor Camden was the one, even though he made about as much sense for you as my gay ex-boyfriend made for me.”
“I’m very happy that I’m able to provide you with this smug moment,” I tell her as I make a face at her and drop the new receipt roll into the register and start the process of feeding it through.
“How the heck did Sawyer convince you though? You’re so stubborn.”
“I am not.”
She snorts.
I snap the register lid closed and turn to her, hands on hips. “I’m not stubborn, I’m just right most of the time. There’s a difference.” I blow out a dramatic huff.
Sophie sputters, puts down the cup she just took a sip from and covers her mouth with the back of her hand until she manages to swallow and regain herself. “Everly, you’re wrong all the time.”
“What? When?” I’m incredulous. Wrong, my ass. I tap my foot, waiting for proof.
“Well,” Sophie starts. “One.” She holds up a finger. “My ex Mike was not a n
ice guy. You thought he was nice.”
“You thought that too!”
“Two.” She holds up a second finger and waves it at me. “Professor Camden is not your soulmate.”
“Already established.” I wave my hand for her to continue with her case.
“Three.” She’s undeterred. “Boyd was not stalking me.”
“He sort of was,” I argue.
“Fine.” She shrugs. “Boyd was not stalking me because he wanted to ask me out.”
“I can’t predict everything. I’m not a fucking magician. Jesus.”
“Four.” She’s still counting on her fingers. Sigh. “Professor Brown did not kidnap you and chop off your hair to make a wig.”
“Yet.” That chick is weird. It’ll come out. I examine the ends of a strand of hair I’m twirling. My hair is incredible. I’d want a wig of it too, I admit. But still, she’s weird.
“And five.” Sophie’s waving her open palm around like a solo jazz hand while I glare and wait. “The iced grasshopper mocha did not put Grind Me out of business.”
“I thought they were going to use actual grasshoppers,” I mumble. Who came up with the name grasshopper to describe mint and chocolate? An idiot, that’s who. “Anyway, I was right about Luke. He is packing a donkey dick. You admitted that.” I’m all pointy-finger-in-her-face, delighted in my defense. “And I wasn’t wrong about the waxing.” I cross my arms across my chest, vindicated. “Tell me he doesn’t enjoy that.” Who’s smug now? This girl.
“Ahem.” We both stop and whirl to find her boyfriend Luke standing at the counter watching us. He looks amused, but a little befuddled. Sophie turns beet red, her eyes wide.
“Hey, Luke, nice to see you. Coffee?” I ask while Sophie slides around the counter to greet him. I watch as he drops a hand around her waist and bends to whisper something in her ear that has her ducking her head and blushing again. They really are adorable, I think as I grab a paper cup and sleeve it.
I hold the cup in front of the coffee urns, stumped. Sophie always gets his coffee. I didn’t even start addressing him until he started undressing her. Truthfully I just enjoyed watching while she fumbled over helping him every week. Not in a heartless way, I don’t mean that. It was delicious watching them. She was so dazzled by him she’d almost trip over her own feet filling his coffee once a week. And Luke? His eyes would trail her every move while her back was turned.
I glance over at them again and sigh in delight. I’m so proud of her for fucking her gynecologist. That takes some guts and I have to admit it, I was wrong. When I bumped into her after her appointment at the student clinic last month and she told me the clinic doctor that day was none other than the well-dressed hottie who came in for coffee every Tuesday? Hell, I thought I’d never see his face in Grind Me again, or I’d never see Sophie’s face while he was in the store. But look at them now. Adorable.
“Luke, which roast do you want?” I interrupt their murmuring, tilting the empty cup in their direction.
“I’ll have the donkey roast,” he deadpans.
I hold back a smile while Sophie covers her eyes with her hand. I’m impressed. I didn’t think Luke had that in him. He’s kinda serious. I fill his cup with dark roast because it’s the closest thing I can come up with, and, snapping a lid on it, place it on the counter.
He leaves a moment later and I catch him swat her ass on the way out. She returns to the other side of the counter with a dreamy look on her face before she sees me and remembers I outed her talking about his donkey dick in the first place.
“I’m never telling you anything again. Ever.” She glowers at me, but I’m not too concerned.
“Please, you just made the old man’s day.”
“Stop calling him old.” She rolls her eyes. “Sawyer must be about the same age? He’s older than Finn, correct?”
“Older than Finn, younger than Luke,” I quip, but she’s back to staring off into space with a little grin on her face. She’s got it bad.
Thirty-One
“Chloe, promise me you’re not going to stay inside studying all weekend.” I’m tossing things into an overnight bag while Chloe has her head buried in the laptop on her desk.
“Promise,” she says, holding her hand up over her head with her fingers crossed.
“Ugh, Chloe.”
“Ugh, Everly.”
We stare at each other, neither of us speaking. Finally she breaks.
“There will be plenty of time for fun in a few months. After I’ve graduated and secured employment.”
“Secured employment,” I repeat. “You sound like you’re sixty.”
She leans back in her chair and sticks her tongue out at me. “Whatever. What are your plans after graduation?”
Shit. I have no idea. “Um, I’m gonna communicate stuff,” I say and nod confidently.
“Have you checked the employment ads lately to see what you might be interested in?”
“No, Chloe, it’s December.” She’s so annoyingly practical.
“Maybe Sawyer can hire you.” She shrugs and I flinch. That’s not what I want. I know she doesn’t mean anything by the comment, but it stings. I’m not waiting around with a fantasy plan of Sawyer giving me a gratuitous job or proposing so I can avoid finding employment altogether. I am going to get my act together. I always do.
“I’ll figure out what I want to do before we graduate, Chloe. I just don’t know yet. I’m not like you. I haven’t wanted to be a teacher since the first grade when Mrs. Stowe let you be her teaching assistant for a day.”
“That really was the best day ever,” she agrees with a happy sigh.
I toss the Louboutins into my bag and dig through my drawer for my black lace bra. I know it’s in here somewhere.
“What are you and Sawyer doing today?” She holds up a hand. “Besides the obvious. I already know he’s going to fuck your brains out. Blah, blah, blah.” She’s turned to face me, both feet pulled up to the chair and her arms wrapped around them.
“We are going to the Reading Terminal this afternoon,” I tell her, naming an old railroad station in downtown Philadelphia that’s been turned in part into an indoor farmers’ market of sorts. “After that, I don’t know.” I sit on the edge of my bed and grin. “But probably sex.”
“Well, have fun.” She scrunches her nose. “Wait, I’m not sure that ‘have fun’ is the appropriate thing to say to that.”
“Oh, it’s appropriate. We have a lot of fun,” I respond, stressing the word ‘lot.’
“I don’t need any visuals, thank you.”
“Why won’t you just let me set you up with someone, Chloe? I bet his office is crawling with great guys. I already saw one who’s super hot, but Sawyer’s assistant has been pining for him for like, an eon, so I have to make that happen. But I’m sure there’s loads more.”
“No.” She shakes her head, but she looks a little sad. “No, thank you. You’ve done enough to assist with my dating life.”
I exhale in frustration. You put someone on a dating site one time without their knowledge and suddenly they don’t want your help anymore. She’s so unreasonable.
“You know, Chloe, in my experience sex is even better after college.”
“You’re still in college, Everly,” she responds, practical as ever.
She’s adorable in sweatpants and a waffle-weave long-sleeved tee. Her hair is piled on her head, hints of red weaving its way through the mess. She’s sexy in the most unassuming way. And I really need to get her laid.
I wave off her dispute with a flick of my wrist. “You know what I mean. With postgraduate men.”
“Postgraduate men? Formal much?”
“Your hymen is going to grow back together, Chloe. That’s all I’m saying.”
“It is not. That is not a thing,” she huffs.
“It’s a thing,” I counter, then stand and hunt through my panty drawer to look for the lace panties that match the bra.
She’s silent, but I hear the tapp
ing of the keys on her laptop.
“Is not,” she comes back with a moment later.
“But you looked!” I point a finger to the ceiling in triumph, certain this proves my point.
“Is Sawyer really that much better than anyone else you’ve slept with?” She bites her lip, her brow creased, as if it cannot be possible that it would be that different.
“I promise you, yes. I liked sex before, and I’ve never had bad sex, but…” I pause and search for how to explain it. “It’s so much better, Chloe. It’s better. I like him more, obviously. But it’s more than that. It’s more than this connection we have, which is spine-tinglingly phenomenal.” I pause again, thinking. “Even if I didn’t like him, the sex would be mind-blowing.”
Chloe watches me speak, chewing on her lip again, her head tilted to the side and her nerdy little study glasses swinging from her fingertips.
“Okay,” she says finally, and I’m satisfied. Because an ‘okay’ from Chloe is not a dismissal. An ‘okay’ from Chloe means she’s heard me and she’s thinking about it. I nod in contentment that I’ve done my part to ensure her hymen does not grow back together. Because that is so a thing.
Thirty-Two
Sawyer’s waiting for me in the lobby when I get downstairs. He always waits. He parks his car, gets out, and comes inside for me. No pulling up and idling at the curb for him. And it’s not because I’m running late. If I get downstairs two minutes early, he’s already there. It gets me a little wet.
He’s observing the shenanigans of Stroh Hall again as I walk up. I’m in comfortable clothes today—the cutest patterned leggings, boots and a snug-fit, white long-sleeved tee. I’m already zipped into my lightweight down coat when I get to the lobby, my weekend bag slung over my shoulder. Sawyer takes it from me as soon as I walk up.
He’s in jeans and his grey pea coat, the collar of a cream-colored shirt exposed at the neckline. I could lick him, he looks so good. He smiles when he sees me and it stops my heart a little each time I see that smile again. His dark hair is rumpled, as if he showered recently and didn’t do much else to it, but on him it works. Perfectly. I tilt my head up to him in greeting and he leans down to kiss me, but I grab hold of his jacket so he can’t pull away.