And by tomorrow morning, the entire world of sports will have seen it on a highlight reel.
Fuck my life. The guys were right. I’m going to be the hottest meme of the week while the asshole in the mascot costume gets to remain anonymous.
Lucky bastard.
My phone vibrates with another incoming message.
Shorty: Don’t think this gets you off research duty. I still expect you to pull your weight.
Naturally.
I snicker and tap out a quick reply.
Me: Is this your way of saying you’re worried about me?
She’s had my number for weeks and this is the first time she’s used it.
Any illusion I had about Sutton’s concern is dispelled a second later when anIn your dreamsGIF appears in the message thread.
Fuckin’ right.
And with any luck, IRL too.
Me: There’s a party at Sig Chi tonight. You going?
Shorty: You’re kidding, right?
Damn. I’d been hoping to pick up where we left off a few weeks ago. Outside of class, Sutton’s managed to elude me. Any time I suggest meeting to work on our AMP term paper, she gives me some bullshit excuse about a tight schedule or being slammed with more pressing assignments.
Shorty: I’m surprised you’re bothering with Greek Row. Your cock probably doesn’t even work after today.
Bullshit. A little ice and my cock will be just fine.
I think.
Me: No worries. My tongue works just fine…as you well know.
For a long time, she doesn’t respond. I stare at the screen, waiting for a snarky reply as the ice on my balls melts, but still nothing. Eventually, three little dots appear on the screen.
Then disappear.
Fuck.
The suspense is killing me. What is she doing? Writing a tome?
Maybe she’s just going to leave you on read.
My fingers fly over the screen, tapping out another message. It’s poor form—desperate even—but I can’t seem to help myself.
Me: Happy to stop by and give you a quick refresher.
That’s a damn lie. The next time we hook up, it won’t be quick and there won’t be anything refreshing about it. Given the chance, I’ll fuck Sutton boneless. And I won’t quit until she’s in a sated, exhausted state of bliss.
Her reply is swift this time.
Shorty: Keep dreaming, chump.
The nickname is a blatant reminder of our first disastrous hookup. But it’s also a reminder of the promise I made behind that church, when I swore to make her scream my name.
