“Neither do I,” he says, somehow making it sound like his words hold a double meaning. “I’d share anything with you, though … and I can hear that eye roll again.”
“Guilty,” I admit. “How about you? Any siblings?”
“I have an older sister. She’s a lawyer down in Boston.”
“That’s cool,” I say, processing this. He’s so masculine that I’d assumed he’d grown up with a house full of guys, but now I can easily picture him with a successful sister, trying to fill her shoes while annoying her too.
“Your turn,” he prods.
“Fine, here’s my question. Can I please go to sleep?”
I can hear the amusement in his voice when he replies, “I don’t know, can you?”
“Not with you talking.” And being all sexy over there.
“Ask me a real question and I will stop.”
I sit on that for a second, a million questions running through my mind. How exactly am I not like whoever that girl was? Do you really think I’m pretty? Do you know I heard you that night?
The last question has me swallowing hard and squirming. It was the second Cal embarrassment that I didn’t want to recall in front of my friends the other day. During our first week, the slamming of Cal’s door had woken me up around two in the morning, and I could hear him and his girlfriend going at it. The rhythmic squeaking of his bed, the girl’s moans, his groans, even wet, smacking noises, fuck! I’m hot just recalling that night. I should have been mortified, but after I was fully awake, it had … well, turned me on. Boy, how it turned me on. I’d never admit it to anyone, but I was envious. Touching myself, I pictured I was with him, and the result had been my wettest orgasm ever. Now, it’s my freakin’ go-to anytime I fantasize, which is another reason why Cal riles me so. He went and infiltrated my spank bank.
“I’m waiting,” Cal calls out, and I’m thankful for the darkness so he can’t see me quivering with desire over here.
I rack my lust-filled brain for a real question. “Why track?”
“With a last name like Chase, I was born to run,” he replies.
Although it sounds like a rehearsed line, I still laugh. Or was that a giggle? Dammit, April! “Clever,” I admit. “But seriously, why track?”
“I do like serious April,” he murmurs, and my belly does another flip, but this time it lingers, simmering in my stomach. “I run because it’s the one thing I’ve always been good at. As a kid, I was the fastest in my grade, and I liked the distinction so much that I made sure to keep it that way. So, I started training, running farther, longer, and soon, everyone was in my dust, even older classmates.”
“You like to win,” I state, nodding to myself.
“I just don’t like to lose,” he corrects.
I bite my tongue to keep from spitting back that it’s the same thing, but maybe it’s not? I admire his drive. I can’t really say I’ve focused on a talent as vigilantly. Maybe my poetry, but that’s subjective not competitive.
“It’s not a career, though,” he adds, and my eyebrows knit, not liking the solemness of his tone.
“Why not?”
“It’s not realistic.” He says this as if it’s a statement he’s heard from others before.
I feel compelled to defend his childhood dreams. “Neither is opening a bookstore when no one buys physical books anymore, but I can still dream it, want it.”
“Yeah, but you can actually turn your passion for reading into a future. You can become a writer, an editor, a researcher, a professor … hell, a librarian. Oh dang, the latter sounds hot. I would so check out more books if I had the opportunity to check you out, too. Nope, forget that idea. You’d be too distracting for those wanting to really study.”
Whatever I was about to say has lodged into my throat. A strange happiness wells up inside me. “While I appreciate that you think I have such powers, I doubt that would be a problem.”
He snorts. “Um … have you looked into a mirror? You’re a total siren.”
Now it’s my turn to snort. Siren is not a term that applies to me. While I’m tempted to have him go on and talk about me some more, I realize how needy of me that is and I mentally yell at myself. “So, what are your career plans then after you graduate?” For some reason, the idea of him graduating at the end of this school year is making me depressed. I still have another year to go. A year without Cal next door. Shouldn’t I be happy?
“Why, I’m so glad you asked, April,” he replies, and my fists tighten at his teasing tone. Yup, he’s a pain. “I’m thinking of getting my MBA and possibly pursuing a job in sports marketing or sports technology.”
“Wow,” I say, impressed. That seems like a good fit for him, although I didn’t expect his desire for extra schooling. Thatcher College has a wonderful graduate program, so maybe he’ll continue here? The unease in my stomach calms. “At least it’s still related to your passion.”
“Yeah. During our summer breaks, I’ve been interning at McCain Marketing Agency in New York City. They have a dope sports division and rep some big names.” He pauses for a second. “Although, the VP who runs the department, Richard Dekker, is a total douche.”
