“Whatever. I prefer you mute.”
“Same goes for me, but we clearly don’t always get what we want.”
Reagan stood and picked up her purse, slipping on a pair of flip-flops and leaving before Lydia could think of another awful thing to say. She wandered down the hall and decided to head out to the soccer field to see if practice had started. The only other sport currently going was football, and the last thing Reagan wanted was to get involved with any boys.
Of course, Hudson wasn’t a boy at all. He was a grown man, older than her by a handful of years. He hadn't exactly admitted to his age, just saying that he wasn’t so much older than her that it made it creepy. She pictured him constantly; she couldn't help it. She saw his face in her mind’s eye as she walked outside and the humidity took her breath away. It didn't matter that she’d grown up in the south, the thickness of the humid air always stifled her. She focused on Hudson again as she walked down the sidewalk in the general direction of the soccer fields. She knew he was worried about them being found out, of him losing his job and never finding employment again. She couldn't blame him, but there was no way she was going to get him in trouble. For one thing, she didn't want others to know what she’d done. She knew it was foolish, even somewhat perilous. She could have been in danger had Hudson not been a nice, apparently wealthy, mild-mannered professor.
Except, he wasn't mild-mannered when he took her virginity. She had regrets—a few of them, really—but she didn't regret that she was no longer a virgin. She again wished she’d told him to go easy when he asked if there was anything she didn't like. At the time, Reagan had been terrified that if she’d spoken up about being a virgin Hudson would have called a screeching halt to their fun. She wondered if he had been to bed with tons of women and if he did things like tie them up. She shivered despite the heat as she pulled her sunglasses out of her purse and cut across the grass to reach her destination. She never knew that there could be so much pleasure simply from a man’s tongue. She had no idea that she would enjoy being spanked while Hudson took her from behind. But that last time, as the sun was coming up and peeking in through the hotel room curtains, had been mind-blowing.
There were several people sitting in the stands watching the girls on the field. In her attempt to make friends, Reagan climbed until she was close enough to a group to be able to chat, but not so close to appear to be a creeper. She sat down and pulled her purse into her lap, trying not to act incredibly awkward.
The women on the field were doing jumping jacks when Reagan felt someone sit down beside her. Her butt was big enough that she had to shift over to not feel like she was encroaching in the person’s space.
“Hi, I’m Davis.”
She looked over. He was a pretty attractive guy, her age, dark hair, and a huge grin.
“Reagan.”
“Like the president?”
“Exactly like the president.” Reagan was used to that question. People had been asking that since before she understood what a president was.
“Cool. I’m named after Miles Davis. My parents are snooty enough that they don't like the name Miles, I guess.”
“Interesting.”
Reagan wasn't sure what to do. She had zero experience with flirty boys so she didn't know if Davis was interested or just being friendly.
“What are you studying?”
Davis was definitely a talker. “Special needs education.”
His brows went up. “Impressive.”
“You?”
He shrugged. “Art Appreciation.” There was that massive grin again like there was an inside joke.
“Are you planning on being an artist, or running a gallery?”
“Nope, just pissing my parents off. They insisted I go to college before I can take a position in their company so I picked the major where I’m least likely to learn anything useful.”
“Must be nice.”
Davis didn't say anything, just watched the ladies move into practice kicks. Reagan couldn't say that she was uncomfortable with him, but she didn't particularly feel comfortable, either. He didn't come across as flirty anymore, but she didn't know anyone so rich and stuck up that they were spending money on college for a lark. Reagan and Grant had struggled for money since their parents’ deaths, scraping together every penny to pay rent and utilities. They’d spent years on government assistance when Reagan was younger. When she was sixteen she got a job at the grocery store down the street. She only cashiered a few nights a week because Grant didn't want her to fall behind on her schoolwork, but the money was enough to help out occasionally and to spend on herself if she wanted something. Reagan didn't spend money frivolously. She used very little makeup and bought her clothes at the thrift store in her neighborhood. Grant often had to work extra shifts to make ends meet, and Reagan only hoped that with her scholarship paying for everything she needed that he could relax for a change.
“Hey, pretty lady,” Reagan heard Davis call.
She looked up to see who he meant. A pretty redhead was at the edge of the field. Her hair was up in a ponytail and her face was sweaty. Not to mention, she was studiously ignoring Davis.
“Luna!” he called. He whistled when she jogged off to do some sort of rep that Reagan didn't recognize.
“I don't think she’s into you,” Reagan said.
“She’ll come around. She’s been in several of my classes.”
“What year are you?” She looked at him when she asked, but he was staring at the girl named Luna. She had a powerful kick, it seemed.
