Mats is already shaking his head when I squeal, Becks and Ethan Unger!
I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Ethan has a girlfriend now. She’s a poetess who practices witchcraft. He winces, so clearly, he doesn’t approve.
Well, Becks could do better anyway. It’s about time she got over this stupid crush. There’s this guy in one of my classes who’s cute and on the track team. And, unlike Ethan, he smiles.
Fine. How about someone from the men’s team? Oh, I know. Let’s send Big Z, I suggest.
Mats chuckles. He’s a challenge that not even Marjorie could solve.
She’s the matchmaker supreme. Would anyone—other than Marjorie—have ever thought we would be a good match? I ask.
I would. I like your honesty, your unexpectedness, and your optimism.
Like every contrary girlfriend ever, now I wish he’d said something about me physically too. But Mats is too much of a gentleman to do that.
So, I’ll have to settle for a hands-on demonstration. Is there time for you to come over to my place now? I place my palm on his firm thigh.
Heat sparks in Mats’s eyes. Could we make it my place instead?
What does your room have that mine doesn’t? I ask
Hmm, where to start? Thicker walls, my own condom supply, a big bed with sheets that have been washed this semester?
Hey, I got busy with the playoffs, I protest, but secretly, I love how Mats calls me on my shit. We’re never going to be one of those lovey-dovey couples. We challenge each other.
As I was saying—a bed big enough for you to spread out naked in the middle, so I can really go deep. And hard. He’s watching me as he says this. His dirty talk scrambles my brain.
Fuck me, I groan.
Oh, I plan to, Mats replies as he accelerates.
THE END
