Fuck it.I swing open the door but stay planted in the doorway, blocking him from coming in.
“And what did you put in these pockets of yours?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He raises his eyebrows at me and glances down, inviting me to see for myself. I pause. This issoweird, and I know I shouldn’t fall for this ridiculous game, but my hand has a mind of its own, and before I know it, I’m feeling my way across the denim, my fingers edging at the seams and along to what is unmistakably a condom wrapper. I hold it up to the light.
“You passed your exam with flying colors,” I concede.
Did he plan this whole scene out? For me?I’m not sure I want to know the answer to that.
“How many points do I get?”
I pretend to think. “I’m gonna go with six for effort, plus an extra ten for the safety aspect.”
“Sixteen points, huh? Not bad.” He grins at me. “But you forgot to check the other pocket.”
I play along again.No, his butt is not perfectly perky under those jeans.
“A condom in each pocket—that’s gotta be worth a bonus, surely,” he adds, wearing that infuriating smirk.
“I’m deducting five points,” I say sternly. “Either you’re way too cocky, or you’ve got more than one girl lined up.”
“Both are for you, actually.”
Don’t…
I decide to play dumb.
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you—you didn’t need to replace the ones we used yesterday.”
My hand is still there in his tight, warm pocket. I feel for the second condom, my fingers darting as I pluck it out and up.
“But thank you, though,” I add.
I go to whip the condoms behind my back, when he grabs my wrist, stepping closer.
“You need me to spell it out?”
“Let go, or I’ll scream.”
“You know I love it when you do that…”
I shake my head. “I knew it. IknewI’d regret using your body for sex.”
“You sure about that?” Gently, he pushes me back. “You know we’ve got a good thing going on here…”
“Once was enough,” I whisper unconvincingly.
“It was twice,” he corrects. “But yeah, I hear you—the first time was more like a fumble.”
“Eww, that makes it sound so gross—”
“You need to unwind, and I need to focus on being better,” he interrupts. “I can’t do that if I’m sex starved.” He leans into me. “Help me be a better student. The sooner I improve, the sooner our little partnership ends.”
At what point did my life derail so badly that I’m standing here, listening to Donovan Wolinski pitch the benefits of sleeping withhim? And when exactly did I undergo a full personality transplant that makes me actually consider saying yes?
“You managed to survive for a whole three months,” I remind him. “I’m sure you can carry on not getting laid for an extra semester.”
