relationship with him. Jumping into bed with him miiiight constitute mixed signals, don’t you think?”
Uterus: “Wah wah, mixed signals, wah wah, I think I’m so much better because I’m located in the head instead of the crotch. Sleep with him.”
Brain: “This isn’t about organ location. This is about common decency.”
Uterus: “I have news for you, bucko. The crotch gets all the good stuff. Mm-mm.”
Brain: “Yes, well, the crotch is also where the pee comes out.”
Uterus: “The pee is worth it. Trust me.”
Brain: “This conversation is idiotic. We’re not sleeping with him. Period. It would be moronic on multiple levels.”
Uterus: “SCREW HIS BRAINS OUT.”
Brain: “Now that is just uncalled for.”
Heart: “Sleep with him.”
Uterus and Brain: “What was that?”
Heart: “I think we should sleep with him, maybe, or just kiss him some more, because it would be nice and I like him—”
Uterus: “GO AWAY. NO ONE ASKED YOU.”
Brain: “Yes, you really have no relevancy in this situation, so please fuck directly off.”
Uterus: “Hate that bitch. Anyway. Here’s some brainy justification for ya. We told him we would do anything he wanted tonight, right? One night with his high school sweetheart. That basically implies sex. And there’s nothing wrong with a one night stand. Normal people have one night stands all the time. Don’t you want to be a normal person?”
“I want to be normal,” I mumble.
“Huh?” Adrian glances at me, the headlights from an oncoming car sliding over his face.
“Oh! Nothing. I mean, I was talking to my internal organs, not you.” And then I wince. The shit that comes out of my mouth around this guy.
I may be the most socially awkward twenty-two-year-old on the planet, but he hasn’t judged me yet. His only reaction to my word vomit is an affectionate chuckle. I can’t help but be comfortable around him.
And relieved, now that everything’s out on the table. I don’t blame him for trying so hard to get with his high school crush. Every guy wants that. And it makes sense. The only way a guy like him would chase a girl like me is if he had some high school fantasy on the backburner that still needed fulfilling.
The weird thing was—I really wasn’t too opposed to the idea of being…fulfilled.
The wicked part of me hisses in my ear that I should take advantage of this, that this opportunity might not come again. The rest of me screams the real reason why I shouldn’t sleep with him. The fact that I’m—
“You’re beautiful, Cleo,” Adrian says.
My head whizzes around like that one girl’s in The Exorcist. “What?”
“I just wanted to say it.” His knuckles tighten minutely on the wheel.
Is Adrian a mind-reader? Oh, God. If he is, I’m opening the door of this car right now and splattering myself on the highway. If you can hear this, blink twice and bark like a dog , I think at him loudly, but no barking ensues. Phew.
We drive through the city. Boston is only about half an hour away from Statham, and yet it’s so easy to stay trapped in the college bubble that I only venture out into the city every few weeks. Eventually, though, a huge dome slides into view, and I realize where he’s taking me.
“There’s no game tonight, Adrian. It’s like eleven,” I say quickly as he pulls into a lot next to Fenway Park.
“Good thing, too,” he says, opening the door and flashing me a grin. “I don’t think you’d want people watching what we’re about to do.
He wants to fuck me in Fenway Park.
Just the thought reduces Lower Cleo to rubble. I’m sweating bullets, wondering what I should do. The sane part of me demands that I stay in the car. Unfortunately, the sane part of me has been relegated to my left pinky toenail, the only part of me not currently consumed with desire for the Sex King.
“I’m sure there’ll be guards,” I say weakly, stepping out onto the pavement.
“You let me take care of that.” He rounds
Uterus: “Wah wah, mixed signals, wah wah, I think I’m so much better because I’m located in the head instead of the crotch. Sleep with him.”
Brain: “This isn’t about organ location. This is about common decency.”
Uterus: “I have news for you, bucko. The crotch gets all the good stuff. Mm-mm.”
Brain: “Yes, well, the crotch is also where the pee comes out.”
Uterus: “The pee is worth it. Trust me.”
Brain: “This conversation is idiotic. We’re not sleeping with him. Period. It would be moronic on multiple levels.”
Uterus: “SCREW HIS BRAINS OUT.”
Brain: “Now that is just uncalled for.”
Heart: “Sleep with him.”
Uterus and Brain: “What was that?”
Heart: “I think we should sleep with him, maybe, or just kiss him some more, because it would be nice and I like him—”
Uterus: “GO AWAY. NO ONE ASKED YOU.”
Brain: “Yes, you really have no relevancy in this situation, so please fuck directly off.”
Uterus: “Hate that bitch. Anyway. Here’s some brainy justification for ya. We told him we would do anything he wanted tonight, right? One night with his high school sweetheart. That basically implies sex. And there’s nothing wrong with a one night stand. Normal people have one night stands all the time. Don’t you want to be a normal person?”
“I want to be normal,” I mumble.
“Huh?” Adrian glances at me, the headlights from an oncoming car sliding over his face.
“Oh! Nothing. I mean, I was talking to my internal organs, not you.” And then I wince. The shit that comes out of my mouth around this guy.
I may be the most socially awkward twenty-two-year-old on the planet, but he hasn’t judged me yet. His only reaction to my word vomit is an affectionate chuckle. I can’t help but be comfortable around him.
And relieved, now that everything’s out on the table. I don’t blame him for trying so hard to get with his high school crush. Every guy wants that. And it makes sense. The only way a guy like him would chase a girl like me is if he had some high school fantasy on the backburner that still needed fulfilling.
The weird thing was—I really wasn’t too opposed to the idea of being…fulfilled.
The wicked part of me hisses in my ear that I should take advantage of this, that this opportunity might not come again. The rest of me screams the real reason why I shouldn’t sleep with him. The fact that I’m—
“You’re beautiful, Cleo,” Adrian says.
My head whizzes around like that one girl’s in The Exorcist. “What?”
“I just wanted to say it.” His knuckles tighten minutely on the wheel.
Is Adrian a mind-reader? Oh, God. If he is, I’m opening the door of this car right now and splattering myself on the highway. If you can hear this, blink twice and bark like a dog , I think at him loudly, but no barking ensues. Phew.
We drive through the city. Boston is only about half an hour away from Statham, and yet it’s so easy to stay trapped in the college bubble that I only venture out into the city every few weeks. Eventually, though, a huge dome slides into view, and I realize where he’s taking me.
“There’s no game tonight, Adrian. It’s like eleven,” I say quickly as he pulls into a lot next to Fenway Park.
“Good thing, too,” he says, opening the door and flashing me a grin. “I don’t think you’d want people watching what we’re about to do.
He wants to fuck me in Fenway Park.
Just the thought reduces Lower Cleo to rubble. I’m sweating bullets, wondering what I should do. The sane part of me demands that I stay in the car. Unfortunately, the sane part of me has been relegated to my left pinky toenail, the only part of me not currently consumed with desire for the Sex King.
“I’m sure there’ll be guards,” I say weakly, stepping out onto the pavement.
“You let me take care of that.” He rounds
Similar Books
