as
terrifying as it is exquisitely exciting.
When the sky begins to lighten from black to gray, Dean
sneaks back out of my bedroom window. He leaves me with a searing kiss, a sweet
ache between my legs, and a fire burning in my belly that can only be tamed by
him. But why do I get the feeling that tending to that fire will only mean
stoking it?
Chapter Six
Dean
I know they say that your college years are supposed to be
the greatest of your life, but I gotta say I didn’t used to get the hype. Sure,
I got to have a ton of sex. Sure, the booze was flowing. Sure, my only
obligation in the wold was to winning football games. But sex, booze, and
football has always been my plan for the rest of my life. I didn’t think there
was anything special about these particular four years.
Until I met Jessa, that is.
I’m not exaggerating when I say that the next couple of
months after we sleep together are damn near perfect. I’ve slept with plenty of
women by now, but none that I click with like Jessa. Our compatibility is
outrageous, and on top of that there’s an actual emotional connection between
us—something I haven’t had since Rebecca, my first serious girlfriend. Not that
there’s any comparison there. What I feel for Jessa blows my feelings for
Rebecca out of the water. And I know that Jessa feels just as strongly about
me.
As soon as we have sex that first time, the floodgates go flying
open. We can’t get enough of each other after that. Nearly every day, we sneak
off for some time together. It doesn’t even occur to me until a couple months
in that I’ve never gone this long having sex with just one girl since starting
college. That’s because I honestly don’t notice—I’m so stoked about getting to
be with Jessa that for the first time I don’t feel like I need anybody else.
All told, shit’s crazy .
And it isn’t just my love life that’s kicking serious ass
these days. The Rayburn Red Birds are absolutely killing it. With me, Bear, and
Royce at the helm under Coach Cahill, we’ve been racking up W’s left right and
center. And as long as we don’t fuck anything up at this week’s game, Rayburn
University will be bowl-eligible. I couldn’t be more pumped.
Even my academics are looking up, thanks in large part to
Jessa. I know the tutoring thing was just a ruse to spend more time with her,
but I’ve learned a lot from her about work ethic and creative problem solving…
between rounds in the sack, that is. Even my American Lit professor Ms. Warren
has taken notice. When I got my first term paper back from her, there was a big
old “A” on the front, with a note that read, “See? No special treatment
needed”. I was so stoked to actually have gotten an A that I didn’t even mind
the dig.
The only bummer that’s brought me down these past couple
months was Thanksgiving. Holidays of any kind are lousy for me since my mom,
Rowan, passed away. She’d been battling ovarian cancer for most of my pre-teen
years, and lost her fight just as I was getting ready to graduate from high
school. She was the one member of my family who bothered to tell me she loved
me, the one who kept us guys together. She was the one we rallied around, the
glue that kept us from falling apart. And when she died, we did just that.
That means that Thanksgiving this year consisted of me and
my dad sitting on his old ass couch, eating pizza and beer while we watched
football. It only made things stranger that one of the teams playing in the game
on TV was the one my brother Tom just got drafted to. He’s not starting yet,
obviously, but still. It was wild to know that he was there, living his dream,
while I was sitting in my dad’s shitty apartment in Trenton.
“You’ve got some pretty big shoes to fill,” my dad had
grumbled, as the game drew to a close, “Hope you know that, Dean.”
“I’m not looking to follow in anyone else’s footsteps,” I
snapped back at him, throwing back the
terrifying as it is exquisitely exciting.
When the sky begins to lighten from black to gray, Dean
sneaks back out of my bedroom window. He leaves me with a searing kiss, a sweet
ache between my legs, and a fire burning in my belly that can only be tamed by
him. But why do I get the feeling that tending to that fire will only mean
stoking it?
Chapter Six
Dean
I know they say that your college years are supposed to be
the greatest of your life, but I gotta say I didn’t used to get the hype. Sure,
I got to have a ton of sex. Sure, the booze was flowing. Sure, my only
obligation in the wold was to winning football games. But sex, booze, and
football has always been my plan for the rest of my life. I didn’t think there
was anything special about these particular four years.
Until I met Jessa, that is.
I’m not exaggerating when I say that the next couple of
months after we sleep together are damn near perfect. I’ve slept with plenty of
women by now, but none that I click with like Jessa. Our compatibility is
outrageous, and on top of that there’s an actual emotional connection between
us—something I haven’t had since Rebecca, my first serious girlfriend. Not that
there’s any comparison there. What I feel for Jessa blows my feelings for
Rebecca out of the water. And I know that Jessa feels just as strongly about
me.
As soon as we have sex that first time, the floodgates go flying
open. We can’t get enough of each other after that. Nearly every day, we sneak
off for some time together. It doesn’t even occur to me until a couple months
in that I’ve never gone this long having sex with just one girl since starting
college. That’s because I honestly don’t notice—I’m so stoked about getting to
be with Jessa that for the first time I don’t feel like I need anybody else.
All told, shit’s crazy .
And it isn’t just my love life that’s kicking serious ass
these days. The Rayburn Red Birds are absolutely killing it. With me, Bear, and
Royce at the helm under Coach Cahill, we’ve been racking up W’s left right and
center. And as long as we don’t fuck anything up at this week’s game, Rayburn
University will be bowl-eligible. I couldn’t be more pumped.
Even my academics are looking up, thanks in large part to
Jessa. I know the tutoring thing was just a ruse to spend more time with her,
but I’ve learned a lot from her about work ethic and creative problem solving…
between rounds in the sack, that is. Even my American Lit professor Ms. Warren
has taken notice. When I got my first term paper back from her, there was a big
old “A” on the front, with a note that read, “See? No special treatment
needed”. I was so stoked to actually have gotten an A that I didn’t even mind
the dig.
The only bummer that’s brought me down these past couple
months was Thanksgiving. Holidays of any kind are lousy for me since my mom,
Rowan, passed away. She’d been battling ovarian cancer for most of my pre-teen
years, and lost her fight just as I was getting ready to graduate from high
school. She was the one member of my family who bothered to tell me she loved
me, the one who kept us guys together. She was the one we rallied around, the
glue that kept us from falling apart. And when she died, we did just that.
That means that Thanksgiving this year consisted of me and
my dad sitting on his old ass couch, eating pizza and beer while we watched
football. It only made things stranger that one of the teams playing in the game
on TV was the one my brother Tom just got drafted to. He’s not starting yet,
obviously, but still. It was wild to know that he was there, living his dream,
while I was sitting in my dad’s shitty apartment in Trenton.
“You’ve got some pretty big shoes to fill,” my dad had
grumbled, as the game drew to a close, “Hope you know that, Dean.”
“I’m not looking to follow in anyone else’s footsteps,” I
snapped back at him, throwing back the
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