something. Learn how to be better in bed. You're kind of stiff, you know? You need to get a little more into it. When we come back to school next year, we can date again. Trial run or something? See how it goes. I've been putting up with you for now, but I really need someone who knows what they're doing, Ash. The sex just hasn't been that good. Sorry to put it out there like that."
"No," I say. "It's fine."
That's not what I want to say. I want to say more. I want to say something witty and funny and sarcastic. Because I don't think it's me. He's not very good in bed, either. Selfish and fast is about how I'd explain it, but I thought he liked me, so...
My God, I'm an idiot, aren't I?
I put my clothes on and rush to the door just as his roommate is coming back. His roommate accidentally blocks me from making a hasty retreat until we shuffle around to either side and I can get past him. I want to go. I want to run back to my room and pack and leave right now, because... because...
Jake is an asshole! I almost think about screaming it, but I stop myself. I can't do that. I'm the good girl, the girl with perfect grades, the girl everyone expects to go far in life. I'm...
I'm a doormat, apparently. I'm the girl whose boyfriend breaks up with her so he can sleep with other women during a two month summer break from college. Wow.
Really, wow.
"Text me sometime or something," Jake yells to me as I rush down the hall.
"Fuck you," I say. I want to shout it, but I don't. I whisper it to myself under my breath.
I'm Ashley Banks and I'm a good girl. Good girls don't swear and shout down the halls. I can't do that, even if I want to.
Ethan
T he school year's over . I'm supposed to be packing up to leave. Supposed to be, but yeah, guess what I'm doing instead? Something stupid.
A couple of guys from the team dragged me out to play shirts versus skins football on the field because the cheerleaders were doing some last hoorah celebration, complete with those fuckably short skirts they love to wear. Fuck. Those legs. That ass. Fuck. Just fuck.
I can't deal with this shit, man. You don't even know how fucking hard this is right now.
Shirts versus skins, but it devolved into skins versus skins soon enough. Who even gives a fuck what team we're on? No one, apparently. It's all some ruse to impress the cheerleaders, so it's not like it matters. And, yeah, it's working. They're doing their little cheer celebration, but they keep looking over at us. Can't say I blame them.
This is college football and we're in the prime of our lives. Look, I'm kind of an asshole, alright? I know it. Everyone knows it. No reason to hide it.
I look good, though. Especially with a shirt off. Especially when I'm sweating, muscles tight, running around a field, throwing a football.
What position? Quarterback. Shouldn't it be obvious? I was born to be in the spotlight.
Probably helps that my dad's rich. Can't hurt at least.
The cheerleaders are done, and now they're just sitting on the bleachers watching us. Some of the guys pretend to have a huddle or some stupid shit, but it's all of them together. No offense, but what the fuck kind of huddle is that? Two teams would never huddle together. Doesn't make any goddamn sense.
"Last play, guys," someone says. "Make it good. Flashy. Then let's go get our water bottles. Make that flashy, too."
I almost laugh. These guys . They really need to get laid. I guess they're about to, so it's all good.
I do some flashy shit, throw the ball higher in the air than necessary so it looks cooler when someone catches it. I don't even care who, just someone. It works. They do. Is that guy supposed to be on my team? I can't tell anymore.
Stupid. This isn't real football, it's just stupid.
We're done. It's over. Walking. Yup.
You might be asking how someone drinks water from a water bottle in a flashy way. And if you're asking that, you need to stop and calm down a little because it's about to happen, so just sit
"No," I say. "It's fine."
That's not what I want to say. I want to say more. I want to say something witty and funny and sarcastic. Because I don't think it's me. He's not very good in bed, either. Selfish and fast is about how I'd explain it, but I thought he liked me, so...
My God, I'm an idiot, aren't I?
I put my clothes on and rush to the door just as his roommate is coming back. His roommate accidentally blocks me from making a hasty retreat until we shuffle around to either side and I can get past him. I want to go. I want to run back to my room and pack and leave right now, because... because...
Jake is an asshole! I almost think about screaming it, but I stop myself. I can't do that. I'm the good girl, the girl with perfect grades, the girl everyone expects to go far in life. I'm...
I'm a doormat, apparently. I'm the girl whose boyfriend breaks up with her so he can sleep with other women during a two month summer break from college. Wow.
Really, wow.
"Text me sometime or something," Jake yells to me as I rush down the hall.
"Fuck you," I say. I want to shout it, but I don't. I whisper it to myself under my breath.
I'm Ashley Banks and I'm a good girl. Good girls don't swear and shout down the halls. I can't do that, even if I want to.
Ethan
T he school year's over . I'm supposed to be packing up to leave. Supposed to be, but yeah, guess what I'm doing instead? Something stupid.
A couple of guys from the team dragged me out to play shirts versus skins football on the field because the cheerleaders were doing some last hoorah celebration, complete with those fuckably short skirts they love to wear. Fuck. Those legs. That ass. Fuck. Just fuck.
I can't deal with this shit, man. You don't even know how fucking hard this is right now.
Shirts versus skins, but it devolved into skins versus skins soon enough. Who even gives a fuck what team we're on? No one, apparently. It's all some ruse to impress the cheerleaders, so it's not like it matters. And, yeah, it's working. They're doing their little cheer celebration, but they keep looking over at us. Can't say I blame them.
This is college football and we're in the prime of our lives. Look, I'm kind of an asshole, alright? I know it. Everyone knows it. No reason to hide it.
I look good, though. Especially with a shirt off. Especially when I'm sweating, muscles tight, running around a field, throwing a football.
What position? Quarterback. Shouldn't it be obvious? I was born to be in the spotlight.
Probably helps that my dad's rich. Can't hurt at least.
The cheerleaders are done, and now they're just sitting on the bleachers watching us. Some of the guys pretend to have a huddle or some stupid shit, but it's all of them together. No offense, but what the fuck kind of huddle is that? Two teams would never huddle together. Doesn't make any goddamn sense.
"Last play, guys," someone says. "Make it good. Flashy. Then let's go get our water bottles. Make that flashy, too."
I almost laugh. These guys . They really need to get laid. I guess they're about to, so it's all good.
I do some flashy shit, throw the ball higher in the air than necessary so it looks cooler when someone catches it. I don't even care who, just someone. It works. They do. Is that guy supposed to be on my team? I can't tell anymore.
Stupid. This isn't real football, it's just stupid.
We're done. It's over. Walking. Yup.
You might be asking how someone drinks water from a water bottle in a flashy way. And if you're asking that, you need to stop and calm down a little because it's about to happen, so just sit
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