fact, since Maggie’s been home, it’s been a bit of a relief. Krystal’s right. I’ve changed. But so has she, and I can’t imagine fucking her right now. And making love is out of the question. There’s too much tension between us, and we can’t snuggle close when we’re both wound up so tightly in thorny vines of doubt.
I lie on top of the covers and turn off the light. I stare up at the ceiling in the darkness.
I’m not sure I can go through with this wedding. When that stink bomb went off, it was so surreal, and then everyone started running out of the church and I was just… relieved .
Krystal has been a constant in my life since we were kids. We went through school together and went to college together. We both decided to move home after graduating from Notre Dame.
She was always there. Always a friend. And when Maggie canceled the wedding and skipped town, Krystal was there to hold my hand.
Our relationship was so normal, and I found comfort in that normalcy. When Maggie didn’t take my calls or return my emails, Krystal became a fixture in my life.
While Maggie always thought I was too good for her, Krystal had every confidence that she was good enough for any man.
I force myself to close my eyes, but my mind spins wildly with the implications of the decision I need to make. I love Krystal. I love that she believes in herself. I love that she believes in me. And Maggie? I don’t even know if I love her. I crave her. I need her.
I want to stop waiting. I want to start living my life. Only one woman can do that with me. And only one wants to.
But as I wrap my hand around my dick, she’s not the one I’m thinking of. Instead, my mind conjures the memory of a feisty redhead in my little apartment by campus. It’s a go-to memory for me. I was finishing up my first semester of graduate classes at Sinclair and Maggie was a freshman.
She sat cross-legged on my couch, scanning the music collection on my phone while I pretended not to be mesmerized by her smile.
“How’s the love life going?” she asked, suddenly bored with my phone and tossing it next to her on the couch.
From my spot on the floor, I ran my eyes over her face. Those big eyes, the sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose that contrasted so sharply with her wicked smile. “There’s not much of a love life to speak of.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re a big, bad graduate student now. A TA. An ar tist. I see the girls swoon over you. Pick one.”
I remember studying her, wondering if she really didn’t know. “Maybe I already have.”
“So, what’s stopping you?” She slid off the couch and sat in front of me on the floor, taking my face in her hands. “You’re amazing.”
I wanted to lower my mouth to hers and kiss her, but I knew that would scare her off. I’d wanted to kiss her since she showed up in my dorm room at Notre Dame and asked me to. But at Notre Dame she was too young, and there in my New Hope apartment I was too afraid of losing her to make that move. So I said, “Maybe I doubt my skills.”
She laughed. “What skills? Kissing?” When I didn’t reply, she frowned. “Fucking?”
“No.” My cheeks warmed. Maggie used sex as a shield, and as a result she could talk about it—any part of it—without batting a lash. “Why is it that some girls don’t like oral sex?”
Maggie snorted. “Because having a cock shoved down your throat isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?” She lifted a shoulder, shrugging. “But then I can’t really talk for them, I kind of like giving head. It’s”—her gaze dropped to my pants then quickly returned to my face—“a power trip.”
Oh, hell. The image of her mouth sliding over my cock slammed into me so fast and hard, I had to shift on the floor to ease my discomfort. “I’m not talking about that kind of oral sex.”
Her eyes went big and she grinned. “Going down on her ? That’s what you’re talking about? What girl doesn’t like
I lie on top of the covers and turn off the light. I stare up at the ceiling in the darkness.
I’m not sure I can go through with this wedding. When that stink bomb went off, it was so surreal, and then everyone started running out of the church and I was just… relieved .
Krystal has been a constant in my life since we were kids. We went through school together and went to college together. We both decided to move home after graduating from Notre Dame.
She was always there. Always a friend. And when Maggie canceled the wedding and skipped town, Krystal was there to hold my hand.
Our relationship was so normal, and I found comfort in that normalcy. When Maggie didn’t take my calls or return my emails, Krystal became a fixture in my life.
While Maggie always thought I was too good for her, Krystal had every confidence that she was good enough for any man.
I force myself to close my eyes, but my mind spins wildly with the implications of the decision I need to make. I love Krystal. I love that she believes in herself. I love that she believes in me. And Maggie? I don’t even know if I love her. I crave her. I need her.
I want to stop waiting. I want to start living my life. Only one woman can do that with me. And only one wants to.
But as I wrap my hand around my dick, she’s not the one I’m thinking of. Instead, my mind conjures the memory of a feisty redhead in my little apartment by campus. It’s a go-to memory for me. I was finishing up my first semester of graduate classes at Sinclair and Maggie was a freshman.
She sat cross-legged on my couch, scanning the music collection on my phone while I pretended not to be mesmerized by her smile.
“How’s the love life going?” she asked, suddenly bored with my phone and tossing it next to her on the couch.
From my spot on the floor, I ran my eyes over her face. Those big eyes, the sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose that contrasted so sharply with her wicked smile. “There’s not much of a love life to speak of.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re a big, bad graduate student now. A TA. An ar tist. I see the girls swoon over you. Pick one.”
I remember studying her, wondering if she really didn’t know. “Maybe I already have.”
“So, what’s stopping you?” She slid off the couch and sat in front of me on the floor, taking my face in her hands. “You’re amazing.”
I wanted to lower my mouth to hers and kiss her, but I knew that would scare her off. I’d wanted to kiss her since she showed up in my dorm room at Notre Dame and asked me to. But at Notre Dame she was too young, and there in my New Hope apartment I was too afraid of losing her to make that move. So I said, “Maybe I doubt my skills.”
She laughed. “What skills? Kissing?” When I didn’t reply, she frowned. “Fucking?”
“No.” My cheeks warmed. Maggie used sex as a shield, and as a result she could talk about it—any part of it—without batting a lash. “Why is it that some girls don’t like oral sex?”
Maggie snorted. “Because having a cock shoved down your throat isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?” She lifted a shoulder, shrugging. “But then I can’t really talk for them, I kind of like giving head. It’s”—her gaze dropped to my pants then quickly returned to my face—“a power trip.”
Oh, hell. The image of her mouth sliding over my cock slammed into me so fast and hard, I had to shift on the floor to ease my discomfort. “I’m not talking about that kind of oral sex.”
Her eyes went big and she grinned. “Going down on her ? That’s what you’re talking about? What girl doesn’t like
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