Page 6 of Trust Again

That probably wasn’t the first thing anyone would think of when they saw me. I’m kind of petite, with big, round eyes, so most people see me as an innocent little Bambi. Not someone who enjoys dreaming up kinky sex scenes all day long.

Writing has always been my favorite pastime. Even in high school, my fantasies ran wild across the pages of my notebooks. It started out as a hobby. Then came the boom in erotic literature, thank youFifty Shades. I took part in an anonymous writing competition for erotic short stories. Even though I didn’t win, I landed on the short list to be evaluated by the community of writers. The feedback was overwhelming. I’d never shown my work to anyone before, but doing it anonymously on the Internet was easier, because I didn’t feel the pressure of being judged. After lots of people urged me to keep writing, I started on my next short story, which was twice as long as the first. The readers in the forum were totally into it and started to send photos and casting suggestions for a potential film based on the story.

And that was the beginning of my addiction: I spent my afternoons on my dad’s computer and wrote well into the night. Dad supported my hobby and even brought me food and drink if he saw me glued to the screen for hours on end. It was probably good that I never let him know my genre. After all, what father would want his daughter writing stories calledHot for You, whose plotlines were 90 percent sex?

I was known as D. Lily—my middle name. But no one here knew my secret. Not even Allie. And as far as I was concerned, it should stay secret for the time being. I loved my friends and felt like I belonged here, really fit in, in Woodshill. No way did I want that to change. What if they found out and looked at me differently? What if they thought I was weird? Made fun of me, like Nate had?

If they knew, I wouldn’t enjoy writing anymore. Now, it was still magical. I could concentrate fully on my characters. On their personalities. On their vices.

Like right now. My fingers flew over the keyboard.

Until Spencer plopped onto the sofa next to me.

I yelped and startled backward so violently that my headphones slipped off my ears.

“What the hell?”

“Sorry, I thought you heard me,” Spencer said, rubbing his face.

Holy shit.

His shirt was stuck to his chest, revealing the muscles underneath. Quickly I looked up at his face, but that, too, turned out to be a mistake. With one motion, he swept his damp hair from his forehead. His cheeks were flushed, his face was covered with a thin layer of sweat and his chest was rising and falling faster than usual.

I kind of wanted to be turned off by this sweat-drenched fellow, but some synapses in my brain were obviously not working right. Not after spending the last few hours writing about naked, writhing bodies.

“Did you… already finish your run?” I asked weakly.

“It was great. Damn cold, but still really nice.” He leaned forward, grinning, and reached for the water he’d given me. “Didn’t you drink anything?”

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. “I lost track of time.”

“I’m going to take a shower. If you want to join me, I can show you how much prettier the bathroom is compared to the kitchen.”

I lightly punched his upper arm. “No, thanks.”

Spencer stood. His grin was so sexy that it should have been illegal. “Some day you’ll voluntarily accompany me to this bathroom, sweetheart. You know it, I know it, and the world has been aware of that since the beginning of time.”

For a second I was speechless.

Then I mustered up all my strength and looked back at my computer screen. “If you say so.”

That’s how it was between Spencer and me. Every friendship needed some way to blow off steam and get back to normal. His comments were part of it. My dismissive replies were also part of it. So I was glad when flirtatious Spencer took a backseat and my good friend returned.

Flirty Spencer often annoyed me, but he was preferable to the reserved Spencer, who wore an artificial smile, avoided questions, and simply disappeared.

Chapter 3

Two days had passed since the penis incident, and I hadn’t heard from Allie at all—except for a WhatsApp chat with a little monkey covering its eyes with both hands, and three winking smiley faces.

The very idea of looking her in the eye and apologizing for having stared at her boyfriend’s junk made me burn with shame. But I couldn’t put it off forever.

At the first tentative knock on our door, my roommate, Sawyer, tied the laces on her Doc Martens and hoisted her backpack. With her long, blonde hair and the patchwork of tattoos on her arms, she looked dangerous. And hot as hell. It was no wonder she had such abusyschedule.

“I’m off,” she murmured in parting.

Sawyer usually took off whenever Allie dropped by to see me. They hadn’t gotten off to a good start, partly because Sawyer had been seeing Kaden when Allie rented the spare room in his apartment. You could say it wasn’t the best way to begin a friendship. On the other hand, Sawyer and I weren’t close either. She was pretty unapproachable and difficult. If we hadn’t ended up sharing one of the tiniest dorm rooms, she would have probably never talked to me.

Allie smiled tentatively at Sawyer, but it was obviously forced. Sawyer returned the expression for a moment, then pushed past my best friend to leave the room.

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