Page 29 of Sweet Girl
Chapter Ten
Van
Every part of our conversation runs through my head over the next three days. I think I may have made a mistake and crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed.
Because now, I can’t stop thinking about Kylah. And not as a friend, but something more. Specifically, Kylah wrapping her lips around my dick and sucking me off so hard that I can’t see straight. Or me pulling up her skirt, wrenching her legs open, and finding her sweet, tasty center. Kind of like a Tootsie Pop. I wonder how many licks it will take to get her off.
I shake my head and stare down at the exam in front of me. My head is definitely not on the Econ test I’m supposed to be finishing right now.
I’m in the School of Business, majoring in Finance with a minor in Economics. Boring, I know. But it’s what my dad does – he’s an analyst for a large financial firm in Tucson - and numbers have always come easy for me. Not having any particularly strong gravitational pull toward one specific career, per se, I figure this degree will work well for the future. I may get licensed as a CPA and work for an accounting firm. Or maybe not. Perhaps I’ll end up working in the banking industry. Who knows? I haven’t thought much farther than the right here and now.
That’s a lie. All I’ve been thinking about is what will happen when I see Kylah next.
As for the long-term future, I know I’m not bound for Wall Street or anything like that. I’ll stay in the southwest and find a job that pays well. It’ll be a far cry from the NBA, where a few of my fellow teammates are looking to go – namely Carver and Lance. It’s all they ever talk about, aside from getting laid.
I stare blankly at the test sheet, trying desperately to remember the factors that influence fluctuations in market and economic stability. It’s hard to do when my dick is aching and all the blood rushed down to that head when I started imagining what Kylah would look like naked in my bed.
This whole thing is just confusing. I’ve only ever been with one girl my whole life - my now pregnant ex. She was my first and only up to this point. I don’t even know where to start with someone new.
Regardless of all the ribbing I’ve received from the guys, I am not just going to go out and fuck a random girl. That’s not my M.O. Maybe it was how I was raised. My parents are very religious, right wing conservatives who believe in the sanctity of marriage, church and government.
Obviously, I don’t share all their beliefs. But love factors in the sex equation. Getting into a girl’s pants one time doesn’t necessarily appeal to me like it does some of the other guys. I don’t begrudge them for wanting what they want – but I want something solid. A connection. Someone I can rely on, not just for sex, but for companionship. Because no matter how many male friends I have, being with a woman whom I can talk to is a pretty amazing thing.
I shared my hopes and dreams with Lyndsay. I told her about my insecurities related to my brother’s condition. My fears. Everything. Now that she’s gone, I’ve found myself opening up a lot more to Kylah, too. She’s been such a healing presence for me.
It makes me nervous how much I’ve come to rely on her so quickly. I don’t want to subconsciously use her as a rebound. I’d never want to hurt her just because she was an innocent by-stander.
Maybe I’m one of those guys who always has to be in a monogamous relationship – never able to be alone without female companionship. There’s nothing wrong with that, I suppose. Some dudes are lone wolves. Me, not so much. I like being together with a girl. Having that partnership.
Now I feel empty inside. Except when I’m with Kylah. Once again, the timing of this attraction is not great. I just can’t see us making a go of it, so I should shut it down now, before anything starts. There’s no way we can be together. I’ve put a lot of thought into how I should proceed with her. I don’t want to lead her on or use her just because she’s convenient. She deserves someone who has the time to give her. And has a less fractured heart.
I’m still mulling this over as the class TA tells us that time is up and to finish our remaining problem. My head flies up as I take in the scene around me. There’s only three other students in the room, and they are packing up their bags to leave. I return to my attention to my test and realize I have three remaining questions left unanswered. Shit.
Thankfully, my grade in this class was fairly high going into finals, so it shouldn’t ruin my chances of passing. I’m angry at myself, though, for being so distracted lately. The professors all understand that for athletes, we have a lot of other priorities that can interfere with coursework. It’s just a fact of life for college basketball players during the season. Up until now, it’s never been a problem for me to divide my time. Sure I’ve gotten sidetracked every once in a while, but never so far off course that I bombed a test or a class.
With defeat and self-loathing, I pick up my test and my backpack and head to the front of the classroom where I hand my paper in to the TA. Her name is Margarita and she’s from Spain. Gorgeous by any standards, with a seductive accent that can turn a guy on just with one syllable from her mouth. I’d not given her much notice until this second. Now that I’m the only one in the room, she’s leering at me with these big, brown eyes. If we were in a bar, I’d say they were ‘fuck me’ eyes.
“How’d it go, Senor Gerard?” She rolls her R’s and it’s really sexy. Very Salma Hayek-esque. I swallow the lump in my throat and push away any porny-thoughts that crop up. Sweat trickles down the crease in my back.
“Oh, you know. Okay, I guess.” I shrug, letting go of my grip on the test between us. When I return my gaze to her face, I see her lick her lips.
Shit, have I been this oblivious this semester? My brain scrambles to recall any previous interactions we had that maybe I’d misconstrued or completely overlooked. She was always hovering near my desk when she lectured, and kept her attention on me a lot, but none that seemed out of the ordinary.
She leans in toward me, her button-down blouse hanging low enough so that I can easily see the cleavage displayed and a peek-a-boo of her pink-lace bra. She coyly peers up through long, inky lashes, pinning me with the sexiest stare I’ve ever encountered.
“I would have gladly helped you study, Donavan. Your time must be in limited supply with your extra-curricular activities. I wish you would’ve called me so I could’ve helped you...perhaps in the Foreign Currency and Exchange Rates principles.”
Is this innuendo for something else? Good God.
Her hand juts out to land on my bicep, which she squeezes before sliding it down the curve of my arm down to my wrist. My eyes are glued on her hand as I watch this transpire. She lets out a soft moan as her hand makes its way back up my arm, and then to my chest.
What the hell is happening, here? I think I’ve gone into shock because I can’t get my body to move or my mind to conjure something to say. Nothing. My tongue feels three times larger than normal, my mouth dry. Feet rooted into the floor.
“If you’re worried about your test score, perhaps we can meet later to discuss? In my office, where it’s quiet and I could conduct an oral exam.” Again, the roll of the R sends the blood flowing south.
I stammer at the suggestion. “Um...wow...that’s really nice of you to offer.”
“Mm-hmm. It would be of benefit to you, si?”
