And our night could have gone even further. What if I hadn't hesitated when he'd asked to take me? How would it have felt to let that huge cock fill me up? The thought made me squirm for more reasons than one. Last night had been exhilarating, but it had also been disorienting. Before I met Nixon, I had never been so instantly, devastatingly attracted to a man. Like a compass arrow snapping toward a magnet. But how far would I get pulled off course? Sex would change everything—if it hadn't already. Was I ready for something like this? Hell, I didn't even know what “this” was. Friends with benefits? Fuck buddies? The words tasted strange, almost sour on the back of my tongue; I wasn't sure how I felt about a relationship with all of the sex and none of the romance. Knowing that Nixon would probably be fine with that arrangement didn't help. In fact, it just made me feel weirder.
But all the confused emotions in the world couldn't change what my body wanted. Even the fact that we were technically related didn't matter anymore. Something deep inside me, something primal, was crying out for Nixon to fuck me hard. To throw me down and claim and satisfy me until I couldn't think straight.
Sighing in frustration, I looked down at my notes and saw a near-blank page. I'd only gotten as far as the lecture's title, five or six bullet points, and a handful of increasingly abstract doodles. I rubbed my eyes, beyond caring whether I smeared the hell out of my liner, and tried to scribble down the current slide before Professor Worth clicked forward. Screw it … this stuff's in our textbook and the smokey-eye look is trendy right now. My mind had been chasing itself in circles all day. Half of me was dying to feel Nixon's fiery touch again. The other half was still cautious—not setting off any alarms yet, but aware that such intense heat could burn as well as warm. And I had no idea how to pull the two halves of myself back together.
You should've thought of all that before letting him bury his face between your legs, I scolded myself. Well, it was too goddamn late now. I'd just have to figure this mess out as I went along.
Everyone around me suddenly started to stand up, chattering and rustling papers and folding away their desks. Professor Worth must have announced the end of class, but I hadn't even noticed. Relief rushed through me; I was finally free. Thank God I only have two classes on Fridays. I shoved my notebook back in my bag and left the lecture hall, heading for the student union building to say goodbye to my friends before I drove home. Then I paused and changed course toward my parking spot on the edge of campus. I probably could have spared fifteen minutes, but I'd told Nixon to expect me around five-thirty, and I didn't want to risk getting sucked into the latest celebrity gossip and missing our—
I stopped myself from finishing that sentence. The word “date” scrambled my thoughts in a way I wasn't sure how to interpret.
***
When I got home, I was surprised to find Logan and Fox chilling on the couch. A basketball game blared on the flat-screen television. Through the living room window, I could see Nixon standing outside on the balcony, prodding at the barbecue with tongs. The smell of charcoal smoke and grilling meat wafted in.
At the sound of the front door, Logan turned around and smiled. “Hey, Avery.”
“Um … hey there, guys,” I replied, squelching my disappointment. Either Nixon had forgotten about this little party in all the excitement last night, or he'd been lying about eating dinner with me. Or he's just a typical dumb bloke who thinks that a big group hangout is just as good as a one-on-one meal.
Fox dropped his head back to look at me upside-down. “Good timing! The game should start in a few minutes. Pre-season exhibition. You a Lakers girl or a Clippers girl?”
Oh, well. I guess I should just enjoy the party. “Whatever kind of girl gets fed,” I called out as I headed to my room. I tossed my bag on the bed, toed off my Steve Madden wedge sandals, and changed from my pleated skirt into soft capri pants.
When I came back down the hall, Logan was at the breakfast bar, pouring a glass of ruby red wine. I could smell its fruity, floral bouquet even over the barbecue smoke from outside. “Here,” he said. “We got some Merlot when we went to the liquor store.”
“Oh, thank you. What a nice surprise,” I said, genuinely pleased. Nixon didn't strike me as a wine guy; he must have picked up on my lack of enthusiasm for beer.
“No problem,” Logan replied. “Glad you like it.”
As I lifted the glass for a sip, my eyes drifted to Nixon's silhouette in the window again. I didn't even know what I wanted to say, and I was still dying to talk to him. It probably wasn't super polite to just grab booze from Logan and then ditch him, but I couldn't focus on anything other than Nixon right now.