Page 79 of His Reckless Freshman

I shouldn’t be doing any of that shit.

But there are the words on my screen, and there I go pressing Send and waiting for her reply.

It doesn’t take long for those gray dots to appear.

Jolie: I’ll be there. Thank you so much!

She adds in a few smiling emojis, and I can’t help a soft laugh.

The second that sound pops out of my mouth, I slap my phone down and berate myself.

It’s just a tutoring session, man. That’s it. Make her come again and then be done with it. She can take care of herself after that. Or some other guy can. Because it’s not like she’s into you specifically. She wants you to help her with the sex thing so she can be confident with someone else.

My stomach curdles and I scowl down at my beer, snatching the bottle and downing the whole thing before jumping off the bar stool and heading back to the house.

I need to get my head on straight.

And no matter what, this session with Jolie needs to be the last one.

25

JOLIE

I practically skip into the hotel on Wednesday night.

I haven’t seen Ben since our last session. Even though I’ve been desperately looking for him as I walk between classes, I haven’t spotted him around, and I couldn’t turn into a stalker and loiter near the law building or the basketball arena.

Waiting for him to text me was pure torture, but I finally heard from him late Monday night, and I actually squealed with delight.

I was on my own, so it was okay to do that. My stomach has been dancing ever since. Who knew I’d be so addicted to orgasms, right?

On Sunday, when I was taking a shower, I tried to give myself another one. I nearly got there, felt everything, but just couldn’t quite make it to that point. In the end, I gave up with a frustrated huff and figured maybe I can only get them with the assistance of someone else. I’m going to ask Ben about it, because my other thought is that I’m doing it wrong.

Or maybe… he’s the only one who can give them to me.

My lips twitch as I ride the elevator up to the third floor. Dancing butterflies are filling me from my throat to my… well… to between my legs. Just the thought of him touching me again is sending me into a tailspin.

A giddy laugh nearly bursts out of me, but I manage to clamp my lips together and contain it so I don’t scare the couple riding in the elevator with me.

The old man holds the door and lets me pass. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome, my dear.” He gives me a friendly smile, and I watch him walk after his wife, capturing her hand when they’re only a few paces from their room.

How sweet are they?

I love watching old couples who are still in love. It’s the most beautiful thing.

Spinning away from them, I can’t help doing a little walk-jog-skip thing down to room 312. My knock is fast and impatient, and the second Ben opens the door, it takes maximum effort not to fling myself into his arms.

“Hey, Jolie.” He gives me a gentle smile, and as I step past him, all I can sense is this heavy weight of sadness. Or maybe it’s reluctance.

Shit, does he not want to do this with me?

I’m about to slip my shoes off but decide to keep them on, just in case I’ll be making a quick exit because I don’t want him to see me cry.

Why did he invite me all the way here just to tell me this has to stop? He could have done that over the phone, and I’m going to tell him that when he⁠—

“So, how’s your week going?” He walks past me, taking a seat on the chaise.