Page 95 of His Reckless Freshman

“Hi, Charli,” I murmur, easing around her and not saying my name, because what’s the point? It’s not like I can become friends with her if she’s friends with Ben, right?

Opening the front door, I counter her quizzical frown with a weak smile before slipping out into the sunshine and begging myself not to cry as I run back to campus.

30

BEN

Shit.

Shit!

I shouldn’t have let her leave that way.

Why did I just let her say goodbye and walk out the door?

Because it’s the right thing to do. You said no girls this year, remember?

No more heartbreak.

No more romantic drama!

So what the fuck was that, then?

I turned this epic, beautiful thing into my own drama. I had amazing sex with that woman and then practically pushed her out the door because I felt so guilty about it.

What the hell is wrong with me? I said no girls and then played with fire and expected not to get burned. That is the epitome of idiocy right there.

I’m pathetic.

I obviously have an inability to hang out with girls and not fall for them.

Because that’s exactly what’s happening. I’m falling for Jolie Carmichael, and being inside her confirmed that.

It’s freaking me out, which I guess is why I let her walk out the door so easily.

I feel like shit right now.

Damn, I want to run after her, pull her into my arms, and tell her why I was acting like such a dick. Beg her not to break my heart like all the girls before her.

But instead, I slump onto the edge of my bed.

Resting my hand on the mattress, I gaze down at my pillow, picturing the way her head tipped back when I made her come, reliving every erotic moment of our final session.

Shit. Our final session.

That was it, right?

It was fucking amazing, and I immediately went and ruined it. Rather than holding her and floating down from our highs together, I let us crash-land, ripping us apart on a hard, unrelenting reality because I’m trying to protect myself from…

This fucking feeling. The one you’re experiencing right now.

No, this feeling is different. I’m not the one being pushed away. I’m the one doing the pushing and…

Shit, it feels just as bad.

“Fuck,” I whisper, running my hands through my hair and fisting the back.

Grabbing my clothes, I pull them on, hating every second of buttoning my jeans and straightening my shirt. Her naked body felt so good against mine, and I missed the last part. It’s one of my favorites—the after-snuggle. I used to love holding Mandy against me, her body all sated and relaxed after a session.