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The memories of that morning keep replaying in my head like a rerun marathon I usually find on the TV. And in no way can I possibly think of anything else. All of yesterday, after our little shower rendezvous in the shower, I spent locked up in my room to keep myself from questioning Rachel like a little bitch. Even now, the questions are going through my head.
Do you want to do it again?
What does this mean?
Do you hate me or do you like me?
But at the same time, all of yesterday I found myself asking similar questions of myself.
Why did I do that?
Do I want to do it again?
Do I hate her or do I like her?
“Psst,” someone whispers to me, swatting my shoulder. I scowl in his direction, but he only scowls back. “Can you please stop that?” He asks while pointing at my pencil, which I’ve been tapping furiously against my desk. “I’m trying to pay attention.”
I sigh and instantly drop it, watching it roll towards me. It drops into my bag. I rub my chin and try to read whatever the professor is writing on the board, but my mind returns to Rachel’s moans and the water glistening on her skin.
Does she want to do it again?
I bounce my leg up and down and press a hand over my mouth.She could’ve left and she didn’t. Why? Why did she stay? Had she been thinking about the kiss? I mean, she must have been thinking about the kiss.
Or was she trying to get out of the contract?
I scowl as I remember my drunken encounter with Rachel at the game.Well, she did want to leave so sleeping with me would be a good start.“Fuck,” I mutter when I bang my knee against my desk. All eyes turn to me and I meet each of them with a dark look.So, what if she wants to leave,I tell myself.She knows the rules so one down. Two more to go.
But do I really want her to go? Especially when I want to do it again.
“Alright, class is dismissed,” says the professor and I bound from my seat and nearly sprint towards the door, throwing it open and striding down the halls towards the exit.
Should I tell the boys?I wonder while digging into my pockets and looking through my phone. There’s a message from Millie, which can wait. None from Rachel, but then again I don’t think she has my phone number. Why would she need it anyway?
But should I tell them?
I bite my bottom lip. I can’t deny that a part of me really doesn’t want them playing around with her. And we haven’t even laid out the terms of what sex really entails.There wasn’t penetrative sex. There was just some playing around. She got off. I got off.
I imagine Rachel and Lucas together. Rachel’s mouth pressing against Lucas’s lips while he’s shoved up into a tree. The way his hands wrap around her. I shove my phone into my pocket. They don’t need to know anything.
I step out into the sunlight and walk down the small paths towards the college town. I smile while memories of Rachel seep back into me and I remember how she smiled at the various places I took her in town.
I take the small camera she loaned me out of my bag and snap a picture. I look at the display. It’s not so bad. Not as good as Rachel’s photography. I think of showing it to her later, wondering if she will be happy I’m giving the whole art thing a try. Maybe she will even smile at me, lean over my shoulder and nuzzle her cheek against mine while giving me a few key points of advice.
I scowl.Stop thinking about her,I tell myself.Just stop it.
17
HUNTER
I stalk home, holding my bag in my hands rather than over my shoulder. It still fucking hurts. My hand is getting better, but practice fucking sucked. I wasn’t able to do anything other than run a few laps and watch the fucking scrimmage. This is really going to set me back. Forget my hand, my shoulder is completely fucked. I can’t even put my bag on it let alone throw.
What am I going to do?
I’m supposed to be a football star. The NFL is already looking for the best players. It’s my junior year. I shouldn’t be sitting on the bench. I should be out playing. What’s Mom going to do if I don’t get onto a team after I graduate? I stop in front of my door and rummage for my keys in my pockets. I hiss when I move my shoulder just the slightest bit and groan when a packet of my painkillers slide out, landing on the cement. I groan, slowly reaching for them with my good shoulder. I pick up the packet and stare at them, my body urging me to take just a few. Just one. I need just one. I shake my head. No. I don’t need that on top of everything else. I need to get better, not just numb my pain. If I don’t get better… How am I going to be able to pay for Mom’s chemo?
I push the key into the door and kick it open. My gaze lands on Rachel standing in the kitchen washing dishes and I scowl. I’m really not in the mood to deal with her. Are those my dishes?
