“I’ll see you next week,” I tell Demi. “But I don’t think I’m available on Monday, though.”

“How about mid-week?”

“I should be around on Wednesday night. But not the weekend—we’re playing three games.”

“Okay, possibly Wednesday night,” she says, “but that’s usually my gym day.”

“You go to the gym?”

“Of course. Why do you think I look this good?”

Naturally, my gaze is pulled right back to her tight, petite body. She can’t be taller than five-three, but, man, her legs seem endless. Long and tanned and bare in her tiny denim shorts. I bet her ass is taut and perfect, a perfect little handful.

Oh shit.

It’s happening.

I’m fantasizing about her.

Abort, dude, abort!

“Anyway.” I wrench my gaze away, but not before she catches me.

“Oh my God, stop it. You’re not allowed to look at me like that,” Demi orders. “You’re a monk, remember?”

“I wasn’t looking at you like anything,” I lie.

“Bullshit. You were giving me the Penis Eyes.”

“I was not. Trust me, smoldering looks aren’t my go-to move.” I smirk. “If I was making a real move on you, you wouldn’t be telling me to stop.”

“You have an actual move?” A delighted smile lights up Demi’s pretty face. Her skin is incredible. Glowing and flawless, and I don’t think she’s even wearing makeup. “Show me!”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No,” I growl. “You’re not allowed to see my move.”

“Why not?” she whines.

“Two reasons—you have a boyfriend, and I’m a monk.”

“Fine. But for the record, I’m betting your move is lamer than lame.” Grinning, she opens the top drawer of her desk. After some fumbling, her hand emerges with another lollipop. Cherry, this time. Or maybe strawberry.

“I think you’re a sugar addict,” I inform her.

“Nah, I just like having things in my mouth.”

“Nope, not even touching that statement.”

She glares at me. “It’s called an oral fixation, Hunter. It’s quite common.”

“Uh-huh. If you say so.”

And despite my best efforts to forget all about this conversation, thoughts of Demi and her oral fixation follow me all the way home and consume my sexed-up brain. And the next thing I know I’m locking the bathroom door and stepping into the shower, a tight fist around an erection hard enough to slice a slab of marble in half.

It’s happening again.

I’m fantasizing about Demi Davis, and this time I ain’t stopping it.

I picture her plump lips wrapped around that red lollipop, except within seconds the lollipop is replaced with the head of my cock. I’m nudging it between those sexy lips, and her tongue instantly darts out for a taste, because she’s so hungry for it.

“Mmmm,” I imagine her murmuring. “Tastes like candy.” And I imagine myself saying that her pussy probably tastes even sweeter, which makes her moan and the throaty sound travels the length of my shaft and tightens my balls.

“Goddamn.” My hoarse expletive echoes in the shower stall. I rest my forearm against the tiled wall as I work myself over with fast, desperate strokes. My dick is so hard it hurts. The steam in the bathroom makes it difficult to breathe. As I start fucking my own fist, my forehead sags against my arm and I suck in gulps of heated oxygen.

Oh man, this feels good. My cheesy scripted fantasy has dissolved in the steamy air. Now I’m stroking my cock to random images that flash through my mind—Demi sucking on me, Demi’s cleavage spilling from those tight tops she wears, her tanned legs…spreading for me. Ah hell, I wonder what noises she makes when she comes—

I go off like a bottle rocket. Holy hell. My hips grow still as a rush of hot pleasure surges through my body. I shoot in my own hand, breathing hard, black dots flashing in my field of vision and my cock tingling wildly.

I feel only slightly guilty that I fantasized about Demi. And I think she’d forgive me if I told her. I mean, it was bound to happen. I’m in dire straits, five endless months without sex. By the end of the month, I’ll be jerking it to fantasies of Mike Hollis.

I’m starting to get genuinely concerned for my sanity.

Loud pounding rattles the doorframe.

Startled, I almost wipe out in the tub.

“Hunter!” Rupi shrieks. “Get out of there already. You’ll use up all the hot water and I want to shower before bed!”

A groan lodges in my throat, which feels raw and achy from all the heavy panting I just did. I’m still gripping my dick, but it’s rapidly softening because that’s what Rupi’s voice does to penises.

“Go away,” I growl at the door, but there’s no negotiating with terrorists. If I don’t submit to her demands, she’ll probably go find a YouTube video on lock-picking, bust open the door, and forcibly pull me out of the shower.

I hate my roommates.

10

Demi

I don’t have class on Wednesdays, so I spend the morning studying for a bio test and completing a math assignment. This semester’s workload is nearly double the previous year’s, so I’m now waking up an hour earlier every day in the hopes that it’ll help me stay on top of my classes.

And if I’m not already stressed enough, my father has decided that I should get a head start on studying for the MCAT exam. Last night he even sent a text offering to hire me a tutor. I told him I’d think about it.

Really, though, I just need to think of a diplomatic way to say, Please, for the love of God, don’t make me study for med school yet or I’ll never survive junior year.

In the afternoon, I hang out with Corinne at her new apartment in Hastings, helping her organize her closet. At my house in Boston, I have a sweet walk-in that’s categorized by both color and style. My levels of anxiety reduce drastically when everything is neat and tidy.

“Thanks so much for doing this,” Corinne says, a bit shyly.

I slide a heavy cable-knit sweater onto a hanger. “Of course. You know this kind of stuff is my jam. Plus we’re friends. Friends don’t let friends clean closets alone.”

Her answering smile is brimming with gratitude.

Corinne’s a tough nut to crack sometimes. She’s very pretty, and there’s a constant stream of guys chasing after her, but she’s selective about who she dates. She’s antisocial, quiet at times, but her sarcasm is top-notch and when she relaxes her guard she’s a lot of fun.

“This apartment is super cute,” I tell her. “I love how massive the bedroom is.” It’s almost as big as my room at the sorority house, and I lucked out in the random draw and snagged the master.

My phone buzzes on Corinne’s double bed. I grab it and discover a message from Hunter.

HUNTER: Did you watch the Bruins game last night??

In one of our previous text exchanges, he’d been raving about some game on TV, and I’d mentioned I’d be sure to start watching hockey. I don’t think he picked up on the sarcasm.