Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Rowdy: It sounds better than me saying I’m having lascivious thoughts about you.
Scarlett: Did you just google that word?
Rowdy: Yeah, the list of synonyms is terrible. None of them are dirty enough.
Scarlett: You’re right, they’re not. Weird, right?
Scarlett: When do you start spring training for baseball—like, what day?
Rowdy: January…twentieth or something I think, I’m not exactly sure, I’ll have to look at the schedule. I actually come back before break is officially over, we start a few days before class resumes.
Scarlett: How did I not know this?
Rowdy: I was hoping you’d make a better WAG than this.
Scarlett: A what?
Rowdy: lol, look it up.
Scarlett: When are you done with exams?
Rowdy: The 12th but I have a bunch of shit to do at the field house before I leave; already have my plane ticket for December though.
Scarlett: Pause. Can we focus on the fact that you keep using semicolons in your text messages?
Rowdy: Is it turning you on?
Scarlett: Proper use of grammar always turns me on.
Rowdy: I’ll remember that. You want me to email you my calendar?
Scarlett: Uh, sure? If you want?
Rowdy: I want.
Rowdy: What are you doing next weekend? I thought maybe we could hang out or something.
Scarlett: Going home for the first time in months.
Rowdy: Oh.
Scarlett: What about you?
Rowdy: I don’t have any plans.
Scarlett: I’d bring you home with me, but my parents don’t know you and I think my dad would have a fit. Plus my mom has this project she needs help with for my dad…
Rowdy: I need help with a few projects, lol **eggplant and water emoji**
Scarlett: You’re **such** a pervert!
Rowdy: Are you complaining? Should I dial it down a notch or 12?
Scarlett: No **bites down on lower lip**
Rowdy: So there’s no chance you’re going to be here this weekend? I was hoping we could go to dinner or something.
Scarlett: Like a date?
Rowdy: Yeah, like a date.
Scarlett: Well now I feel terrible—I wish I could.
Scarlett: Are you disappointed?
Rowdy: Little bit, but I can text you all weekend, yeah?
Scarlett: I’m sorry, did you say texting or sexting?
Rowdy: You had me at sexting—now I’m kind of glad you’re going to be gone.
Scarlett: Gee, thanks.
SIXTH FRIDAY
“The Friday Scarlett is Home and I’m Bored Out of my Fucking Skull and Spend it Eating Takeout at the Kitchen Sink.”
Rowdy
I miss her.
Have I mentioned it’s only a three-day weekend? And I should grow a pair of balls and not be such a pussy? I’ve been metaphorically watching out the window for Scarlett to return to school, checking my phone constantly for her messages.
They come sparingly, her parents monopolizing her time.
Shit.
If it’s this bad now, what’s it going to be like for winter break when we’re home for an entire month and I’m a thousand miles away? It’s not a simple car ride; I have to take a plane home, which means I’m stuck there, with only my parents for company.
I punch my pillow and check my phone again.
Midnight.
She’s definitely asleep by now.
My thumb hovers over the messenger app.
I hesitate to tap it but it’s so fucking tempting. Scarlett sleeps with her sound on, and if I send her a message, she’ll wake up and we can…
Ugh. Fuck.
I flop back down against my pillows and groan, reaching into my boxers, running my fingers along the hardening cock resting against my thigh.
Thirty-six more hours to go.
A MONDAY
“The Monday After She Leaves for the Weekend.”
Rowdy
To say I’ve missed the sight of Scarlett would be putting it mildly. I spot her clear across the quad, and damn it all if my heart doesn’t pick up its steady beat. This is my first on-campus sighting of her since meeting her six weeks ago, but she’s out of reach. Still, my eyes greedily take her in.
It’s not as if we haven’t gone an entire seven days between seeing each other, but that was before.
Before the kissing…
The groping…
The dry humping that plays on a loop in my mind, causing me to jerk off more than I did in middle school.
She’s definitely too far away for me to bellow out her name; I’d cause a scene and make a spectacle of myself.
Instead, my legs sprint into motion, propelled in her direction, dodging and weaving through students like the pro-baller I am, eyes focused on the end game: reaching her side before she’s gone.
I haul ass, tightening the hold I have on the black backpack slung over my shoulder. Call out her name when I’m within range, grateful she hears me the first time so I don’t embarrass myself by shouting it again.
Slow to a jog when I catch up, get her attention just as she’s turning away, toward the parking lot, cheeks tinted a pretty shade of pink from the cold.
She’s surprised when I skid to an abrupt halt in front of her, my short sprint worth the effort when she smiles, white teeth winking. Even more surprised when I bend, kissing her on the lips.