And then I suddenly knew the meaning of spank bank material. Because Sierra standing in my room, her eyes wide as she watched me, was more of a turn-on than any Baywatch or Buffy episode ever could be. Dressed in cute, little gym shorts and a Navarre Raiders T-shirt, she was a vision of pure innocence and beauty, and she was precisely what I needed to finish what she’d walked in on. I couldn’t even help myself as my release spilled onto my stomach.
It wasn’t until she gasped in horror and ran from the room that I realized what I’d done. I was a mess—and not just literally. I debated not even going after her, but I couldn’t do that. I had to make sure she was okay. That we were okay.
Imagine my shock when she turned it into a joke. I was conflicted. Part of me was glad she was taking it all in stride. Another part had hoped she’d been at least a little affected by it. But I guess I was delusional, because apparently, it was no big deal to her.
That was killer on my confidence, by the way.
While lying there, watching Dawson’s Creek, I started relating to the show. Man, they’re right—whoever they are. Sex messes with you. Not only was I trying to picture Sierra naked, but I was having real, genuine feelings for her. The more I ran my fingers through her hair, the harder I became. Suddenly, cuddling on her bed didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. I needed some space, some distance, before my junk freaked her out for a second time that night. But, when I tried to shift away, she wrapped her arm around my waist and nestled in closer.
Shit.
I started going through the football playbook and picturing huge-ass linemen tackling my ass as I ran down the field. It was enough to soften me up. Just enough.
Until she shared her news and I started picturing her in a cute, little cheerleading outfit.
I thanked the freaking Lord as soon as the credits rolled, because I did the same thing. Twisting off the bed, I pressed my fists down and hovered over her, careful to keep my groin out of her line of sight. Her ocean-sky-blue eyes were sleepy, and I took it as my out. Leaning down, I gave her a kiss on the forehead.
“Night, Tod,” I whispered and turned to climb out the window. I was halfway through when she called to me.
“Hey, Copper?”
My head swiveled as I glanced back at her. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue while I straddled the window sill. That was enough to deflate me just a little bit.
A mischievous smile played on her lips. “Who were you strokin’, too?” she asked. A giggle bubbled out, and I groaned, hanging my head in shame.
And then I had a thought. Screw this. Jeremy Banks doesn’t do shame. Jeremy Banks has no shame. Jeremy Banks is shameless. Why is Jeremy Banks referring to himself in third person?
My eyes slowly rose and raked over her long, bare legs. By the time they reached her face, her laughter had stopped and she was watching me with expectant eyes.
I gave her a wink. “You were right when you chose the fox, Sierra.” I whispered the word fox using my best Jimi Hendrix impression.
Her brow wrinkled. I waited her out for a moment, and as soon as realization crossed her features, I slipped out the window and into the black night.
“Night, Tod! Have fun clickin’,” I called. If strokin’ is my thing, then clickin’ is hers. At least, that’s what I told myself, and I would keep doing so for the next…well…forever.
Even though I was answered with silence, I couldn’t help the smile that formed on my lips as I whistled my whole way home. All twenty feet of it. Just before I stepped onto my porch, I glanced back at her window. Her light had been shut off, but her silhouette watched me.
God, I wanted Sierra to watch me over…and over…and over again. What the hell was wrong with me?
Hormones, was what I told myself. Hormones and fucking Mandy Simpson. After my little party disaster with her, I hadn’t touched a girl. Hell, I was lucky Mandy seemed to have forgotten all about the night she’d walked up to me at a beach party, shoved her hand in my pants, and stroked my dick for a solid fifteen seconds before she said I was taking too long and she moved on.
Uhh, sorry, Mandy. In my defense, you did catch me a bit unprepared.
1.) No girl had ever touched my penis before that night. Hell, the only thing that’d ever touched it was me, and my hands are like my feet and my dick. Big. So her soft, little, drunk hands were…foreign to me. It caught me off guard. That’s all.
2.) If I hadn’t had six beers and hadn’t been suffering from immense shock, I probably would’ve nutted in about five seconds. Don’t judge. I was newly introduced to alcohol. Six beers was a lot at the time.
3.) Did she not see my best friend, Sierra, sitting five feet away from me, chatting with Chris and some other guys from the football team? I couldn’t get off in front of her if I’d tried.
Okay, so maybe that last part was a lie. We’d found that out tonight. But I hadn’t been able to do it with another girl with Sierra sitting right there. So Mandy had walked away, leaving me in a hard situation. I’d spent the next two hours with an ache in my balls that the Internet later told me was blue balls.
Blue Ball Mandy Simpson, I will never forgive you for those two hours of pure agony.
The worst part? I hadn’t even gotten a kiss for it. No making out or anything. Just a drunk chick sticking her hand in my pants for the first time ever. Couldn’t I at least have gotten some tongue action? Or, well, any action? Though, from what the guys said in the locker room, I wasn’t missing much. Blue Ball Mandy Simpson was also apparently Slobbery Mandy Simpson. I’d avoided a nightmare there, and in the weeks after, I’d had no desire for Mandy or any other girl to finish what she’d started.
So why was I now picturing Sierra’s pretty, pink lips and imagining running my tongue over them, begging for entrance so it could tangle with her own? Why did I want to press my lips to hers to see how they tasted? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about my hands roaming over her skin as we became more than friends? Just like I’d been doing since the first day of school when I’d temporarily lost my mind and almost kissed her before we were so rudely interrupted by Chris.
Yep. My problem was most definitely hormones. I needed to get a grip.
Wait. Wasn’t that what had gotten me into this mess in the first place?
“Dawson’s Creek over?” Dad asked as I walked in the front door.
I nodded and tried to move past him, but he followed me to my room. When he shut the door behind him and took a seat at my desk, I frowned. Something was off, and a sudden bead of sweat broke out on my brow as worry set in.
The corners of his mouth curled down while his round, bulging eyes darted around, looking anywhere but at me. His brows were knit together so tightly, I could practically see the tension it was creating. I had no idea what to expect when he cleared his through. “Okay, son. So…uh. I saw Sierra fly out of here earlier and then you going right after her. Apparently, in your haste…you uh…” His face reddened, and I held my breath, hoping like hell he hadn’t overheard what had happened.
“It’s no big deal, Dad. We’re fine,” I reassured him, wanting to get this over with and get him out of here. “She, um, she just caught me at a bad time.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. In fact, it was pretty much the truth.
He nodded. “Right. Well, uh, the thing is… When you ran after her, you dropped your…um…towel in the hall and apparently didn’t notice it.”
My whole life, I’d never experienced humiliation, and that night, I was getting it in spades. God, could it get any worse? I hung my head and let out a groan before peeking back up at him. Fortunately, this was as embarrassing for him as it was for me.