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“Um, yeah. I mean, no. I don’t mind. Sit if you want. Or—wow, okay, you’re lying down.” I grin at her visible nervousness. It’s cute.
“Mmmm, that’s it, babe. That feel good?” “So good,” she moans back. “Don’t stop. Faster, Conor.” “You like that?” “I love it.” “Yeah?” “Oh, yeah, put it in my butt!” she begs. I collapse and hit my forehead on the fucking headboard. I stare at her, dumbstruck.
😂😂 they’re so funny
No matter how good I look in a suit, though, I still feel like they can smell it on me. The stench of poverty. The hospital stink of new money. All these rich assholes who probably spent most of their college years snorting coke through hundred-dollar bills from trust funds that have been earning interest since their ancestors were involved in the slave trade.
“Gin and tonic? Bro, when did you become my grandmother?” Bucky jokes. “It’s not for me. It’s for my cougar.”
“Fair warning,” he says, as we stand outside a townhouse on a quiet tree-lined street, “my roommates can be a bit excitable.” “Like trying to hump my leg excitable, or easily startled and afraid of loud noises?”
Conor’s gray eyes dip back to the screen. “But T’s friend doesn’t believe we’re all hanging out. Hold on, let’s show receipts. Smile, boys.” Then he has the gall to snap a picture. My jaw drops when all four roommates flex their biceps for the camera. “There,” Conor says with a satisfied nod. “Sent.”
HER: OMFG. I want to lick Matt Anderson’s dimples. HER: And then suck his dick.
“Trust me,” mumbles Alec, who’s draped over the armrest and not entirely conscious. He’d fallen asleep on the couch beside Gavin pretty much as soon as the movie started. “You don’t want to know Foster without weed.” “Bite my ass,” Foster barks back.
Conor and I retreat to his room to whistles and suggestive grunts from the guys. They’re only a step or two on the evolutionary scale from feral chickens, but they’re certainly not boring.
“Taylor.” Conor rakes both hands through his hair. “Taylor, stop laughing at me.” “I can’t!” “You’re doing irreparable harm to my ego here.”
I swing the pillow at his face. “This isn’t funny, asshole,” I say, laughing despite myself. “I’m being incredibly vulnerable right now.”
“Obviously,” my girlfriend replies. The girls hug and compliment each other’s outfits. I’ve already forgotten what Taylor’s wearing, because I’m busy trying to figure out if her mom marrying Coach makes us brother and sister until I realize Coach and I aren’t related. My brain’s stuck in neutral.
Laila liked this
Am I going to be one of those fucking clichés who grows up to marry her dad? Did I just insinuate I’d marry Conor? Fuck.
I kiss him. Because despite all his protestations to the contrary, Conor is a good guy. He’s sweet and funny and I think somehow he’s even become my best friend.
Foster leers at a group of cute BU sorority girls walking by and raises his hand. “Uh, yeah, I’m new and not a good swimmer. Can I be paired with a buddy? I prefer blondes.”
“What’s the deal there? Demi keeps asking if you two broke up, and I don’t know what to tell her other than to mind her business, but you know Demi. She’ll bite my nuts off before she lets me tell her what to do.”
Sasha texts me on my way into my co-op class at the elementary school. Something to the effect of “hey, bitch, if you get a chance, take that hockey stick out of your mouth for five seconds and text me.”
“Don’t be cute, Edwards. I still got a trashcan with your name on it.” My asshole puckers right up when he says that. “Yes, sir.”
Then he places the phone on the table between us and zooms in. Behind him, beside all the awards and plaques, is a framed photograph of my mom and me.
“I’ve always been proud of you,” Max says gruffly, as my eyes begin to sting. “I’ll always be proud of you, Conor. I love you.” “Well, shit,” I say, coughing to clear the rocks from my throat. “Guess I’m the asshole.” He laughs while we both discreetly rub our eyes and make other manly guttural noises that are absolutely not crying.
I probably would’ve had a total nervous breakdown and set my hair on fire more than once if it weren’t for her.
“What the hell do you know about anything?” I mutter. “You run through boys like makeup wipes.”
“Oh my God, Conor, stop. Someone’s going to call the cops on you.” “I’ll plead temporary insanity due to a broken heart,” he says.
“I have to confess,” she continues, “I’ve got the mega hots for your best friend. I mean, he is the captain, after all.” I narrow my eyes. “I’ll break his legs in his sleep.”
