13. Austin
AUSTIN
S ix weeks.
Six whole weeks without sex.
Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if there’s a secret monastery somewhere in this city I accidentally signed up for.
I shift, feeling the worn-out fabric of the couch underneath me, the faint smell of spilled beer and old pizza lingering in the air.
Ryan’s sprawled out on the armchair across from me, scrolling on his phone, slowly sipping his beer, Nathan’s pacing near the window, and Logan is leaning back in a chair, half-smiling at something on his phone.
“Hey,” I say, sitting up and flicking a peanut at Ryan’s head. “Quick question.”
He looks up, blinking. “What’s up?”
“How did you deal with blue balls?”
Ryan almost chokes on his drink, sputtering as he coughs. “Are you serious?” he asks, shaking his head.
“Come on.” I sit up. “Last year before Isabella, when you were all moody and grumpy like this one,” I nod at Nathan, who shoots me a glare, “how did you deal with it?”
Logan laughs. “Having a dry spell, bud? What’s it been, two, three days?”
“Six weeks.”
The room goes quiet instantly, like I just dropped a bombshell.
“Fuck,” Logan breathes out, his eyes widened.
I groan, rubbing my face. “Yeah, I know.”
Nathan frowns. “What’s going on? In the two years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you have any problems getting a girl.”
I shrug again. “Just haven’t felt like it,” I tell them honestly.
“Uh oh,” Ryan says with a teasing smirk. “This is about a girl.”
“No.” Yes .
I don’t even know if I did it on purpose, but ever since Cherry started texting me, I haven’t even thought about hooking up with anyone.
It’s dumb. I’ve never met this girl, I don’t even know who she really is, don’t even know if she’s near me or if she lives halfway across the world. But this girl has hooked me like no one else.
Well, maybe one girl has ? —
No. Fuck.
Stop thinking about her.
Yeah, too fucking late. My mind flashes to Maisie, to her eyes.
Those drop-dead gorgeous eyes that I swear have me under a spell.
I think back to the way she laughed at me on the ice the other night, like she forgot that I’m the annoying jock she has to tutor—just for a second.
The way she looked up at me when I pulled her close during our fake hockey practice, and her breath caught in her throat like maybe I wasn’t the only one feeling whatever the fuck was happening between us.
How I almost kissed her, how bad I wanted to.
Fuck.
I scrub a hand through my hair, hard.
I need to get these thoughts out of my head.
Maisie is… She’s just Maisie. My tutor. The no-nonsense, zero-bullshit, too-smart-for-me girl who rolls her eyes every time I call her Freckles. She doesn’t even like me.
But the way she looked at the party. And the way she was looking at me…
And now I can’t stop thinking about her lips. Those soft, pink lips. Wondering if they would feel soft against mine. If she’d push me away, or kiss me back, or?—
“You’re blushing.”
Logan’s teasing voice drags me back. I blink, finding him grinning at me.
I flip him off, which makes him laugh harder.
Nathan shakes his head with a smirk. “I think it’s nice you’re falling for someone.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not falling for anyone. I’m just trying to figure out how to deal with these blue balls before they turn purple.”
Ryan runs a hand through his hair and blows out a breath. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m saying this but…” He looks at me dead serious. “I jerked off.”
I blink. “Yeah, no shit, Ryan.”
“No, I mean a lot,” he adds quickly. “Like, more than usual. It was brutal.”
I arch a brow, smirking. “Little too much info there, buddy.”
His eyes narrow. “You asked.”
I laugh and give him a grateful nod. “I did. Thanks for sharing, I guess.”
My phone buzzes, and I glance down, my heart skipping when I see it’s Cherry.
My lips curl into a smile and I pocket my phone. “Gotta go study.”
Nathan scoffs. “You’ve never studied in your life.”
“I study now,” I say with a shrug.
“Bullshit,” Logan says. “You’re texting a girl.”
I sigh, already standing up. “I’m going to my room.”
“Tell her we say hi!” Logan calls after me.
“Tell her she can do better!” Ryan adds.
“Tell her to run,” Nathan says dryly.
I take the stairs two at a time until I reach my room. Pushing the door open, I kick my hockey bag out of the way. I drop onto the bed, my leg slung up over the comforter, and pull out my phone.
Cherry:
Confession. I hate malls.
I’m already smiling. Can’t help it. Every time I see her name flash across my screen, my heart thuds in my chest and I get this weird feeling swirling in my stomach. I hate it. And love it. And don’t understand what the hell it is.
I hit the voice-to-text button.
Me:
What’s so dangerous about a mall?
Cherry:
The fitting rooms. The lighting. The trauma.
Me:
You say that like it’s a war zone.
Cherry:
Honestly, I’d take a battlefield over trying on clothes.
I let out a chuckle, rubbing a hand over my jaw, before replying.
Me:
Show me.
Cherry:
Excuse me?
A smirk curls my lips.
Me:
C’mon, Cherry. I feel left out here. Just one picture. It doesn’t have to be of your face, just… something.
I stare at my phone, watching those bubbles appear and disappear, and then… nothing. I blow out a breath, lifting my head, squeezing my eyes closed, wondering if I went too far. But then my phone buzzes and I snap them open, glancing down at the picture.
“Oh fuck.”
I lift a hand, wiping it across my mouth. Because on my phone is my first ever picture of Cherry.
It’s not of her face, or… anything really. Just a sliver of her legs in the mirror, wearing a flowy white dress.
But my brain still short-circuits.
Because now I have legs to imagine.
Legs .
Bare. Warm. Wrapped around ? —
Focus, man.
Me:
Fuck, Cherry. You look incredible.
The silence stretches, but I’m not ready to put my phone down. I tap my fingers on my thigh, nerves fluttering like butterflies.
Cherry:
You can’t even see my face.
Me:
Don’t need to. I bet your eyes wreck people. And your smile is probably criminal, too.
Cherry:
You always say the exact thing I wish someone would.
My eyes close for a second, and I lean back, the headboard rough against my shoulder blades.
Why the hell does she do this to me?
I’ve had hookups. Casual flings. One night stands. And every single girl I could ever want. But somehow, one text from her feels better than all of it combined.
Me:
Fuck. I want to see that on you so bad.
Actually, I just want to see you.
Cherry:
If we met in real life, it wouldn’t be the same.
Me:
How do you know?
Cherry:
Because in real life, people get disappointed.
Me:
You think I’d be disappointed?
Cherry:
Wouldn’t you?
I stare at the screen, heart thudding.
No.
Not even a little.
I want to tell her she’s wrong.
That I wouldn’t hurt her. That I wouldn’t be disappointed, because I know her.
Maybe I don’t know her height or what color her eyes are. Maybe I’ve never seen the way her hair falls around her face. But I know her .
I love the way her mind works, the way she says things that stick with me hours later. She feels like home in a world that rarely makes sense.
And God, I want to tell her that.
That if she were here, I’d hold her face in my hands and kiss her until every memory of the assholes who made her feel like she wasn’t enough faded into nothing.
Because to me, she’s more than enough. She always has been.
I want to ask her to meet me.
But I already know what she’d say.
It would ruin the magic.
And I can’t risk ruining anything between us.
Not when she feels like the only real thing I’ve got.
I look down at my phone again, scanning her messages.
But if she asked me to meet her right now, I’d go. I’d book a flight to wherever she is and run.
And that scares the shit out of me.
Because I don’t run for anyone.
Not since I was eight years old, standing at the edge of the driveway in my socks, running after my dad as he drove off for the last time, with tears falling down my face.
My mom didn’t cry in front of me. She comforted me and my sister, held us as we cried in her arms. But later that night, when she was in her room and thought we were asleep, I heard her sobs.
I saw the light go out of her eyes every time another guy left. Like she was learning to expect less and less every time. That’s what love did to her. And I swore I’d never let it do that to me. Or make anyone feel like that.
So yeah, I flirt, I hook up, but I don’t do relationships.
I don’t risk hurting someone, or being hurt by someone. I don’t want someone seeing me for real, then deciding I’m not enough.
Until now.
Until this.
Until her.
I blow out a breath and fall back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. What the hell is happening to me?