Chapter 12 Donovan #2
Lewis jabs at the treadmill, and it slows. “You grabbing food at Lane’s tonight?”
“I already have plans.”
“Absolute disgrace, dude.”
“Maybe I’ll swing by later.”
“You crashing at the apartment?”
Good question. Part of me really wants a third shot at Carrie—I did a pretty good job reining myself in these past few months, but ever since I got it on with her, it’s like I unleashed the beast. Sex has been on my mind pretty much constantly for the past two days.
She probably won’t want to go again, though, I remind myself.
I’m annoyed at how much the thought annoys me.
“I’ll let you know.”
By the time I slam the bar down, my arms are throbbing, my forehead slick with sweat. I pushed myself too hard—stars are blossoming behind my eyes. It’s like I needed to work something out of my system, and if Dad were here, he’d be pissed—risking an injury during a workout is a big no-no.
I swing by my locker, then make a beeline for the showers. I pick the very last stall—the only one with a tiled bench, the one farthest away from the main door. The last thing I need is to get caught jerking off…
I DIDN’T TELL CARRIE I’D be heading to book club this evening—I figure she probably guesses as much.
I push open the door to find the same crowd as last time hunched over the table in heated debate. They haven’t seen me come in. My eyes are instinctively drawn to Carrie.
“How big a dick, exactly?” one of them gasps.
I grin. “You called?”
The girls whip around and watch me pick my way over to join them, ignoring the side-eye Carrie’s shooting me as I slide into my seat.
“Urgh, you are just so—”
“Well-endowed?” I finish for her, ruffling her bun.
So soft and bouncy… this thing is amazing.
She shoves my arm away, but I catch the barest hint of a smile playing on her lips. Victory! She wasn’t lying—she really did have a lot to get out of her system, and I’m happy I could help unlock happy Carrie.
“You’re back!” One of the brunettes beams at me. “Amazing.”
Sasha, was it? Saoirse?
Before I have time to screw up, Carrie swoops in and saves the day with a fresh round of introductions.
“Nice to see you all again.” I smile. “So, what’s up?”
Lynn waves a book under my nose excitedly. “Have you read this one?”
“Yup. All the way through to the acknowledgments, baby.”
“We were just discussing Rodney. What do you make of him?”
I pull a notebook out of my bag and start flicking through my scribblings.
“Wow. Now that’s what I call commitment.” Amanda laughs.
“I don’t do things by halves. And I’ve got a great teacher.” I look at Carrie meaningfully. “Are you proud of me?”
“So proud, Donovan.”
We stare each other down, and I look away first, my mind wandering off into pretty steamy territory before I force it back to the matter at hand.
“Okay, so let’s see.” I peer at my notes. “Rodney. Deadbeat dad, right? Plus, he got raped by his stepmom; he got bitten by his dog…” My finger traces the list. “His car caught fire; he got kidnapped by a Mexican gang and was left to die in the desert. I miss anything?”
“That’s about it.” Lynn nods. “Dark romances have maximum drama, that’s for sure.”
“He’s hit rock bottom when, by some miraculous twist of fate, he meets an ex-stripper with attitude. And while we’re on the subject—what’s her deal with kissing?”
The question isn’t entirely innocent—it stuck in my mind because I can’t shake the feeling that Carrie went out of her way to avoid kissing me when we fucked.
“Pretty Woman syndrome,” Amanda explains. “It’s a classic. You know, like—‘I’ll do anything, but not that—not the lips!’ ”
“What’s the point?” I turn to Carrie.
She stares down into her cup.
Amanda shrugs. “It’s a step too far. Too intimate.”
“More intimate than actual sex?”
“It’s a matter of opinion,” Lynn says. “Personally, I don’t see the problem.”
“How ’bout you, Carrie?”
I lock eyes with her, frowning.
“I get where she’s coming from.”
I can’t take my eyes off her. The voices around me are bleeding into the background, and suddenly all I want to do is crack her open. I wish I knew what she was thinking.
Eleanor pulls me back into the moment. “Donovan?”
I look at her, confused.
“I asked how you felt about the book, overall?”
I turn back to my notebook.
“Well, it’s like—sex, road trip, lies, fight, sex, gunshots, wedding, kids.” I glance up. “Oh, and yeah—then there’s that whole ‘monster penis’ part.” I flip my notebook shut. “Seems like we all agree—this guy was a mess, and the read wasn’t great.”
Eleanor tosses her braid over a shoulder. “Wrong! Some of us like a tortured soul. A tough guy who spends the novel questioning everything he thought he knew, patching himself up, rising from the ashes.” She smiles. “I think it’s kind of beautiful.”
Seriously? I literally can’t think of a single thing to say to that, and their commentary over the next few minutes loses me even more. Clearly, when it comes to romance, I still have a lot left to learn, because I can’t relate to 99 percent of what these girls are saying.
“WE STILL HAVE A LOT of work to do,” I warn Carrie as I follow her out to the parking lot.
She gives me a sympathetic look. “I noticed you were struggling, but I liked your thoughts on Rodney. About halfway through, I wished he would just crawl up and die under the desert sun.”
“The guy had balls—I’ll give him that.”
“And even more significantly, he had a huge dick.”
Fuck. Why don’t you say it again…
“Where are you parked?”
“I walked.”
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “What? I didn’t even know you could walk. And aren’t you going the wrong way, then? You live in the other direction…”
“It’s late, I thought I’d walk you home.” I shrug. “Maybe I’ll stop by Lane’s on my way back. Adam can pick me up.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I’m a big girl, you know. I’m more than capable of walking across campus on a Friday evening.”
“I know you are. But I’m walking you back all the same.”
“Ten points for initiative.”
“I didn’t know we were doing score sheets.”
“It’s a new feature I’m bringing in. Starting today, you’ll get credit for every ‘good book boyfriend’ move you make.”
“Prepare to pay up, baby.”
She pouts. “Sucks for you—your score just dropped to zero.”
“Let me guess—the ‘baby’?”
“You got it.” She nods. “It’s an ick, at best. Do better.”
I slow my pace, hoping the cool night air might settle me down. Besides, I don’t want to rush this walk. Our chats are always so insightful—I want to take my time, soak up every last drop.
“Think I should get a chest tattoo?” I muse. “Get me some bad-boy vibes?”
“They do look sexy.”
“Sure—if you’re into dudes who overcompensate.”
She smirks. “Someone’s scared of needles, huh?”
“I’m not scared of anything.”
“Wrong answer. Embrace your vulnerabilities,” she says. “Girls like a guy in touch with his sensitive side.”
“You all just said you like a guy who’s tough and messed up,” I remind her.
“It’s a balance.”
We debate our way up the stairs and along the hall to her room, and I can tell she wants the last word.
She bats her lashes at me. “Thanks for the ride, by the way.”
She leans against the brick and fumbles for her keys, while I steady myself on the wall, grasping for an excuse to be invited in.
Hard-on: 1. Fresh air: 0.
She whips her head up suddenly, like she can feel the energy radiating off me in waves, and I swear I hear her swallow. It’s music to my ears. She waves her hand between us to tell me to back up, and I can see my chances fading.
Out of ideas for a subtle approach, I decide to go straight for the kill.
“You look stressed again,” I whisper, fingers brushing her forearm. “Anything I can do?”