Chapter 15 Carrie
My morning classes are nearly done, and I’m going to have to hit up a classmate for a recap. I normally find it all pretty interesting, but today I’m zoning in and out, my mind overloaded with X-rated daydreams. My notes are a mess. I can’t even read some of them.
I stare out the window and turn back to focus on my phone.
Again. No news from Donovan today. I can’t believe how addicted I’ve become to our weird chats, but here we are.
I never thought something as basic as a wall could get me so horny.
What I need is a bad case of thrush. Maybe that’d be enough of a cooldown…
I scroll through his earlier messages. Yup, he’s just as obsessed as I am—there’s photos of walls, plus cryptic clues for me to crack—an “X marks the spot” type thing. And yeah, I’m playing along. Turns out I’m a damn good detective.
It’s been a week since he burst into my room like that, and every single day since, I’ve been given a crash course in the joys of vertical sex. I can’t get enough of it. I can’t get enough of him, honestly.
Every time we meet feels hotter than the last one, each fix heightening the session that comes after.
I think back to yesterday, and my heart skips a beat.
Literally the moment I set foot in the gym, Donovan grabbed me by the hips and pinned me to the tiles in the cooldown room without so much as a word.
I didn’t say a thing, either. We didn’t have to talk.
Our bodies did enough of that. Quick. Intense. Totally addictive.
I glance up, only to realize the professor is finally (finally!) done.
I swing my backpack over my shoulder and rush out of the building, and I know I need to get a hold of myself, here.
I’ve got a long break before lunch, and I know exactly what I should do—head back to my room and get started on a new book.
Yes, Carrie. Do something constructive for the first time this week.
In a few quick strides, I cross the courtyard and turn down the path that leads to the playing fields. I’m lost in thought, when a voice startles me.
“Carrie!”
Donovan.
Before I know it, I trip over my feet, grasping at an arm for balance. The guy next to me smiles, and I smile back. I’ve never seen him before, but I owe him one. I nearly fell on my ass.
He grins. “You all right?”
Cute accent.
“Thanks to you. You just saved me from facial reconstruction.”
“A pretty face like yours?” His voice is so soft. I love his English accent. “That would’ve been a shame…”
Oh, man…
“I’m Oliver.”
So classy! I wouldn’t be surprised if he got to his knees and kissed my hand right now.
“Carrie!” There’s that booming voice again.
Oliver is expecting me to introduce myself in return, I know—but instead I whip around. And then I see him. Donovan, all sweaty and topless, standing in the middle of the court, a basketball tucked under one arm. He waves at me.
“Get your ass over here!”
I pull a face and glance around, like I’m wondering whether he’s talking to me.
“Is that your boyfriend?” asks the English guy.
“Huh?”
Oliver jerks his chin over at the basketball court, frowning as he takes a step back, and I follow his gaze.
Donovan is watching us. Suddenly, he starts to run toward us, vaulting over the wire fence like it’s the easiest thing in the world, streaming across the lawn, and people are starting to stare.
My shoulders tense. Why do I suddenly feel so exposed?
By the time he gets to me, the sexy British dude is nowhere to be seen.
“Didn’t mean to scare your new friend.” Donovan smirks at me. “Who was that, by the way?”
“My fiancé. He just doesn’t know it yet.” I scowl at him. “Can I help you, or are you just practicing your cockblocking skills?”
He laughs. “The guy crapped his pants when he saw me. I just saved you from the ultimate limp-dick experience,” he adds. “You should be thanking me.”
“How can I make it up to you?” I drawl.
Considering what happens every time we meet, I’m wishing I never asked.
Donovan lowers his voice. “See that tree over there?”
I hold up both hands. “I take it back. I need to call a time-out. I’m covered in bruises, and I’m pretty sure I need a hip replacement.”
“Poor baby.” He winks, and I roll my eyes at him.
“But seriously,” he continues, “how are you doing?”
“Good.”
“Plans for today?”
I nod. “I’m going to head home and do some reading.”
He gestures over at the court. “I’m practicing my shot. You in?”
“You want us to play basketball?” I burst out laughing. “Oh, man…”
He looks confused. “What’s so crazy about that?”
What’s crazy is that our relationship revolves around book-boyfriend talk and structural tests on campus walls. Him inviting me to throw a few hoops rattles me. Though there’s no way I’m ever admitting that.
“I don’t know how to play,” I try.
That should do it.
“Amazing!” he crows. “I’m in the mood to crush someone.”
I eye him. “Is your ego seriously that fragile?”
“It seriously is. But I could show you who’s boss in other ways, too.” He smiles knowingly. “There’s this nice smooth wall by the cafeteria—”
“Five minutes,” I warn, squaring my shoulders. “As many as we can shoot in five. But as you know, I’m a pretty sore loser—so you better plan on letting me win!”
He slings an arm around my shoulders and shepherds me over to the court.
My heart is hammering in my chest. I realize what this must look like—what we must look like.
I give him a gentle shove. Fuck me. Only a few weeks ago, he gave me the ick.
And now, just like that, there’s a closeness blossoming between us.
I try my hardest to push it out of my mind.
I can feel his eyes on me as he opens the gate to let me in, swooping down into a low bow and reaching for the ball.
“Now that practice is back on, you should probably mix things up a little,” I say, letting my backpack fall to the ground. “You should do something totally non-basketbally on your lunch breaks.”
As soon I straighten, he flings the ball my way. And in one instinctive move, I snag it, puffing my chest out with pride.
He smirks at me. “Non-basketbally? We could—”
“Do not finish that thought, Wolinski.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”
“Whenever you think sexy thoughts, you do that mouth thing.”
He frowns. “What mouth thing? I can show you a couple of mouth th—”
I throw the ball at his face, cutting him off, and without taking his eyes off mine, he bends his left arm and shoots.
Swish!
“Wow.” My eyebrows wing up. “Okay, I’m impressed.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He scoops up the ball. “Your turn.”
I make the catch and spin toward the hoop, dribbling up to the line, squinting into the sun and lining up my shot before sending the ball sailing through the air. The backboard squeaks, and we’re in—two points, Wolinski.
“Beginner’s luck,” I hear him mutter.
He lunges for the ball and shows off some fancy footwork around the hoop before executing the perfect dunk.
“Show-off!”
The next hour flies by, and Donovan is only one point ahead. Guess I forgot to tell him that while I suck at dribbling, free throws are my jam.
He smiles approvingly. “You’re definitely a Wolinski.”
“You haven’t seen me actually run with a ball yet,” I warn. “Trust me, that’s a whole different vibe.”
“Still—I’m impressed.”
“What can I say? I’m an only child.” I shrug. “So, think long summer evenings, just me and the old, rusty hoop at the end of the street.”
“I thought you were just the ultimate bookworm…”
“Most of the time, I was. Until a superhot neighbor moved in. Me and Greyson used to play.”
“You guys date?”
I shake my head. “The day he told me Santa didn’t really exist was the last time we spoke.”
“He let you win every now and then?”
“Not when we’d play strip basketball.”
He throws me the ball. “Game on.”
“In your dreams.” I snort.
He tries to snatch it back off me, but I roll the ball around my back and hold it there, wriggling as he slips his arms around me, twisting to hunch over it, clasping it to my belly as tight as I can.
I can feel the heat of his chest against my back, his big hands working at mine as he tries to prize my fingers loose.
He laughs into my ear and my belly flip-flops.
Just as my pulse starts to race, Lewis’s voice shatters the moment.
“What the hell is going on here?”
I jerk my head up. Lane and Lois are right there behind him.
As Donovan releases me and steps away, I line up my shot.
Two more points! Suck it!
I grin at him. “I win.”
“Carrie, those are some serious pro moves.” Lewis claps.
“She’s a Wolinski, dude. It’s all in the name.”
Donovan holds up his hands and I high-five him without thinking.
Lewis’s mouth falls open. “A Wolinski? I didn’t get the invite, guys! You went to Vegas without me?”
“Oh my God, no!” Donovan squeals. “Vegas weddings are, like, so last century!”
I flash him a thumbs-up. “They really, really are. You just earned yourself another five points.”
Donovan turns back to Lewis. “We did a hand-binding in the woods, instead. You should’ve seen the naked full-moon lentil ritual.” He clasps his hands over his chest. “It was magical—just magical.”
“Don—”
“Guys, meet my wife.”
I shoot the ball at his dumb face, and this time I don’t miss.
“Hey, that hurt!” He rubs his cheek. “Don’t tell me we’re divorcing already…”
“My lawyers will be in touch.”
“When you have a kid, I dibs godfather duty,” Lewis pipes up.
I sigh. “We just happen to have the same last name, that’s all.”
“Two Wolinskis, though? That’s insane. It’s gotta be a sign.”
“He’s right.” Donovan nods. “It’s a message from the gods. Don’t fight it, baby.”