Chapter 18 Cecily
Cecily
I swat Dylan’s hand away and steal the empty cup he’s holding.
Sure, he makes a valid point. I should know what I want during sex, but…
“Don’t most guys just care about coming, and then it’s done?
I don’t want to be directing him for my own selfish reasons.
I want to know what I’m doing and look pretty. ”
Dylan drops his hand and shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess every guy is different.”
“Every guy likes a blowjob, though, right?”
Dylan leans back and stares at the ceiling. “Yeah. I would say so. Yeah.” He rolls his head towards me. “Is that what you plan to do? Suck his dick?”
The thought sends a shiver through my body, imagining myself sucking Dane off. “I guess it depends on how everything plays out, but maybe.”
“Do you want a relationship with the guy or…”
“Yeah, I want to marry him,” I say seriously.
It’s an honest confession. I would love to be Alix’s sister-in-law and spend summers in Nantucket, sipping champagne by the pool, reading. Who the hell wouldn’t?
Dylan lifts his head, lifting his brows. “Shit,” he murmurs. “You want to marry him?”
I laugh it off. “You know me. I see the biggest one and want that one.” I walk to the kitchen to place our empty cups in the sink.
He calls over the couch, “Biggest what? What if he has a small dick?”
I laugh. “I doubt it.”
He cocks his head, checking out his ankle. “I don’t know, Moo. If you could swallow him whole–”
“Then it’ll be the best blowjob of his life.” I plop on the couch, needing to change the subject. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
I lean against the cushion and turn on the TV, opening Netflix. “I told you my goal, so what’s yours?”
“I don’t have a goal. You asked me to help you, so I am.”
I flick through the categories, searching for the family section. “What about Marina?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he says. He is clueless, like every other guy. She sends him every possible signal, yet he has no idea what I mean. Come on…
“You could go out to dinner with her to see if there’s something there.” I scroll through the family movies, trying to decide which cartoon to put on.
“Nothing’s there,” he mutters.
I press play on a random movie and turn to him. “Okay, so tell me who you think you could date.”
He purses his lips. “Nah.”
“Come on, smut,” I plead.
He shakes his head. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I don’t want to date.”
This reminds me of Scott’s question about where Dylan is getting his satisfaction from.
“I’m putting you on a mission,” I exclaim. “And you can’t give me any excuses.”
He looks at me. “A relationship is too much, Ce. I’m serious. I don’t want to date.”
“Why not?”
“It all changes when you decide to commit, and then these girls become obsessive. Like all they want to do is hang out or do couple shit. It’s annoying as hell. I’d rather save it for when I’m ready.”
“Oh my god. Are you emotionally unavailable?”
He laughs.
“You totally are. Well, that’s good news for this situation,” I motion my finger between us. “Because I don’t need you obsessing over me.”
He watches the TV. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
We’re quiet while the movie plays the opening scene. He silently picks up his phone and starts scrolling.
“Very rude,” I scoff.
He places his phone face down on his chest and pats the top of my head.
“Did you take ibuprofen?” I ask, looking down at the icepack on his ankle.
He shakes his head, so I pat him back.
“Let me get that for you.” I walk to the kitchen, grab a bag of popcorn to pop in the microwave, then grab a couple of ibuprofen and pour a glass of water.
I walk over to Dylan and hand it to him just as the two minutes are up. I grab the blazing hot bag of fresh popcorn and plop next to him on the couch.
I offer him some, so he grabs a few pieces and asks, “Are you okay?”
“What?” I ask, stuffing my face.
“You never ignore your phone. You skipped a workout today. Your full attention is on this random movie, so what’s up, girl?” He plops a few more pieces into his mouth. “Talk to me.”
“PMS,” I admit.
He turns his head to me and says, “Are you horny?”
I roll my eyes and then raise a brow at him. “Seriously?”
“I don’t care if you’re on your period, Ce. I would still take care of you.”
I almost laugh. “That’s so kind of you, Dylan, but no, I just need practice.”
He shrugs, throwing popcorn in his mouth. “I hear practice makes perfect.”
“Don’t be a douchebag,” I scoff.
He glares at me. “That’s not a douchebag thing to say. It’s true.”
“Yeah, but you’re only saying that because you get something out of it.”
He shakes his head. “I thought you knew me.”
I chuckle to myself, shoving my hand in the popcorn faster than he can.
After a few quiet minutes of watching the movie, he says, “So, how often do you want to practice?”
“Are you trying to coordinate our schedules?” I tease.
“Maybe.” He readjusts his ankle. “Maybe I want to know what to expect because when you told me to come over today, I wasn’t expecting…” he trails off, not finishing his sentence.
I take a moment to think and shrug. “I don’t know.”
He continues to snack, his attention fixed on the movie. I sink into the couch and stretch my legs, placing my feet in his lap for a moment.
He starts rubbing my feet, still focused on the movie. His hands feel good, relieving tension I didn’t know I had.
“That feels really nice,” I mutter. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies, and I close my eyes. “Are you going to sleep?”
I smile, keeping my eyes closed. “Just closing my eyes.”
When I open my eyes again, I realize that I fell asleep. I don’t hear the movie. I kick my feet around and mumble, “Dylan?” but there’s nothing but cushion under my feet. I glance down, and he’s not there.
“Seriously?” I call out. “Hey? Are you still here?”
Nothing.
I’m wide awake now. Did he seriously ditch me because I fell asleep for five minutes? I start patting the couch for my phone and feel a piece of paper on my chest. I have to force my eyes to focus.
I didn’t want to wake you. Coach called me in for my ankle.
I yawn, hoping that his ankle is okay and will heal soon. I know how much hockey means to him.
I’m relieved I have the rest of the day to myself. Shit, I sit up and search for my phone.
Fuck, when did it become seven? This is going to fuck up my class-work-sleep schedule. I can’t drink over the weekend again because I am feeling the side effects prolong throughout my week, and I cannot afford to slack.
My phone displays the time, a hundred likes on my Stories, and a text from Dylan.
Dylan: Let me know if you need anything.
I huff out of frustration, wishing I could turn back time and not take those three shots. Wanting his friends to like me is stupid. I see that now. I wanted to have a night to experience what it’s like to be someone in college, not an influencer, a business owner, or a dedicated student.
And now next weekend, I’m going to need liquid encouragement to approach Dane. He’s hot, rich, and intimidating as hell. I grab my phone and text Alix.
Cecily: I have my contacts ready. Still need it?
Alix: My parents are back on team Alix!
I exhale, relieved.
Cecily: Finally
Cecily: Wanna come to a party this weekend?
Alix: With hot hockey players? Hell yes!
I smile.
Cecily: Let’s get ready at my place. Be here by four on Friday, and we’ll get to the party by eight.
Alix: You cannot play health influencer if I’m coming. We’re getting plastered!
Shit. I bite my lip, knowing that’s not a good idea, but I need her on my side. I need her to have so much fun that she wants to come again the following weekend.
Cecily: One drink
She sends me a series of emojis depicting our journey to endure, starting at four on Friday. I smile, knowing that this girl will be the death of me. I send her back emojis that tell her she’s going to sleep over, and we can spend Saturday together.
I pull open Dylan’s text messages and take a pic of my ankle.
Cecily: Sending you healed ankle vibes
Dylan: Send more pics
Dylan: I’m going to start an OF of Cecily’s ankles. Your followers would instantly subscribe.
Two minutes later.
Dylan: Fuck, your ankles are kind of hot.
I smirk, trying to hold in my laugh at his stupidity. That’s so dumb.
Cecily: You can practice your fetish on me.
Ten minutes later.
Dylan: I’m coming over right now.
I know he’s joking, so I don’t reply. I sit at the dining table and smash out a few assignments.
Homework and projects are sometimes worse than my own business negotiations and meetings.
Those are always to the point; college seems opinion-based.
If the professor is a dickwad, then the best grade depends on how much I kiss ass or beg. Hate it.
It’s after midnight when I finally fall into bed, but I’m still restless. I stay in bed anyway and mindlessly scroll until I fall asleep.
Friday is a few days away, and I need to tell Dylan I’m coming to the party.