38. June
JUNE
After Ford left, I headed into my apartment and took a long shower. Part of me didn’t want to wash away the smell of him still lingering on my skin, but the other part of me was well aware I needed the hot water to clear my head.
I can’t believe we had sex. That I had sex with Ford Harden.
Me. The good girl, only-been-with-a-handful-of-guys June Withers, hooking up with a guy like Ford.
No, not a guy like Ford. The actual Ford.
What was I thinking? Is he going to ghost me like last time?
Considering the way he looked at me before he left, I’d say no, but he has a way of surprising me.
I rest my forehead against the cool tile as the once hot water turns lukewarm.
With a sigh, I reach for the faucet and turn it off before wrapping a navy blue towel around me. My phone sits beside the sink on the counter. Its screen lights up with a message.
Ford
Hey, Bug. You up?
My lips purse. I could ignore him. I could reply tomorrow when my core is less sore, and the feel of his hands running along my skin is less vivid.
If I was smart, I would. But then the image of his pleading gaze hits me again.
The one he gave when Bryan offered to drive me home.
The one I can’t help but wonder if he had meant to keep locked down, and if he wasn’t so emotionally charged, he would’ve. Maybe. Possibly. I don’t even know.
Despite my better judgment, I type my response.
Me
Yeah, how are you? How’s your family?
Ford
Everyone’s good. Cobie called it in quickly, so the house didn’t take on too much damage.
Me
That’s good.
I don’t miss the way he dodges my question about him, just like earlier tonight. His thoughts. His feelings. How he’s holding up. Is it because he doesn’t want to tell me, or is it because he doesn’t want to tell anyone?
Me
You sure you’re good?
Ford
No worries, June Bug, I’ll survive.
Yeah, that sounds encouraging.
I try again.
Me
You can talk to me, you know.
Ford
I appreciate the sentiment, but I promise I’m fine.
Okay, then.
I stare at the text for a solid minute. I don’t know what else to say. Is there anything to say? It’s late. Really late. I should go to sleep before I say something I’ll regret in the morning. Like how I miss him and I’m worried about him. My phone buzzes again.
Ford
I’m sorry about your shitty grade.
A laugh bursts out of me.
Me
Pretty sure my grade should be the least of your worries at the moment.
Ford
Pretty sure it’s the best and worst distraction a guy could ask for.
Me
How so?
Ford
I’m your tutor, remember? A bad grade means a bad tutor, and I can’t allow a stain on my resume.
Me
And however will we rectify it?
Ford
I owe you another tutoring session, remember?
He wants to tutor me again? Is it because he’s hoping we’ll hook up, or does he actually want to help me with my grade? Would we even hook up again if he did come over to help me?
Ford
I’m a little busy tomorrow night, but what about Sunday?
He’s busy tomorrow night? What’s he doing?
Does he have a date or something? Please, don’t let him have a date.
Not after everything we did together tonight.
I nibble my bottom lip, refusing to ask him for any details.
Besides, it’s not like he owes me any. Just because we had sex doesn’t mean he owes me anything, especially commitment.
We’re friends. Friends who have maybe, sort of had sex. So, what? And if he can help me raise my math grade, then kudos to me, right?
Me
I can make Sunday work.
Ford
Good. What about tomorrow? You busy?
I frown.
Me
I thought you were the busy one?
Ford
I am.
Okay?
Me
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say.
Ford
There’s another Harden Night.
Another Harden Night? Why? They just had one last week.
Me
So soon?
Ford
Yeah. I want you to come.
Butterflies erupt inside of me as I stare at his message.
He wants me to come? That has to mean something, doesn’t it?
Or am I reading into things I shouldn’t?
Curse you, Ford. Curse you and your confusing actions.
Like ghosting me, then tracking me down and giving me the best orgasm of my life, then acting all jealous with Bryan and driving me home despite me giving you an out.
Add in you asking me personal questions about my family, and now this?
I thought I had Ford pegged as someone who doesn’t do relationships or love or feelings in general.
And maybe that’s still the case, but considering everything that happened tonight and now a personal invitation to a Harden Night? What the heck am I supposed to say?
Me
I’ll see what I can do.
Ford
Say yes.
Me
I already said I’ll see what I can do.
Ford
Guess I’m desperate.
Me
And why would a guy like you be desperate?
Ford
Because I can still taste you on my tongue.
My cheeks heat as I reread his message. I’d like to say I’d forgotten that part.
The part where I was bent at the waist while he ate me out like I was his last meal, but I’m pretty sure it’ll remain in the top three, if not the number one spot, on my most enjoyable sexual encounters list for the rest of my measly existence.
Even so, bringing it up so candidly like this?
I can’t decide whether to block him or ask when he’ll do it again.
After typing a variety of responses, I settle on one that’s relatively generic, but won’t shut him down, and hit send.
Me
Now look who’s being bold.
Ford
Guess it’s contagious. So, what do you say? I’ll see you tomorrow?
Me
See you tomorrow.
Ford
And Sunday?
Me
So bold.
Ford
And desperate. Don’t forget desperate.
My mouth lifts in spite of myself. Why does he have to be so charming? And why do I have to like it so much? Maybe it’s the fact that I should’ve been in bed a couple of hours ago. Maybe it’s the time of night and the unknown of tomorrow, but for some reason, I can’t explain, I cave. Again.
Me
I’ll see what I can do.
Ford
See you soon, June Bug