Playing Hard to Get(71)

She sends me a selfie of her pouting, her pink-glossed lips extra big and plenty of cleavage on display.

Me: You should also probably lose my number.

Her response is immediate.

Daphne: Don’t tell me the mighty Knox Maguire has fallen.

Me: I think so.

Daphne: RIP.

Chuckling, I open another text thread and send a quick message to Joanna.

Me: I miss you.

She takes four minutes to respond. I know because I kept track.

Joanna: Who is this?

Frowning, I start typing.

Joanna: Ha! KIDDING. I know it’s you, Maguire.

Me: I was going to ask how many people you know who’d say they miss you.

Joanna: There are a few. My mom and dad. My older brother.

Me: They don’t count.

Joanna: Oh and you do?

Me: I definitely count. What are you doing?

Joanna: I’m in bed.

Me: What are you wearing?

Joanna: Are you trying to turn this into sexting?

I mean if she’s cool with it…

Me: I’m not opposed.

She sends a bunch of laughing emojis. Then a string of peach emojis.

Hmm.

Me: What’s up with the peaches?

Joanna: You have to know what they represent.

Me: I definitely do. And that’s one of my favorite things about you.

Joanna: My ass??!!??

Me: Yeah.

Joanna: It’s too big.

Me: No, it’s fucking not. It’s perfect.

Joanna: You have lust on the brain. Take another look at it. It’s too big.

Me: Send me a pic. I’ll be the judge of that.

Joanna: I’m not sending you ass pics.

Me: Way to ruin the sexting vibe.

I’m chuckling and sporting a semi. This girl…

She really gets to me.

Joanna: There has to be trust in sexting. We don’t know each other that well. I wouldn’t want our conversations getting out.

I’m wounded. Does she think I’d share our texts with other people? The only one I’ve ever shared stuff with is Cam. And when it comes to Joanna?

I don’t want to show him anything.

Me: I would never share our convos with anyone. I swear.

Joanna: On what? A football?

She sends a couple of football emojis.

Me: I swear on football.

Joanna: You must be serious.

Me: You don’t know how serious I am.

Joanna: Tell me.

Me: Deadly serious.

Me: Come over.

Joanna: What? It’s ten o’clock.

It’s funny how Daphne is like, come out and party! And Joanna is already in bed, protesting how late it is. They’re on two different tracks, and while I’m not knocking Daphne for being out at a bar on Thursday night because come on, we’re in college, cozying up in bed with Joanna on a weeknight sounds a lot more appealing.

Me: Please?

She goes quiet, making me sweat. I slam my laptop shut and shove it away from me. I hop out of bed and head to the bathroom, where I’m brushing my teeth for the second time tonight, and finally, I get her response.

Joanna: Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll head over.





TWENTY-SEVEN





JOANNA





Natalie never came home. I have no idea where she is, but she sent me a curt text message a few hours ago, letting me know she was out for the evening.

Okay, then. Guess she’s still mad at me, though I’m mostly over it. I’m not one to hold a grudge for long, but I’m sure Natalie views that as a character flaw, especially when it comes to Bryan and the way he treated me.

Considering I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening alone, I had plenty of time to think. And Nat is right—Bryan did treat me badly sometimes. I always blew it off, excusing his behavior like a ‘good little’ girlfriend should.

All that got me was a lot of alone time living the single life, while he was off having fun with God knows who.

So when Knox texted me saying he missed me, that kind of blew my mind.

And made me giddy.

Here I am now, about to knock on his front door, when it swings open before I get a chance. He’s standing there shirtless, wearing a pair of gray sweats and bare feet. Oh, and he’s got a hat on backwards.

What the hell? He’s like my every Knox-fueled sex dream come to life.

I blink at him, thinking of the videos and memes I’ve seen in the past dedicated to men in gray sweats. I always thought they were kind of funny, but there truly is nothing like seeing a man with six-pack abs and a giant dick wearing those lust-inducing sweats and nothing else.

“Come here.” He grabs my hand and yanks me into his apartment, slamming the door behind me before he shoves me against the door, pinning me there, the heat of his chest seeping into my sweatshirt. “You took forever.”

Before I can argue with him, he’s kissing me, stealing my breath and possibly every single one of my brain cells. By the time he pulls away, I’m panting, my hands molded to the wonder that is his chest, one leg swung around the back of his thighs. I wish I was taller, so I could feel that majestic erection right at the spot I want it the most.

“You look cute.” He pulls away from me, and I slump against the door, not feeling very cute at all. My hair dried naturally, so it’s a little out of control. I have no makeup on—actually had to scrub off the zit cream dotting my face that I apply religiously every night before I headed over.