The Locker Room(49)

She side-eyes me as she bites into her pizza. “No, you have a micro penis in my dreams, and I spend about ten minutes trying to find it while it’s erect.”

Pizza half lifted to my mouth, I stare her down. “That’s not fucking funny.”

She smiles. “I thought it was.” She chews. “Men are so predictable.” In a fake, man voice she says, “Look at my penis, it’s so big. It’s the biggest thing any woman has ever seen. My massive man cock . . . eeer, look at me. Penis.”

I must say, her man impression is lacking finesse.

“When it’s true, it’s true.”

“Please. Every guy thinks their penis is the biggest.”

“I don’t think my penis is the biggest.” I pause and then say, “I know it’s the biggest.”

She’s not impressed, not one bit as she shakes her head at me, as if she’s truly disappointed. “Oh, Knox, I thought you were better than that.”

“I’m a dude, babe. Sorry to disappoint, but we will always think our dicks are magical and the best on the planet.”

“Glad to know you’re a douche like the rest; you were seeming too good to be true.”

Fucking funny, this girl. It’s why I can’t get her out of my mind. She has this sweet and innocent air about her, but when she opens her mouth, she kills me with her witty tongue.

I wonder what else that tongue could do? Crazy sexy things, given the way she eats ice cream. Fuck. She’s got to be an under-the-cock flicker. I’d bet my left nut on it. Christ, the thought of her flicking the underside of my cock has me harder than a flagpole right now.

A comfortable silence—well uncomfortable in my pants—stretches between us as we eat our pizza, and it isn’t until we both finish our first slice that I bring up why I wanted to talk to her.

“So, about what I said in the library.”

She wipes her hands on her napkin, the greasy pizza leaving its mark. “Yes, you said you wanted to talk? Was that your way of telling me this is over before it began?” She smiles, letting me know she’s only joking, because that little comment nearly gave me a heart attack.

Over before it began? Yeah, fucking right. There is no way I’m ending this, not when I’ve barely skimmed the surface with this girl.

“Never.” I smile. “I actually wanted to discuss our little bet.”

“I’m not giving in, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Heaven forbid she does. It’s fucking lunch. Who cares about Holt and Carson and their walk-out song?

Knowing her though, she’s nowhere close to giving in. But I have some new thoughts on the subject.

“Nah, I know you’re stubborn, babe, but I thought we should take advantage of the situation.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, genuinely curious.

“Well, since we’re both holding out on the physical, thanks to you—”

“How is it thanks to me?”

“Because I refuse to take blame for my celibacy.”

#Fact. No horny college boy would ever take blame for his own celibacy.

She huffs. “Of course you won’t own up to it.”

“Should I pull out the court record?” I pretend to scroll through my phone and then point at the screen. “Ah, right here it says you bet you could hold out longer than I could.” I look at her and smile. “I don’t forget things like that, Ealson. This is on you.”

She takes a sip of her drink and leans back in her chair. “Fine.” She motions with her hand, “Proceed.”

At least she knows when she’s wrong.

I pick up another slice of pizza and offer it to her before I take one for myself. It’s weird having a conversation like this in a busy school restaurant, but then again, our first kiss was in the dining hall next to her dorm. It’s easy to ignore the raucous behavior and loud music, especially since we chose a two-person booth in the back corner.

“Since we’re holding out on the physical, maybe we can focus on the other things, you know, like taking this exclusive casual relationship to exclusively serious.”

“Serious?” she asks, worry in her eyes. I knew it would be a big step for her, but I need to do more with this girl than only make out with her. I want to know more. There are so many layers to Emory, so many facets that make her the way she is, and I want to dive into those. I want to learn the good and the bad about her. I want her to open up to me about everything. My mom was right when she gave me shit, thinking Em was my fuck buddy. She taught me better than that.

“We’ll take it slow,” I say, reaching out to hold her hand. “But I want to date you, Em. I want to take you out, call you my girlfriend, makes things official. We’ve been casual for a while now, so don’t you think we should take things to the next level?”

Her fingers lace with mine . . . a good sign. She’s not pulling away, at least not yet.

“We barely have time with each other now, how do you expect us to date?”

Valid concern, but where there’s a will, there’s a way.

“We’ll make time. My schedule is slowing down, Christmas break is around the corner—”

“Which means I’ll be going to California while you head to Texas. The timing isn’t right, Knox.”