The Goal (Off-Campus #4)(90)
The bonus about staying in town is that I’m able to work this holiday weekend and get some of that extra time and a half that Sabrina’s always bragging about. I’ve been working part-time on a construction crew in the city and making decent money, which is awesome because I’m trying not to dip into my savings unless I absolutely have to.
“I already told you,” Sabrina mumbles from the passenger side. “No boyfriends.”
Abandoning the radio, she sits back with a sigh. Her stomach is big enough that she can’t even cross her arms unless she rests them on top of the bump. Which is not a shelf, she’s reminded me more than once.
“Thought you meant college. Were the boys in your high school deaf, dumb and blind?”
“No. They chased after me, but I didn’t have time for them.” She absently reaches down and rubs the curve of her stomach.
Every time I look at her, I’m struck anew with awe at the fact that my little girl is inside of her body. It also makes me fucking horny as hell. Thank Christ we’re having regular sex again.
“I was constantly hustling for scholarship money,” she goes on. “Working almost full-time at the post office since I was sixteen. In the summers I waited tables at night and worked at the post office during the day. Guys were…unnecessary. Other than, you know,” she waves vaguely toward her crotch. “Plus they didn’t know what to do with their equipment in high school. I was better off taking care of myself at home.”
My dick twitches against my zipper. The idea of her playing with herself makes me light-headed, and I have to wait a moment until some of the blood migrates back up to my brain.
“What about you? Did you date a lot in high school? Were you homecoming king?” she teases.
“Nope. I dated three girls. And homecoming kings in Texas are always football players.”
“You didn’t play football?”
“Not after ninth grade. I played hockey year round. Coach Death’s rink was an hour north and I’d drive there pretty much every day.”
“So tell me about these three girls.”
“You’re that desperate for a distraction?”
“Yes,” she says eagerly.
I tap my fingers against the wheel, pulling up my dusty memories. “I dated Emma Hopkins in seventh grade until she got asked to the homecoming dance by a ninth grader. After that, she was only interested in older men.”
“This is fascinating. Tell me more.”
I grin. I can suffer a little personal embarrassment if it keeps her from worrying about meeting Mom.
“June Anderson was my ninth grade crush. We had nearly all of our classes together, but the clincher was that she could tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue. At ninth grade, that was up there with a tightrope walk across the Grand Canyon.”
Sabrina laughs. “I think for some guys it still ranks as one of humanity’s greatest achievements. I bet Brody lists it as a requirement for hooking up with him.”
Her scornful tone doesn’t go unnoticed. The first time that Sabrina and Brody had met didn’t go well. It started with him suggesting that her pussy would be destroyed by childbirth and ended with her telling him that regardless of the state of her lady garden, he’d still never be invited to see it.
“That guy is such a douche,” she grumbles. “Is it terrible living with him?”
Yep.
“I’ve had better roommates.” Glumly, I think about the awesome time I had in college with Dean, Logan, and Garrett.
My problem with Brody isn’t that he’s a horndog who chases skirts from the moment he gets up until he passes out at night. I mean, my old roommates slept around regularly. Hell, even I had my share of shenanigans, including a booze-soaked foursome one crazy New Year’s Eve. It’s hard not to go a little nuts when you’re playing hockey at the level we were playing. There was a non-stop stream of girls in the house.
And yet even having experienced three sets of tits rubbing up against me and three tongues on my dick, I’d still pick Sabrina over a drunken orgy any day. That’s not really a thing I can tell a girl, though. Not even Hallmark can make a greeting card that conveys the message that you once banged three chicks at the same time, but none of them are as good as her.
Brody’s problem is that he has zero respect for the opposite sex.
“Does he really refuse to take selfies with a girl, or was he making that up to toy with me?” Sabrina asks.
“No, that’s a real thing for him. He thinks that any pictures of him with a girl pressed up to his side would drive other potential hookups away. Selfies are a sign of commitment.” He’d expounded on this topic at some length after instructing me to keep my Tinder account active and to not tell anyone I was having a kid.
“Ugh. He’s so gross.”
“I signed up for a fake Instagram account so I can troll him. When he posts something, I’ll wait a day or so and then pop on to comment about how cool it is that he and my grandpa are rocking the same shirt. I’ve done that twice now and each time, I’ve seen him shoving the shirt down the apartment’s trash compactor.”
Sabrina throws back her head and cackles. “You do not.”
“Hey, we all have to get our jollies somewhere, right? For me, it’s negging Brody on Instagram and choking my baby mama in breathing classes.”