The Score (Off-Campus #3)(79)
And I go down on her in the kitchen while she’s sprawled on the marble counter.
And she blows me in the game room.
And we sixty-nine in the private sauna.
Did I mention this is the best day ever?
By the time nine o’clock rolls around, I’m legit spent. Drained. There isn’t a drop of semen left in my body. Allie Hayes sucked and f*cked it all out of me.
“You’re a sex fiend,” I grumble when I feel her hand stroking my thigh. We just finished eating dinner—burgers and fries delivered by room service and consumed in bed—and now we’re lying on my million-thread-count sheets, recovering from the most intense sex marathon I’ve had in a long time. Or ever.
“I can’t help it,” Allie protests. She sits up, and I’m floored by how gorgeous she looks right now. Flushed cheeks, tousled hair, hazy eyes. “The Life of Dean gets me all hot and bothered.”
My phone rings, and I groan in relief. “Oh thank Jesus. Hopefully whoever this is will save me before you break my dick.” Turns out my savior is Beau, and I pick up with my usual, “What’s shaking, Maxwell?”
“We are,” Beau answers cheerfully. “As in, we’re shaking our asses on the dance floor tonight.”
“Um. Are you asking me to go out dancing with you?” I pause. “And shouldn’t you be in Wisconsin with your grandmother right now?”
“Grams bailed on us—went on some seniors’ cruise instead of spending the holiday with her family. How dare she, right? That bitch.” Beau snickers, which I take as an indication that he’s joking. If not, I feel bad for his grandmother. “Joanna and I are in the city with our folks. Let’s meet up.”
“How do you know I’m in the city?” I ask suspiciously. I have a Boston cell number and I hadn’t told him I was coming to Manhattan, so there’s no reason for him to think I’m here.
“I’ve got that friend finder app. Shows you where all your friends are at all times.”
Awesome. I’m being stalked by one of my best buds.
“We’re going to a club in SoHo. You down?”
“Hold on a sec.” I cover the mouthpiece and look at Allie. “Feel like going out? Beau and his sister are in town and they’re hitting up a nightclub.”
Reluctance creases her forehead. “Beau, as in Briar’s quarterback?”
I know exactly what she’s thinking and I’m quick to squash her fears. “He won’t say anything if he sees us together. Seriously. Maxwell knows how to keep his mouth shut.”
After a very long beat of hesitation, she finally nods, a tiny smile lifting her lips. “I haven’t been to a club in ages.”
I lift my hand from the phone. “We’re in.”
“We?”
“I’m bringing a friend.”
“Nice. Meet you there in an hour?”
“Sounds good.” I hang up to find Allie in distress. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t bring anything clubby to wear.” She chews on her bottom lip. “Can we stop in Brooklyn first so I can change, or is that too much of a hassle?”
“No need,” I say, tugging her off the bed. “You can borrow something from my sister. You’re about Summer’s size.”
“Are you sure she won’t mind?” Allie frets as I usher her across the hall into my sister’s room. “Some girls get super touchy about lending out their clothes.”
“Trust me, she won’t care.”
Allie’s face fills with astonishment when we enter Summer’s closet. And by closet, I mean the cavernous room that’s almost the size of Allie’s brownstone.
“How is this a closet?” Allie exclaims. She moves forward and squeals. “Oh my God. She’s got an entire wall of shoes. Now I want to punch your sister.”
I chuckle. “I wouldn’t try it. Summer plays by schoolyard rules. She’ll claw your eyes and rip your hair out.”
Allie examines another rack overflowing with hangers. “If I check any of these tags, am I going to see words like ‘Prada’ and ‘Kors’ and ‘Lagerfeld’?”
“Yup.”
“Then please direct me to the cheap section so your sister doesn’t kill me if I spill something on her precious Versace.”
“Babe, you really need to trust me when I say she won’t mind. Or notice, for that matter. Summer left all this stuff behind when she went to Brown,” I remind Allie. “Not to mention all the clothes in her closet in Connecticut. Just pick whatever you’d like.”
“Okay then. Well, since I probably won’t get the chance to wear a Valentino dress ever again—at least not until he custom designs my dress for the Oscars—” That gets another laugh from me “—I pick this one.” She holds up a black lace minidress with a gaping neckline, then glances at the shoe wall. “And I’ll pair it with…oooh, are those Jimmy Choos?”
“And that’s my cue to leave,” I announce. “Come find me when you’re ready.”
I leave Allie to fawn over Summer’s closet, and go to my own room to get dressed. Which takes all of five minutes. I throw on a gray sweater and the same trousers I wore last night, then lie on my bed watching YouTube videos on my phone while I wait for Allie. Somewhere at the twenty-minute mark, she pops into the room in a blur of designer black, grabs a small makeup kit from her purse, and disappears into my bathroom.