25. Van

25

Van

I t's been a shitshow of a day. Practice sucked. We sucked. And that sucks because we play Mercer this weekend and they're on a winning streak. Coach kept us late because we kept fucking up, and by the time I showered and hauled ass to the library, I was half an hour late.

That's bad, but what's worse is that I accidentally left my laptop at the hockey house—the laptop with all the fancy software, the one that translates my notes and reads texts out loud.

I pulled a bonehead move, which is why Josie and I are walking to the hockey house now.

"Sorry about this," I say for the fifteenth time in the last five minutes. "And I should probably warn you that our heater's kinda messed up right now, so it's crazy hot at my house, which means I'm dragging you across campus to sit in a sauna and quiz me about a bunch of wars about roses...which makes no sense, by the way."

"It's fine," she answers back. And even though she's repeated the same thing to me at least a dozen times tonight, it feels like she's being honest. "Actually, it feels good to stretch a little. I've been boxing and unboxing books for hours. I think my body is permanently folded into the shape of the letter ‘C'."

I will not offer to give her a backrub. I will not offer to give her a backrub. I will not —I blow out a breath and do my best to make conversation that doesn't involve getting Josie naked. "What's going on at the library that you had to pack everything up?"

"They're installing new carpet in the main reading room and throughout the second and third floors. This is the kind of thing they usually do over the summer, but I guess it couldn't wait. Britt was giving a tour to some donors last week, and one of them caught her shoe in a tear on the carpet and tripped. She's fine, but she insisted that it be replaced immediately, and she's paying for it, which is why we're turning the library upside down right now. The good news is that the donors paid a ton of money to have it installed quickly. The bad news is we have to do all the packing and shifting and unpacking in a really short time frame, which is why Britt closed off the common areas tonight. We're using them as storage. If all goes according to plan," she says, smiling, "you and I will be back in familiar territory by Monday."

I nod, but the truth is that Josie and I haven't been in familiar territory in a damn long time.

We cross the street and my house comes into view. It's in even worse shape now than the day I moved in sophomore year, but it's well past dark, so maybe Josie won't notice or care that I live in a shithole. I mean, why should she care, other than the fact that we'll probably have to sit at the lopsided dining room table to study tonight. It's not like we're together, or even friends. Not really.

I'm not sure what we are. I mean, we've talked, we cried. We hashed our shit out and accepted each other's apologies. But what does that mean for the future? Because I'm ready to pick up right where we left off, but Josie might not feel the same. I'm not great with words, but even I know there's a difference between "I forgive you" and "I want to be with you".

The house is dim as we walk up the steps to unlock the door and go inside. I hear voices in the kitchen, but I'm guessing Josie doesn't want to draw a lot of attention to the fact that she's here. My plan to work in the dining room is out because it's empty. And I don't just mean there aren't any people—the table and chairs are missing. The only things in there now are a couple bikes—because who doesn't park their ride where people usually eat?

"Do you mind going up to my room?" I ask, knowing full well Josie might rather sit on the front steps.

She hesitates for a second, biting her bottom lip. Then the noises in the kitchen get louder. Whoever is in there isn't too happy, and I'm guessing that's what makes the decision for her.

"Yeah, um…I guess that will work," she says, clearly not sold on the idea, but walking up the stairs anyway. "We don't have much to work on tonight, right?" she asks, looking back over her shoulder at me.

"Right. I've got another slides quiz tomorrow for Medieval History, but I'll be able to take it before we leave for our game. I'm caught up on everything else right now, but we start new stuff in three of my courses next week, so…that's gonna suck. I finally understand a book and now we're done reading it."

Josie starts telling me about the next book on the syllabus for my lit class. She's got a copy and she sent me the link for the audio file. Conversation flows between us better than it used to, as long as we stick to safe topics, like school. I thought we made some progress when we joked around last weekend at the pizza place with Iris, but Josie's been all business this week. It's strange, this dance we're doing. It's one step forward, two steps back, but the music's hard to hear and we're not always in sync.

I open the door to my room and step back, letting Josie in. But she just pauses there, sort of staring into my bedroom. I'm wondering if maybe Ollie got drunk and passed out on my bed? (It's happened before, but usually not at 9 p.m.) Or if I left clothes in the dryer and Will threw them on my bed with a Post-it telling me to act like a goddamn adult and fold my laundry in a timely manner. (This has also happened, but I haven't done wash in a week, so it seems unlikely.) Or maybe Mikalski's cat—that he is definitely not supposed to have and one hundred percent thinks no one knows about—has escaped his room and taken up residence on my pillow. (This happens a lot, too.) To be on the safe side, I step into my room to take a look. But just as I do, Josie does the same, causing us to bump into each other and stumble. I manage to reach out and catch her shoulders and keep her from face-planting on my rug.

"I'm sorry—" We both rush to say at the same time.

She tucks her hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry," she repeats.

I toss my bag onto my desk chair and toe off my shoes. "Why are you sorry?" I ask. "Because I bumped you? That was all me. I was afraid there might be laundry on my bed. Or a cat. Or a 200-pound man."

"Those things happen often?" she asks, letting a smile show through.

"More often than you'd think," I say, grabbing my laptop from my desk, and holding it in the air like a trophy of dumbassery. "Besides, it's my fault we had to come here anyway. We could have at least gone to Drip if I hadn't left this here."

"It's no problem," Josie answers kindly and that's when I realize she's just standing in the center of my room, still in her coat and holding her bag.

"Here, let me," I say, taking her tote and stowing it in the corner before hanging her coat on a hook by my closet.

For a moment, we just stare at each other.

There was a time when all I wanted was Josie Reynolds in my bedroom. And that hasn't changed. It's just that now, I don't quite know what the hell to do with her.

I mean, I've got plenty of ideas, but we're still warming up to each other, still testing the waters. We don't talk much about the fact that we no longer hate each other, if that's even the word for it. It's an uneasy truce, for sure. Fragile. Like when your line's gelling suddenly after being out of sync for days. You lean into it, but you don't overthink it. And you sure as hell don't discuss it.

"Is that ok?" Josie asks. I try to hit rewind in my brain, but I was so lost in my thoughts that I have no clue what she was saying. Doesn't matter, though. I'd say ok to just about anything Josie wants.

"Sure," I answer, like I've been listening attentively.

She smiles shyly, then sits on my bed, crisscross applesauce style.

Fuck .

Nothing about that should turn me the hell on, but it does.

First off, Josie's on my bed. That pretty much sums up eighty percent of the fantasies I've had since we met freshman year. The other twenty percent take place either on her bed, in my car, or wherever I happen to be when said fantasy pops into my brain. A booth at Wolfie's? Yep. The showers in the locker room? Absolutely. The study corner of the library where we sit several nights a week? Hell-fucking-yes.

So the fact that Josie's ass is on my comforter right now and I'm tenting my goddamn pants like a fucking novice should not surprise me. But it's also the way she looks so comfortable, so at home. Like we do this all the time. For a moment, it's like the last three years never happened. Like we never hit pause, much less stopped. Like we're the kind of couple who can go the distance. Like we're woven into every part of each other's lives, from studying for tests to family holidays and everything in between.

We're not, of course, and I only have myself to blame. But Josie's talking again, so I force my brain to focus.

"It's a little warm in here," she says, rolling up her sleeves.

"It's hot as Satan's asshole," I tell her, peeling my hoodie off and tossing it so it lands on my backpack. "Sorry."

"It's fine. You said your heater was acting up, but wow…you weren't kidding." She pulls her hair up into a bun on top of her head.

"Yeah. It got cold last week, so somebody cranked the heat up. Like, all the way up. And now it won't crank down."

Josie takes her glasses off and cleans them with the edge of her cardigan before looking back up at me. "Can you have campus services look at it?"

I wince. "We could. We probably should. But…we've made some changes to the place and, well…"

"You don't want them to come in and freak out?"

"Or shut us down," I answer honestly. We definitely haven't been taking care of the place. I mean, it was never super nice, but it's in pretty bad shape now.

Josie glances around and I wonder what she's about to say. For a second, my heart beats fast and I realize what a dumbass I was for bringing her here. She's observant as hell, and there's a very distinct crack running down the wall right by my closet. It got worse when Will started pounding nails on the other side, but it's always been here. It was here freshman year when this was Friedline's room. I lived in the dorms then and when Josie came to a party at the hockey house and we started dancing, one thing led to another. I definitely did not set out to have sex in my teammate's room, but Josie told me she couldn't wait another second, and no way was I going to deny her.

When I moved in sophomore year, we were picking rooms and my name got drawn first. I chose this one and if anyone thought it was weird that I wanted not only the smallest room, but the one sandwiched in between two other, bigger rooms, they didn't say anything. And no, I didn't pick it for sentimental reasons. I happen to like rooms without windows.

Josie shakes her head, like she's clearing her thoughts and getting ready to go back into tutor mode. "Let's start looking at the slides," she says, so I open my laptop.

After a quick review of the Wars of the Roses, Josie starts quizzing me. I'm doing ok, except for the fact that sweat is dotting my brow.

She's hot, too, and not just in the sexy way. Her cheeks are flushed and she keeps pushing up the sleeves of her too-big, old lady cardigan. Huffing in frustration, she unbuttons the damn thing and peels it off. My jaw goes slack. Underneath that fuzzy sweater that surely once belonged to a woman named Dolores, Josie's wearing a white tank top.

And nothing else.

No bra, no bralette.

Just tank and tits. Perfect fucking tits.

She catches me staring, but I don't stop.

"I hate wearing bras. I only have two I really like. One's back at the house and the other is in the laundry. And anyway, they're just boobs," she tells me. "You've seen them before."

I have seen them before. And I fucking dream about seeing them again.

She tucks a loose piece of her hair behind her ear and shrugs. "Besides, in the past three years, I'm sure you've seen lots of breasts. And what's the big deal? Like I said, they're just boobs. Everyone has them, to some degree. And mine aren't all that impressive."

Something in me snaps. The idea that Josie thinks less of herself kills me, and I can't let her believe that's true. The air in this room is thick, and not just because it's a little, windowless block of a room. We've both been ignoring the chemistry we share, but I'm done tiptoeing around it. If I shoot my shot and make a fool of myself, so be it. That's better than letting Josie think she doesn't measure up.

"That's where you're wrong," I tell her, setting my laptop on the floor and scooting a little closer. "Because, yeah, I've seen boobs before. And since the last time we were together, I've been with other girls."

She shutters her eyes closed, and I get it. This is dangerous territory for us. If we can't even talk about what's happening between us, we probably shouldn't talk about the people we've been with since we broke up. But maybe we need to. I tip her chin up and she looks at me. Right now, I could count all the freckles that dot her nose and cheeks. I could kiss each one. And I want to. But first, I need to give Josie Reynolds—the smartest person on campus—an education.

"I wasn't a saint, Jos. I was kind of a dick. And I thought with my dick for a solid year after we split. Then I chilled out a little and tried to date like a normal person. That ended in disaster. After that, fuck, I basically became celibate. And you want to know why? You want me to tell you why no one has been in this bed with me for almost a year now?"

Her eyes are wide, her perfect pink lips parted, but I keep talking. "It's because none of them were you. No one makes me laugh like you do. No one makes me think the way you do. No one makes me feel half as good as I feel when I'm in the same fucking room with you. And no one— fucking no one —has a body like you."

"Van, I'm?—"

"Perfect," I finish, reaching for her and pulling her so close she's practically in my lap. "You're perfect, Josie. You're my every fantasy come to life. I could trace the outline of your body from my goddamn memory. You were wrong before, you know that? You said they're just boobs. But they're not, Jos. They're yours. Perfect fucking mouthfuls. Like cupcakes with raspberries on top. Addictive as hell. Sweet. And so damn sensitive," I say, brushing my thumbs across each perfect nipple. They harden instantly, and she arches her back, hungry for more of my touch and I'm happy as hell to give it to her.

I hear footsteps on the stairs and we both freeze. When I hear the creak of Norris's door, I let out the breath I've been holding. Josie's eyes find mine, and she does the unthinkable. She kisses me.

The feel of Josie's lips on mine is even better than I remember. She's soft and pliant in my arms, leaning into every touch, every brush of my mouth on hers. We're so lost in each other that when I hear talking next door, it doesn't really register at first.

"No one knows you're here, baby. I guarantee it. Ollie's playing poker with the LAX guys. Mikalski's the only one home and he had his headphones on. He didn't see you when he came in because you hid behind the fucking door."

"What about Van?" Norris's girl asks.

"Van's at the library for the next hour. He studies with his ex-girlfriend, then comes home and jacks off. So, the place is ours for about an hour and ten minutes. I have some really good ideas for how we can use that time. Or we can sit here while you panic that my roommates are going to discover us and then, when we finally get to the really good stuff, my teammate will get home and start moaning his ex's name into his pillow. Up to you, babe."

Josie goes still. Leaning back, she looks up at me, her mouth open as she whispers, "Is that…um, do you…"

There's no point in hiding it now. I reach for her and she comes to me, straddling my lap and wrapping her legs around me. "What do you want to know?" I ask, my lips next to her ear. "Are you asking if I fuck myself and think about you? Yeah, I do. Is this a recent thing? Hell no. Is it a fucking habit—no, a goddamn need —that I just can't shake? Yeah, it is."

Before I can say any more, embarrass myself further, or bare any last remaining bits of my soul, Josie's mouth covers mine. Her delicate hand grips the back of my neck, and her sweet center presses against my rock-hard dick. Our bodies are fused together. I never want this to end. I could do this every night of my fucking life.

Josie rubs her body against mine and I thrust up to meet her, grinding against her as my thumbs tease her perfect nipples. She lets out a moan and I feel a wave of satisfaction wash over me.

"J.T., what was that?" a voice asks and I'm tempted to pound on the wall and tell them Josie and I are here, and we're busy.

"It was probably Mikalski's damn cat. Now, get back up here, baby. I'm not done with you, yet."

I shut Norris and his secret girlfriend out of my mind and give Josie every ounce of my focus. Her pleasure is my goal and I'm not stopping until I get it. Something in my brain tells me I should slow us down, and let Josie know that this is more than physical for me, but she has to know that already—how could she not? But she's back in my arms after three long years and I'm addicted to the taste of her. We can talk later.

My lips find Josie's again as my hands wander under her tank top. She arches her back and leans into my touch as I cup her breasts and squeeze gently. Her eyes close as she gasps and I can't help but smile.

"Does this feel good, Jos?" I ask.

"So—"

Before she can finish her thought, a shrill beeping noise pierces the air. Instinctively, I pull back and blink. "What the?—"

"Is that a smoke detector?" Josie asks, crawling off my lap and walking toward the door. I'm right behind her and as I reach for the knob and turn it. I remember hearing that you should never touch a doorknob if there's a fire. But it's cold to the touch, so I step into the hallway. I'm convinced that it's just beeping because the batteries are dead, but then I smell smoke.

I'm about to call downstairs and ask what the hell is going on, but I don't get the chance. One feature of this house that we haven't managed to destroy is the sprinklers that dot the ceilings. They must have been installed twenty years ago, but they still work. And I know that because they're spraying water everywhere.

"Fuck! Fuck! Norris, you up there? We gotta get out of here!" Mikalski's panicked voice carries upstairs. "There's um…a fire in the living room…so, we should get the hell out of here!"

Norris's door swings open and since the hallway outside his door leads right to the steps, I watch as he takes his girl's hand and flies downstairs. He doesn't even notice that Josie and I are right behind them.

Sirens wail in the distance. Mikalski left the front door wide open, so we book it out onto the front lawn. I'm breathing hard and my heart is pounding in my chest. What the hell just happened?

"Are you okay?" I ask Josie as I scan the area for my teammates.

"Yeah," she says, breathless. "You?"

I nod as I spot Mikalski on the sidewalk and make my way over there with Josie by my side. Norris shows up a few seconds later, but he's alone.

"Fuck," Mikalski says, sinking to the ground with his head in his hands. "Were you guys the only ones inside?"

I look right at J.T., but he just nods. "Yep. Everybody made it out, man. What the hell happened?"

Mickey starts spilling all the details, but I don't catch them because the fire trucks pull up and the real chaos begins. Before I know it, Josie's gone back to her dorm and I'm standing in the street with half my teammates, watching the scene unfold. We're all kind of staring at the hockey house, waiting for flames to start shooting out as the place collapses to the ground.

Miraculously, it doesn't. I can't even see any fire. Just lots of smoke and lots of water.

"I can't get a straight story from anybody," Santos grumbles as he walks toward me. "Mickey's in total meltdown mode, Norris took off, and the rest of us followed firetrucks to our front door. You want to tell me what the hell happened?"

I shrug. "No clue, man. One minute I had Josie in my arms, and the next minute, the smoke alarms and sprinklers are going off."

Santos's eyes bug out of his head, and I'm wondering if that's because he can't believe somebody managed to set fire to this place or if he's shocked that Josie was up in my room with me.

We don't have to wait too long to get the story on how the fire started, though, because Ollie broadcasts it to the whole neighborhood. He's a high-energy guy, but screaming at someone in the middle of the street isn't usually his style. Right now, though, he's tearing Mickey a new one. And he might be justified.

"How in the hell do you light a fucking couch on fire?"