7. Josie

7

Josie

T he walk back to my dorm takes less than ten minutes. It's getting cold, though, so I wrap my cardigan tight and hurry across campus, taking the shortcut through the main lawn by the fountain. I will not think about the fountain, or the bench I was sitting on when Van first asked me out.

I will not.

I will also not think about how good he looked tonight or how much I want to turn back around and check on him. He said he was on the verge of failing four of his courses and we only worked on one tonight. We used all our allotted time, but still.

My phone buzzes and it's the reminder I need to stop being melodramatic and to get all thoughts of Van out of my head.

Levi : Home. Everybody's in for the night.

Josie : I'm about two minutes away from my dorm.

Levi : Milo said you're tutoring somebody?

Josie: Yeah. It's for one of my classes.

Levi : If you need to be there tomorrow night, just say the word. I am sure Chesleigh would be happy to cover for you. ??

Josie : No way. I'm not incurring the wrath of Milo or Tillie. Or Iris…it's always the cute ones.

Levi: Smart move. But seriously, your classes come first.

Josie : You do realize I'm graduating with dual degrees and a 4.0, right?

Levi: Yeah, yeah. You home yet?

Josie: Just walked in. Sleep well.

Levi : What's sleep? Goodnight.

Josie : Goodnight ??

I lock my door, slip off my shoes, and start the shower. I need to wash off this emotionally exhausting day and then curl up in my coziest sweats with a good book. I tutored my ex-boyfriend today. That deserves a treat.

Although, Van wasn't being difficult. The difficult part was ignoring him. But I did it. And I only have to do it for another six or seven weeks. Yikes.

I toss my clothes into the hamper, twist my hair into a knot on my head and step into the shower. The hot water beats against my back and shoulders and I do my best to relax. I wash up and stand under the spray until it starts to run cold.

A few minutes later, I'm tucked in bed with my go-to book—the one that's always guaranteed to pull me out of a reading slump or cure a book hangover.

The hero in After Forever by SE Grim is tall and lean. And he has long blond hair. But it's set in regency England, so that's not atypical. Edward Fleetwood is no gentleman. He's a charming rake who turns Susanna Winthrop's world upside down. He makes her believe in happy endings, but then he breaks her heart.

Of course, that's partly due to his vile brother and the dungeon poor Ward has been chained in for the last seven years, but even that plotline can't hold my attention tonight.

I keep seeing Van's face and hearing his voice when I'm reading Ward's lines.

So I shut my e-reader, set it on my nightstand, and close my eyes.

But sleep doesn't come. Instead, I'm assaulted with memories of Van—the night we met, our first date, the time he brought me flowers and I couldn't stop sneezing.

And the last night we spent together.

We'd been dating a few weeks by then, and I'd gone to Van's game that night. It was loud and confusing, and I loved every minute of it. I'd been hoping we could go back to my dorm afterwards, but the team wanted to celebrate their win, so everyone decided to go to the party at the hockey house to unwind.

College parties have never really been my thing. I was already peopled out by that point, but I had so little free time to spend with Van that it seemed silly to waste it.

I remember dancing with him. I remember wanting more. I remember him kissing me and leading me down a hallway to a bedroom. He knocked, and when no one answered, we went inside.

"Jesus, Jos, I can't get enough of you. Did you wear this for me? Did you know it would drive me out of my mind, seeing you in this tight little t-shirt?" he asks, sliding his hands up my ribcage. "Did you—holy hell, are you even wearing a bra?"

"I hate them," I tell him, pulling my top off.

He lifts me up and pins me against the wall, holding me tight while he kisses my breasts. He lavishes attention on them, and it makes me feel beautiful. When I'm with Van, I feel confident. Pretty and desirable. When we're together, my mind never strays to my endless to-do list or my course load. I'm not worried about laundry or potty training or screen time. I'm not thinking about my assignments or upcoming tests. I'm not anxious about adjusting to dorm life or managing the mood swings of my awful roommate.

I'm no one's sister.

I'm not a caretaker.

I'm not the smart girl who needs to keep her scholarship.

I'm just Josie.

And it's wonderful.

"I hate bras, too," Van says, smiling at me. "Nothing this perfect should ever be covered up," he says, cupping my breast in his hand and bending to kiss it again. He's not tentative with his kisses; he's never unsure. There's an ease about Beckett Vandaele that I envy. He's exactly where he's supposed to be, and he knows it.

"So you'd be okay with me walking around naked?" I tease. "Or at least topless?"

"Fuck, yes," he answers, pulling us away from the wall. He's got my ass cradled in his arms and my legs wrapped around his waist. "We'd never leave my dorm. We could take classes online and spend all our free time just like this. Sound like a plan?"

"It has potential," I tell him. He looks around the room until his gaze settles on the bed. We walk over to it and just when I think he's going to lay me down, he loosens his grip and lets my body slide down his until I'm standing beside him. Reaching back, he grabs the collar of his BU hockey hoodie and tugs it off in one fluid motion. His t-shirt follows suit. He tosses the tee on the floor, but spreads his jersey out on the bed.

Suddenly, I'm in his arms again and he's lowering me onto the little nest he's made. "This ok, Jos?"

I nod, because if I open my mouth, there's no doubt I'll blurt out a proclamation of love.

"We should probably relocate, right?" he asks, his hands skimming over my body.

"Should we? I mean you're half-naked," I point out.

He leans back, and there's that dimple again. "So are you."

"Well, that's a problem easily solved," I say, lifting my hips and reaching for the button on my jeans.

"Josie, wait," he says, his eyes wide as his hand reaches for mine. "Our first time together isn't gonna be on my teammate's bed. We can go back to my dorm, or ? —"

"It's too cold out," I tell him. I'm never this bold, never this daring. But I want to be with Van and it's making me impatient. "Besides, I'm not on the bed. I'm on your jersey. Or is that weird ? —"

He shakes his head. "It's hot as hell, you spreading your legs for me. Your bare ass on my hockey sweatshirt. Fuck it , Friedline left after the game to go to his girlfriend's apartment. He'll never know."

"See? It's a really good idea. And I'm ready, now, Van. I don't want to wait." The heat in his eyes empowers me, so I brush his hand away and shimmy out of my jeans. I'm laid bare before him, but I don't want to cover up.

I've had sex a few times, but none of them were remarkable. I dated a guy back in high school who was nice, but just as clumsy and unskilled as I was. David knew the basic mechanics, and that was about it. He never made sure I came, and he definitely didn't talk dirty the way Van does.

"You are so fucking pretty, Josie," he says, tracing a finger across my collarbone, over each breast, and down my body until he reaches my center. Lifting his hand to his mouth, he runs his tongue across the pads of his fingers, never breaking eye contact with me. Then he trails those fingers across my hip and over my mound. "It's like you were made for me. Like somebody saw my filthy dreams and brought you into existence."

His words make me blush. I'm not the best at accepting compliments, but when Van speaks, I believe him. I'm not worried that my boobs are too small, or my hips are too full in comparison. I'm not self-conscious about the fact that I'm not toned and tanned the way some girls on campus are, or that my hair is probably a tangled mess.

I bloom under his heated gaze.

I revel in his attention.

I come alive for his touch.

"I had a dream about you, Jos," he says, his voice soft as his fingers languidly sweep across my mound. "Is that bad? Shit, should I be telling you this?"

"That depends," I answer, leaning forward and reaching for the waistband of his jeans. The gasp he emits when I undo the button makes me feel invincible. It's entirely illogical that I have this effect on Beckett Vandaele, but it's also undeniable. The evidence is right in front of me: thick and heavy, hard and ready. "Was it a bad dream?" I ask.

"It was a fucking wet dream, Jos."

Now it's my turn to gasp. I bite my lip as heat rushes to my center. The thought—the image—of Van dreaming about me and taking himself in hand has me melting into a lustful little pile of wantonness.

"I came in my sleep, Josie. I haven't done that since fucking middle school. I woke up to find my hand on my dick. My sheets were a mess. And I reached for you. I looked over, but you weren't there. I want you there in my bed, next to me all night long."

"I want that, too," I say, breathless as his fingers breach my opening.

"You wanna know what I did next?"

"What?" I pant as he fills me up only to pull away again. He repeats this little game a few times until I'm messy and insatiable.

"I closed my eyes and thought about that day last week in your dorm. Remember? I put my mouth on you and it was so good. You taste like candy, Jos. Like fucking sugar and I'm addicted."

His words turn me on and some part of me should be embarrassed because I'm surely making a mess of his sweatshirt, but when he rubs my clit in the same rhythm his fingers pump into me, I can't find the energy to care.

"I thought about you—about the way you taste, the way you moan. The way these pretty tits bounce when I finger you. The way you came on my face."

"Van—" His name is a breath, a cry, a warning on my lips. My legs tremble as I spread them wider.

"I gripped my dick again. I was still hard. One dirty dream wasn't enough. I don't think anything ever will be. I kept thinking about the taste of you on my lips, about how good it's gonna feel when I get inside you, about all the ways I'm gonna get you wet and ready for me."

I lean forward again and swipe at his jeans, trying my best to tug them down. It's a struggle and he takes pity on me, hooking his left hand in a pocket and pulling down. He does the same with his boxers and soon he's gloriously naked in front of me. He continues to drive me crazy with his fingers and thumb. I'm so close; I can feel it.

"That's what did it for me—the thought of you just like this—naked and flushed, greedy for more, taking everything I give you. I came so fucking hard all over my hand and all I could think about was being with you. I want you any way I can get you, Jos. I'll come on your tits, if that turns you on. Or your belly, your thighs. Is that what you want? You want me to make you a pretty mess?"

His words send me over the edge. Because I want all of that, and so much more. This all feels so good, and it's just the beginning. My orgasm rolls through my body. Van swears as my channel chokes his fingers. I've never felt this good, this free, in my whole life.

"That's it, Josie. God, you're beautiful," he tells me, leaning down to give me a kiss.

I can tell he wants to hold me, and I want that, too, but not yet.

"I want you," I tell him, my words plain and my meaning clear.

"Are you sure? Here?"

"Here," I say. "Now. Your fingers felt so good, but I need more. I want more. I want you."

He rips a little foil packet quickly and I don't even stop to think if he got it from his wallet or nabbed it off his teammate's nightstand. It doesn't matter. He's sheathed himself and that means he's one step closer to giving me what I want.

Because I want him.

He teases my slit with his length, then presses in slightly. Van's bigger than my high school boyfriend, but more importantly, he knows what to do to make us both feel good.

"Give me your words, Josie," he says, his voice a little breathless.

"I want you inside of me." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, he's filling me up. His hands are on my hips as he seats himself fully. Mindlessly, my hands stray to my breasts, cupping them and playing, doing anything I can to make this last. It feels so good, so impossibly perfect, that I'm almost afraid to move. But I do, and it's even better. The friction is incredible, and when his thumb finds my clit again, I let out a string of curse words that will force me to put a ten dollar bill in the swear jar.

"Josie," he croons, "this is even better than my dream."

He rocks in and out of me in a rhythm that ignites another orgasm, this one faster, but just as powerful as the first.

"Fuck," he curses. "God, that's good. Too fucking good. Josie—" My name is on his lips as he finds his release.

It takes a few minutes for both of us to come back to Earth, but soon it's impossible to ignore the thumping bass of the sound system or the fact that we just made love in some guy's room. Van takes his t-shirt and gently cleans me up before sliding my jeans up over my legs and hips. I find my shirt and pull it on while Van does the same with his hoodie—although he's turned it inside out at least.

"Oh, god," I say, my cheeks burning. "That's probably ruined."

"Ruined? Hell, no. It's now my favorite shirt," he says, pressing a kiss to my lips.

I wish I could say that things stayed as perfect as they'd been in that borrowed bedroom. But less than a week later, everything fell apart.

And that's what I need to remember. We weren't right for each other; we weren't meant to last, and that's why I need to keep my distance and remain detached. If I have to keep tutoring Van, there's no way I'll survive it unless I treat him like we don't share a past.