Moe Rivas has spent her whole life waiting for the perfect storybook romance, but as she approaches her senior year of college -- single, and incredibly disappointed with the male species -- she decides she's sick of daydreaming. Turning her back on...
Classes started tomorrow, which meant my anxiety had already assumed leadership over my dream state. I tossed and turned in my sleep, plagued by scenarios in which I was running late to class or struggling to find my lecture hall, despite scoping out my classrooms and rehearsing my commute all of yesterday. I didn't even have caffeine today; Carl was just hyperactive for no good reason at all.
Theo was to blame, surely. He'd been on my mind all week. Infecting my thoughts like a parasite. Invading my brain and coring all logical, pragmatic contents.
Theo, and his stupid face and beanie. His evil smile and that mane of thick, dark hair—just long enough to run my fingers through. Just long enough to tug on.
I groaned and flopped over onto my back. Get out of my head, loser!
But as I drifted back to sleep, my brain continued to feed me images of the pharmacy student. His body hovering over mine. The slope of his strong, naked shoulders. His arm muscles flexing under his weight. His hands on the back of my thighs, fingers digging into my skin. His mouth traveling across the slant of my neck.
Bangs shading his face. Heart pounding against mine. His tongue—
I forced my eyes open and yanked the covers off. Too hot, too frustrated. Too awake.
"...What the fuck, Carl."
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With heavy eyelids and a ball of agitation in my stomach, I headed to Grounds before my first lecture, determined to put an end to this obsession.
I refused to suffer in the aftermath of our New Year's fling. The only sleepless nights I could afford this semester were the ones hunched over my books, cramming for a test—not replaying Theo's performance in my head, over and over again.
That was just pathetic.
I needed to get him out of my system once and for all, and after a long, pensive shower, I came to a humiliating conclusion: if I wanted to purge Theo from my brain, I had to hook up with him again (without alcohol obscuring our obvious incompatibilities).
I'd propose a one-night stand intended to kill the curiosity. A physical exchange absent of heartbreaking confessions and emotional foreplay. And hopefully, without the allure of a Cinderella moment, I'd realize there was nothing special about him, and I could move on with my life like nothing ever happened—like every other boy I'd fantasized about.
Good ol' psychic satiation.
Unless...I liked it better the second time around—assuming Theo was even on board with the idea in the first place. In that case, we'd be fanning the flames of disaster.
Balls.
I paused behind the swing gates of the railroad, waiting to cross the tracks. My exhales turned to white vapor in the cold, and I regretted not wearing thicker socks this morning. My toes were already frozen inside my leather boots, begging for reprieve, and the day was just getting started.
