Confessions of a Queen B*

Untitled Part 42

I woke up Wednesday morning with an odd swirling of anticipation in my stomach. By the time I reached school, it had progressed to a definite variation of queasiness softened only by the fact Brett had an entourage around him when he dropped off Junior and didn't have time for any conversation.

When fourth period came around, I was completely on edge, and I knew why.

I was going to be home alone with Brett in an hour.

Today's lecture was on nonphysical ways to relieve stress—which hopefully meant Brett wouldn't bring up sex or my need for it again.

I refused to even look at him for fear it would start another conversation that would leave me flushed and embarrassed. And for his part, Brett appeared to be focused on the lecture and taking notes. No evidence of the heat and tension from yesterday.

Maybe he did get a blow job from Summer.

The bell rang, and my stomach lurched into my chest.

"So, we're going back to your place?" Brett asked.

Although I doubted he intended it, his question was cloaked with innuendo.

I nodded, focusing on putting my things away and strapping on the baby carrier.

"Good. Then I'll see you in a bit."

My breathing quickened. You'd think we were going back to my place to have some naked playtime, not work on a school project.

Of course, if Brett was right about sex being a great way to relieve stress...

I shook that thought from my head, relieved to see no one was there to witness my mental deterioration. I had enough stress in my life before Brett entered it. This increasing tension between us wasn't helping matters, but it would pass. In three days, our project would be over, and I wouldn't have to worry about being alone with a hot guy who smelled like temptation and made my hormones cloud my better judgment.

Of course, if I cleared the tension between us the old-fashioned way, would that help matters, or hurt them? I mean, yes, there would be less fantasizing about how his lips would feel against mine, where his hands would go, what his skin would taste like...

Snap out of it!

I couldn't go there, no matter how pleasant it seemed in my lust-driven mind, because there would always be that awkward "after" phase. I'd seen it enough times in the hallway on Monday mornings. The hopeful glint in a person's eyes when he or she saw their weekend fling coming toward him or her, followed by that, "um, you're nice and all, but..." conversation. I refused to get caught in that same situation, especially when I knew there was no chance in hell that Brett and I could ever be a "couple."

I needed to cool down the uncomfortable heat that had swarmed my skin from thinking about Brett, so I made a detour to the fro-yo place on the way home. Even though I surveyed the fifteen other flavors available, I always got the same thing. Mocha frozen yogurt with mini dark chocolate chips, brownie bites, and a spoonful of marshmallow cream on top. Maybe one day, I'd try something new, but today, I needed comfort that came from familiarity.

I was standing in line to pay when I overheard a group of guys snickering behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Sanchez and several of his teammates gathered around an iPad, their eyes glued to the screen. More juvenile snickers followed, and I rolled my eyes.

Then Sanchez said, "See, I told you guys they were fake."

"I don't care," one of the others replied. "Tits are tits, and that's still an impressive rack."

My annoyance evaporated, leaving behind a trickle of fear. I zeroed in on their conversation, hoping to God this wasn't what I thought it was.

"Oh, look, the little sophomore has to stuff hers," Sanchez said as though he was indulging a toddler. "There's no way she's going to make head cheerleader with those."

My stomach plummeted. They didn't have to name names for me to know who they were talking about. No one talked about my little sister that way.

I grabbed my container of frozen yogurt and marched over to the group of guys. They were too busy enjoying the free peep show that they never saw me coming. I "tripped" and dumped the entire cup of wet frozen yogurt and sticky marshmallow cream over the screen. "Oops!"

Sanchez's face turned a mottled shade of red, his jaw clenched tight. "Why, you—"

One of his teammates held him back, but I didn't care. I didn't fear him. I stood my ground, my glare never wavering from his. "It was an accident," I said innocently. Then I added in a slightly louder voice so the entire fro-yo café could hear, "I'm so sorry I interrupted your porn party."

Sanchez lunged at me again, this time prompting another one of his teammates to restrain him.

I stayed where I was, silently daring him to throw a punch at me in front of everyone. When I filed a police report for assault, I'd have plenty of witnesses.

I held out my napkin. "Can I help you clean up?"

Sanchez's face had gone from red to purple now, the cords on his neck popping out under his skin. "Get the fuck out of my face before I—"

"Dude, chill!" The broadest of the football players moved in front of him, blocking his view of me. "She's not worth getting kicked off the team."

That was interesting to learn. Was Sanchez already in hot water? Definitely something to investigate for my blog later.

But right now, there were more important matters to deal with. I turned and left, my mind still reeling from what I'd overheard. The pervert had posted the videos online again. And this time, he was going to pay.