Cameron Cole has a plan.
After yet another relationship ends because of certain shortcomings-literally-Cameron decides it's time to swear off dating and focus her energy into her junior year at the University of Charlotte. There's an internship up...
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It's been almost two weeks since Wes and I agreed on this situationship, and if I could describe it in two words, it would be: mental illness.
Literally.
Because what else could the amount of sex we're having possibly be other than pure insanity and medically concerning?
Wes has the stamina of a thoroughbred racehorse, and I am... not okay.
This friends-with-benefits thing is starting to feel less like a casual arrangement and more like a full-time job with no paid overtime.
It's not that I'm complaining—far fucking from it—but where the hell is he getting the energy from? Because I need some too.
Between football practices, classes, and his unrelenting obsession with getting me naked at every possible opportunity, I'm convinced the man is fueled by sheer willpower, horniness, and protein powder.
It's a miracle we're still squeezing in actual tutoring sessions.
But usually, they last about twenty minutes before the tension boils over, and I'm bent over my desk with Wes growling something ridiculously Southern and filthy in my ear. It's unprofessional as hell, but it's also the hottest thing I've ever experienced.
The notes he's supposed to be taking? Half-done.The textbook we're supposed to be consulting? Barely touched.
My integrity as a tutor? Hanging on by a damn thread.
Like I can fucking talk though.
Either I'm showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the day like some sort of sex-crazed fiend, or he's showing up at mine at ridiculous hours, sweaty from practice and ready for some deep tissue recovery.
We're doing it everywhere. My bed, his bed, the couch, the shower.
That one time in the back bench of his truck after he insisted we grab milkshakes at 2 AM. There was also an incident in the library stacks on the fifth floor that I refuse to think about because I'm pretty sure it's still a crime, even if it was technically after hours.
Last weekend was an away game for the Colts—traveling to USC for ESPN College Football PrimeTime.
Before they left, Wes was stressed out of his mind, and I, being the excellent friend that I am, offered to help him relax.
Multiple times.
In multiple positions.
He went to LA, crushed it on the field, and then came back and proceeded to ruin me for an entire weekend.
I'm talking legs-don't-work-afterwards-level of ruined.
It's not all rainbows, sprinkles, and orgasms, though.We still bicker like crazy because he just seems to push every damn button like it's a hobby.
