14. when girls show me their underwear...

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"Aren't you going home for thanksgiving next weekend?" Ryan asked me as she folded her laundry on the living room couch

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"Aren't you going home for thanksgiving next weekend?" Ryan asked me as she folded her laundry on the living room couch.

Her dark hair was pulled up into a messy bun with a few tendrils hanging around the nape of her smooth, delicious neck. I knew it wasn't my place to even have a preference, but I loved it when she wore her hair up. Partly because I had some primal urge to bite on her neck. For a number of reasons, I forcefully stamped that desire down.

"School might be on break, but hockey isn't," I explained. "My mom is flying down Sunday and we're going for dinner then. Not sure about my dad yet, but he said they would try to visit at some point. Are you going home?"

She held up two similar but non-matching socks, frowning as she examined them.

With a sigh, she said, "No, I'm not either. It's too expensive to fly back home for every holiday and it takes too long to drive down for just a couple of days; I'll go back at Christmas. I'm just going to hang around here and teach a few extra yoga classes at the studio, covering for people who will be away."

Briefly, I debated whether to offer to buy her a plane ticket home; money wasn't an issue for me, but it seemed like it could be overstepping.

Still, she looked sad when she talked about not going home and I wished that I could have done something about it. 

"I guess that makes us Thanksgiving orphans. Well, us and the rest of the hockey team," I said. Being home with her over the holiday sounded pretty good to me, actually.

She scrunched up her face in the cute way that she always did when she was thinking. Something was up her sleeve. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what.

The last time she hatched a plan, we ended up carving jack o'lanterns and roasting the pumpkin seeds we'd scooped out. At 10pm. The mess was epic and my hands were stained orange for days. Try explaining that the team without getting your balls busted. It was worth it, though.

Continuing with her laundry, she started to sort out her bras and underwear. I nearly choked when she pulled a lacy black thong out of the hamper and folded it in half, setting it to the side.

Was she intentionally fucking with me or had I been friend-zoned in a major way? When girls showed me their underwear, the scenario was usually radically different.

In spite of myself, I started to imagine what she would look like in that thong— and nothing else. Picturing her curvy hips showcased in the delicate midnight fabric. How soft and smooth her skin would feel... Suddenly, she spoke up again, interrupting my rapidly escalating sexual fantasy.

"Hey, I know. Why don't we do a 'friendsgiving'? It could be fun. Just an informal potluck. Food, drinks, that sort of thing."

I would have gone along with just about anything she suggested in that moment. I struggled to maintain some semblance of composure.

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