Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
My mouth threatens a smile.
That’s another thing about Jill. I might have been studying her for years. I might know her better than anyone. And I still never know what is going to come out of her mouth.
“Do you…” Her breath strokes my ear. “Do you want to be an early bird with me?”
Do I want to cram my enormous, sweaty body into a seat with her sweet-smelling, perfectly formed one? Yes, and no. Yes, because being with her is when I’m happiest. No, because won’t I repulse her? I’m not exactly at my freshest right now. And I’m always like a mountain in comparison to her. “You don’t want to sit with your friends?”
“You are my friend.” There’s a pause. “I-I mean…aren’t you?”
“Of course I am,” I say gruffly.
Maybe not such a great one, though. Since I’ve been beating off to her relentlessly since eighth grade and spend a sick amount of time wondering what it would be like to slide my tongue through the softness of her pussy. Sitting next to her will be a cross between paradise and hell, but I can’t stand the thought of her questioning our friendship, so I stow my gear in the open luggage compartment and lumber onto the bus. My bulk hits every seat on my way to the rear of the vehicle and heat climbs my neck. But I forget everything and just try to breathe when I reach the final seat and there’s Jill, waiting for me with her sunshine smile.
“Great game,” Jill says, smoothing her cheerleading skirt.
I sit down beside her and try not to take up every inch of available space. “Thanks, Jilly Beans.” Our thighs press together and my dick turns rock hard, making it necessary to tug my jersey down to cover the growing bulge in my football pants. Breathe. “How was it on the sidelines?”
“Oh, you know.” She forces a laugh. “The usual.”
“No, I don’t know. What’s the usual?”
She makes a wishy-washy sound and I study the play of shadow and light on her beautiful face. “Some of the students do the chants, some of them just mock us.”
Something hardens in my throat. “This is the first I’m hearing of this.”
“It’s not a big deal. They probably just think…I don’t know. Because we’re cheerleaders and considered popular that we’re immune to criticism. Or we need to be taken down a peg.” She shrugs a shoulder. “It doesn’t matter to me. I don’t do it for them.”
“Who do you do it for?”
“You.” Twin spots appear on her cheeks. “I-I mean the team.”
Mainly the quarterback? I swallow that uncomfortable thought. “If anyone says something out of line, I want to know about it.”
She nods. “Okay.”
My teammates start to board the bus, followed by the laughing cheerleaders and coaches. Is it my imagination or does Jill sink down farther into the seat? Does she not want to be seen sitting next to me? “I can move,” I offer.
“Why?” She wets her lips. “Am I talking too much?”
“What?” I chuckle over her question. “No.”
Her shoulders relax. “Then…stay?”
If she asked me to ride home on the roof, I would do it. “All right.”
We both settle back against the seat and I go back to praying she doesn’t notice my hard-on. It’s a familiar position, but it never gets easier. I used to sit in the living room with Jill and Harper on the weekends during their movie marathons. Can’t do it now, though. Not with the way Jill sprawls out on the couch, always dressed in itty bitty shorts or leggings that leave nothing to the imagination. Now, whenever she’s in my house, I spend most of the time jerking off to the sound of her giggle drifting through my bedroom door.
If Jill knew the thoughts I’ve had, she definitely wouldn’t want to sit beside me.
She’d probably never set foot in my house again.
I’m distracted by a smattering of cheers and glance up toward the front of the bus where our kicker is hugging one of the cheerleaders in the aisle.
“He must have asked her to homecoming,” Jill murmurs, smiling. “That’s sweet.”
I grunt. “Is that how you’d like to be asked? On the bus?”
“I hadn’t thought of it.” She rakes her palms up and down her thighs. “It’s a lot of pressure, isn’t it? Going to the dance with someone. All those expectations…”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” She adjusts her bow nervously. “Sex. It’s all people seem to talk about lately, isn’t it? Who is doing it. Where. When. Why people haven’t done it yet.”
Barbed wire coils in my belly, sharp and dangerous. “Is someone pressuring you for sex?”
Her eyes shoot wide. “Me? No!” She seems to gather her thoughts. “But…everyone feels a little bit of pressure, don’t they? We’re eighteen now. We’re almost expected to be…exploring.”
It takes me a moment for the tension to ebb from my gut. If someone had been pressuring her for anything, I would have beat the stuffing out of them. And that would have only been the beginning. Thankfully that doesn’t seem to be the case. Not entirely, anyway.