Clay chuckled, taking his time rising to his feet. I could see he was still turned on, the bulge in his sweatpants giving him away. He saw me staring at it and smirked, but then something washed over him, something sad and overpowering.

I didn’t know what it was, didn’t know what had happened tonight or why he was upset. But whatever I’d done to ease the pain had been temporary, because I watched in slow motion as he became distant again, that lost look in his eyes.

“I think I’m going to head back to the dorm,” he said. “Get some sleep.”

I nodded, trying not to show my disappointment. “Okay.”

“You good?”

I swallowed, then held out my thumb with as big of a smile as I could muster. “Peachy.”

Clay frowned, like he wasn’t sure if he could believe me, and the smile was getting weaker by the minute, so I turned and grabbed my bag off the ground, slinging it over my shoulder.

I headed for the stairs, Clay on my heels, and when we made it down and out of the observatory, we paused at the fork in the sidewalk — one way leading to his dorm on campus, the other pointing toward my apartment.

“Let me walk you home.”

“No,” I insisted, shaking my head. “I’m going to get food. Maybe stop by the coffee shop to see Shawn play.”

It was a lie, a bold-faced one I tried to seal with an excited smile as if that’s all I wanted in the world — to see Shawn Stetson.

The truth was much darker, much more foreign, and much more terrifying.

I was running from a feeling demanding to be felt, a monster with gruesome teeth and sharp claws I knew would maim me if I let it catch up.

Clay didn’t let on any emotion when he asked, “He’s playing tonight?”

“Yeah. He told me when we ran into each other at the game.”

“Oh.”

I nodded, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

“Let me know how it goes,” Clay finally said.

“I will,” I promised.

And in the most awkward goodbye ever, I offered him a peace sign before scurrying off with the memory of his tongue between my thighs etched into my brain forever.

Chapter Eighteen

Clay

I stayed away from Giana all week.

It was like refusing myself the pleasure of jumping into a refreshing spring on a hot summer day, like restricting myself from drinking water as I heave from dehydration — but I had to do it.

I was in too deep.