Maybe tonight we can pick up where we left off. If I can get a dab of guac on her throat, I can watch her close her eyes as I lick it off. Hear that sound she makes as I lick again for good measure. And again. Maybe I gently suck at her throat, the way I did the other night. Judging by the way she pressed against me, by the way I can still feel the pressure of her fingertips below my waist, the way I could just barely hear her begging me to do it again …

Images come to mind of sliding off her shirt—for easier access to that spot, of course. Of taking mine off, which only makes sense. Who wants a rough cotton shirt against your skin when someone else’s skin feels so much better? And her skin is so soft, scented with that peach lotion, and—

I don’t even realize what I’ve been doing until my nails scrape the tile of the shower, trying to find something to hold onto while my body shudders around my fingers. I grasp the indentation in the wall meant to hold soap and promise myself that I’ll think about how messed-up this is later, after I’m done feeling so, so good.

True to my word, I feel like a mess when I dry myself off after the shower. I don’t know how else to describe it because I don’t feel gross, exactly—it’s not like I think there’s anything wrong with masturbating (or, let’s be real, like it’s my first time), or with finding a girl attractive. I just feel confused. And guilty. This is how I think about Chase; it isn’t how I’m supposed to be thinking about Jasmine. It isn’t how she’d want me to think about her. God, if she knew what’d happened, she’d probably never touch me again.

I wish I was okay with that.

I’m supposed to be okay with that.

It’s something we do for fun, not something I think about in the shower or feel down to my bones. It’s not something we do with intention.

But isn’t that what you were just doing, by thinking about how to make it happen? my brain nags. You were trying to plan it, and the whole point is that this is a thing that only occasionally happens between you two.

Except it’s not occasional.

When did it stop being occasional?

It’s too much. It’s messing with my brain. I already have my shower rotation all worked out, and it fully involves a certain number fourteen football player. There isn’t any more space for those kinds of thoughts. Chase has been serving me just fine for years now.