My shirt.

I’m fucked.

“You need to change. And we need to get out of this apartment,” I command. “Now.”

“What? Why?” she asks.

“Because I haven’t been this close to jizzing in my pants since junior high,” I confess.

She lets out a soft giggle. That sound is as much of a turn-on as hearing her moan. She needs to realize what the stakes are right now.

“We can either get out of here or I find out if your pussy tastes as good as it smells. Your call.”

Her grin drops as she sees the fire in my eyes. I’m two seconds away from taking her in ways her little sex-abus doesn’t begin to cover.

She sets off for her bedroom at a jog, which is enough of an answer for me. While she changes into what I hope is a shapeless muumuu, I finish putting away the rest of the groceries and desperately try to think about anything but having her naked body under mine.

“I’m ready. Where to?” She pops out of her room in a few minutes. I’ve never known any girl who can get ready as fast as she can. Then again, she’s the no-frills type. I appreciate that about her, among her other assets.

She’s in her standard attire, baggy jeans and a formless T-shirt. It’s better than seeing her in my shirt, but somehow knowing the curves she’s hiding under that hideous excuse for an outfit keeps me pretty revved up. We can’t get out of this apartment fast enough.

“Since I’m not cooking, I guess we’re eating out. Come on.” I grab my keys off the counter and we head down to my truck.

I take her to a small diner across town. The place isn’t fancy, but the food is good and it’s a cozy family-run joint. More importantly, it’s far enough away from campus we aren’t going to run into anyone I know. I haven’t told any of my teammates about my new ‘job’ because it’s none of their damn business. No one knows except Devin. I’m in no mood to explain why I’m out with Elizabeth.

I don’t date, but if I did, she’s definitely not my type. We’re from different worlds.

I’d ruin her.

We order quickly, and now I’m sitting across from her, wondering what to do. We haven’t spent much time talking, and I’ve purposefully engineered us into a situation where that’s all there is to do. I didn’t really think this plan through. She’s fidgeting and avoiding eye contact.

Is she sorting the different types of sugar packets?

There’s more awkwardness between us than there has ever been before, and that’s saying something. Dating clearly isn’t her thing either.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never been on a date.” It’s a dick thing to say, but I can’t help myself. I’m a little annoyed at her on behalf of my aching blue balls. Luckily she doesn’t seem to take offense.

“No, I’ve had dates. But this isn’t really a date. This is…” She pauses, studying me. “I’m not sure what this is, but it’s not a date,” she declares definitively. I have a feeling she’s trying to convince herself more than anything.