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Can dicks be beautiful? Because his is, especially the way his fingers can barely wrap around the girth of it in full. It reminds me of how full I always feel when it’s inside me. And the length…

Dear Baby Jesus in a Manger.

He doesn’t need to be here for me to be wet, which is a talent I’m sure his ego would love to know he has.

“Now,” he purrs through the phone, “get on your bed, open your legs, and play with that pretty pussy. I bet you’re soaking for me.”

My heart picks up as I listen to him, but I find myself doing exactly as he instructs. Laying back, I open my legs and let my hand wander between my thighs.

There’s no denying how wet I am. He’s always had an effect on me. Even when I barely knew him, it was like my body knew something before I did. That’s scary, no matter how good he’s made me feel.

How he keeps making me feel.

“Where are your fingers right now? Are they on your clit? Are they inside of you? Tell me what you’re doing.”

I close my eyes and let my fingers stroke me, feeling the softest breath escape my lips when I brush my clit. “You first.”

He chuckles. “I’m stroking my cock right now, squeezing it and watching my precum drip down me.

You want to know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking about how I’d be keeping your legs spread open as I fuck you.

It’d be slow, hard, and deep. You’d be fucking begging me to go faster, but I wouldn’t.

I’d set the pace, listening to your moans. They’re my favorite sound.”

I absorb every word as I play with myself, letting two of my fingers enter me as I use my thumb to circle the sensitive nerves above. My free hand strums my hardened nipples, stirring that familiar feeling in my gut that tells me my body is well on its way to a delicious orgasm.

“Then what?” I ask.

“I’d turn you around and put you on your hands and knees,” he says, a groan in his tone making my ears ring. “Then I’d use one of my fingers to play with your ass. You’d love it. You’d be begging me to take you. And I think you’d want me to fuck you there.”

I swallow hard. “Someone is cocky.”

“Confident, sweetheart,” he corrects. “But you would let me touch you there, wouldn’t you?”

My breath is shaky as I picture it. “Yes.”

“Good girl. You’d feel so fucking good—so tight. You’d want me to fill you with my cum. I know you would.”

“Oh my God,” I moan, his words bringing me closer and closer to the edge. “Alex, I feel so good right now.”

“I know you do, baby. Imagine how you’re going to feel when my cock is in your pussy and my finger is in your ass. I’m going to get you a toy so you can get used to me there. You’ll be begging me to double penetrate you, stuffing you until you can’t take it.”

The image I get in my head detonates me before I can get my vibrator to finish off the job. I call out his name as the orgasm takes over, and the sound of my voice must do the same to him.

I hear, “Holy shit,” from his end of the phone before silence takes over.

Then it’s just our heavy breathing as we try catching our breaths.

“That was…” I take a deep breath.

“Yeah, baby. But it’ll be better next week.”

That’s a promise I’m looking forward to one hundred percent. “Thank you for the jersey.”

“Thank you for the orgasm,” he answers easily, warming my face as it splits into a smile. “There’s going to be at least three more waiting for you when you come see me. Bring the jersey.”

Oh, I’m definitely bringing it.

*

I get an odd sense of déjà vu walking up to Babcock Hall with my student ID at the ready to scan when something pulls my attention to the right.

Hidden in the shade of the large oak tree beside the east side of the building is a looming figure wearing a Yankees baseball cap, sunglasses, and Lindon U sweatshirt.

“O-Dawg,” Bodhi greets as soon as I make eye contact with him.

I stop and stare, gaping at the man who looks so out of place. “What are you doing here?” And how do so many attractive men know where I live? It’s borderline weird. Well, maybe not weird. I’ve definitely had dreams like this before, and they never disappointed.

We meet halfway, giving me a chance to give him a onceover.

“Is this…?” I pull on the price tag still attached to the red hoodie that looks a size too small on his torso.

How did he not attract attention? His biceps are practically screaming to break out of this thing.

“I see you’ve upped your disguise game. Although, I think you should have gotten a size up on the hoodie. ”

Bodhi glances down at himself, smoothing his palm down the front of his body. “You’ve got to admit, the color is great on me.”

I roll my eyes as he lifts an arm to welcome me in a hug. I step into him, wrapping my arms around his waist and squeezing once. His arm envelopes me, pressing me into his hard front for a brief moment before letting go.

When he shifts on his feet, I realize something is off. Even behind the sunglasses, I can see that he’s nervous. “Do you want to get chicken tenders with me?”

I start to answer but find myself stopping. He wants to get chicken tenders with me? On a Thursday? In the middle of the day?

“Bodhi, are you okay? Not that I don’t like seeing you, but this seems…” Weird would probably be a rude way of putting it. “Random. Aren’t you supposed to be with the team getting ready for your game?”

He scratches the back of his head, where his hair is pulled back and hidden in his cap. I’ll give him this—he doesn’t look like himself. Now I’m starting to see why Chad Michael Murry’s character didn’t recognize Hilary Duff’s in A Cinderella Story .

“We were given the day off because practice has been a little brutal. Our first game is—”

“Against Toronto,” we say at the same time.

His lips kick up. “Yeah, I guess you would know that.”

I readjust my bag over my shoulder. “It’d be easier to track if my brother wasn’t giving me the silent treatment.”

Bodhi slowly nods. “He’s a little miffed about things still, but he’ll get over it. You’re a grown adult. He knows it, he just needs to be pissed for a while.”

I’m choosing to believe that my mother is right. He’ll be fine with Alex one day. “I wish he would see it that way sooner.” Wait a second. “If he didn’t send you, what is this about?”

He gestures toward the truck I didn’t notice until now. “Come on. You’ve told me about the Birdseye Diner. I’m sure they have chicken tenders.”

I don’t know why an uneasy feeling settles into my stomach. “Are you dying?”

Bodhi snorts as we walk to his truck. “If I were dying, chicken tenders wouldn’t be my last meal.”

He takes my bag from my shoulder and opens the passenger side door. “Thanks. What would be your last meal be then? Steak?”

His lips twist. “I’ve never really thought about it. If they had to give me anything I wanted, probably something expensive. With gold truffle shavings on top for shits and giggles.”

From inside the truck, I hear a young voice call out, “You’re not supposed to say ‘shit’.”

I blink, turning from the massive mountain of man beside me to the small voice in the cab. “Uh, Bodhi? There’s a kid in your truck.”

He clears his throat. “That’s Gemma.”

Gemma. His daughter. “I kind of figured, since I doubted you kidnapped one on the side of the road.”

He makes a thoughtful noise. “Climb in.”

Is he really not going to tell me what’s happening right now? “Bodhi—”

He sighs, tugging me away from the truck and dropping his voice. “Because of my game schedule, I had to switch up taking her from her grandparents. And I needed… I needed you to see this side of me.”

What side? The fatherly side? “Why?”

“Can you get in? Please?” His voice softens, but the plea sounds desperate.

It’s the only reason I get in. Bodhi mouths “thank you” as he sets my backpack by my feet and closes the door.

As he rounds the front of the truck, Gemma speaks up from the seat she’s strapped to in the back. “Daddy said you go to school here. I think I want to go to school here too.”

How old is she again? “You’ve got lots of time to decide. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go until I was seventeen.”

“Whoa,” she breathes in awe. “That’s old.”

Bodhi climbs in as she says that. “Careful, kid. I’m twice that age.”

I’m sure her eyes are huge when she says, “That’s really old.”

Okay, that has me grinning. “Yeah, Bodhi. You should be in a museum.”

He eyes me. “Hardy har har.”

I buckle in. “So…” I rub my palms down my leg. What do I say to a kid? I’m not well versed since Bentley barely even says “dada” or “mama” yet. “How old are you, Gemma?”

“Four.”

“She’s almost five,” Bodhi tells me. “Right, kiddo? When is your birthday?”

Gemma doesn’t answer right away. “It’s Christmas, but Grandma and Grandpa don’t like celebrating it the same day. So we have cake and presents on the 26th.”

That has to be rough. “My brother was supposed to be born on Christmas. But he held on until January. Our mom said he was born stubborn since he was over three weeks late.”

Bodhi makes a gruff noise. “That had to be hard for her.”

Clearly not hard enough because she still had me after. “It explains his personality,” I muse. “I was born right on time. An angel.”

The man beside me chuckles.

Then Gemma says, “My mommy is an angel.”

That cuts the amusement off Bodhi’s face. When I give him a sympathetic look, I can see his jaw working back and forth. “Yeah, she is,” he confirms, his grip on the wheel tightening. “She’s looking down on you, right?”

“Right. Grandma said she’s always keeping an eye on me to make sure I’m good. Like Santa.”

Her innocence is both sad and refreshing at the same time. What would I be like if I lost a parent? The thought makes my stomach hurt. My mom and I are close; it’d kill me if she weren’t around. And my dad… Well, even if we aren’t close, I don’t want to see anything bad happen to him.

To prove her innocence, she changes the subject entirely. “I wonder what Santa will get me for Christmas this year because I’ve been super good. I hope it’s a unicorn.”