“You don’t have to explain to me. It’s none of my business.” The way she says this, not like another girl would in some bitchy, snide tone, but in a simplistic way while staring at her feet, makes me want to explain more.

  “I’m sorry—“ It’s all I get out before she cuts me off.

  “Miles, you really don’t have to apologize. I’m going to go home. Been a long day.” Chloe sighs, turning away and walking slowly down the sidewalk before I can grab onto her arm.

  “You didn’t let me finish.” I bound in front of her to cut her off. “I’m sorry about that, in there. But I’m also sorry about the horrible things I said to you. At the fair, this summer. I was in a bad place. Still am. I shouldn't have dumped that on you."

  Chloe is silent, and I can't quiet make out the emotions playing out on her face in the shadows.

  "Thank you." She finally speaks, and my conscience doesn't feel any better.

  "That's it? That's all you have to say?" I can feel my blood begin to boil. Of course I chase this spoiled brat halfway down Greek Row to apologize, and she does nothing but act like a total bitch. Typical.

  "I'm not sure what else to say, Miles. You made it very clear years ago you weren't interested in me, and what you do now is really none of my business. My feelings are my feelings, and those are things I have to deal with."

  "And what are those feelings, Chloe? Do they start somewhere between your legs? Do those feelings compel you to take a ride on my dick? You're just like all the other shallow, airhead girls at this school." I scoff at her, unable to plug the word vomit spewing out of my mouth. It's times like now, when someone is speaking to me rationally, like I'm a child, that I need to lash out at them. I feel like my flesh is too constricting for all of the emotion and rage bottled up inside me.

  Chloe looks like I've slapped her, her bottom lip trembles as she bites it to keep from sobbing. She turns again, and this time when she walks up the sidewalk to the front lawn of the Zeta house, I don't immediately go after her.

  But then my temper gets the best of me.

  I reach her as she slides her key into the door of the enormous red brick mansion. "Why do you want me, huh? What is you want with me, Chloe?"

  I'm yelling at the back of her head, throwing this tantrum like a two-year-old has invaded my body. I can't seem to stop. She turns the lock, pushing inside, and tries to slam the door shut in my face.

  "Not so fast, princess." I push inside and Chloe backs up, her face bruised with shock and fear. I'm scaring her, I know this, but I just can't get a hold on my fury. "You want my money? What is it? My dick. You need me to fuck you real good? Heard about me on campus from your sisters."

  Her cinnamon-colored cheeks go scarlet, my dirty talk embarrassing her. It makes me hard, my dick bulging into the tight crevices of the tuxedo pants. I'm pissed...no I'm fucking livid that this is the second time I've ended up with this girl at the end of the night. Livid that it seems only she makes my cock hungry these days.

  I don't want to want her. But I can't help closing the microscopic space between us and grabbing her face in my hands before devouring her ample lips.

  She tastes like strawberries and vanilla, and I realize that I always knew she'd taste sweet like this. Her lips are so full that I sink my teeth into the padded skin, and elicit a strangled moan from Chloe. I'm moving her head roughly back and forth, placing it where I want it before diving back in for another brutal exploration with my tongue. I reach down, grabbing her tight, pert ass, massaging the firm globes a little too abrasively.

  Chloe is mewling into my mouth, just barely hanging on as I attack her. My cock is screaming to be inside her, sheathed in her wet, tight heat.

  "If you don't take me to your room in three seconds, I'm going to fuck you, right here, on the staircase."

  She turns, scurrying up the stairs with me right on her tail. I'm stalking her, like a lion does its pray, removing my clothes as we go. I tear at the cuff links, which make a tinny metal sound as they hit the hallway floor, before I tear the entire shirt off, buttons flying this way and that. I start at the belt but see Chloe turn and disappear into a doorway.

  I follow, marching into her room. I don't even care to look around. Whipping off my belt, I unbutton and unzip my pants, my cock pulsing with relief at the tiny exposure I give it.

  Chloe stands in the center of the room, looking disoriented, before I grab her and hoist her up onto her desk, knocking textbooks and takeout menus off in the process.

  Her thighs fall open, and I feel a primal instinct to annihilate her. I want her to scream. I want to empty all of the anger I feel into her body.

  I rip the straps of the halter clasped behind her neck, and the material hangs at her waist, exposing her small, full breasts. Her nipples, the color of rich red wine, slant up into the air, impossibly stiff. The head of my tool twitches, so sensitive to the cool air in her room that it has a jolt of arousal slamming into my spine.

  I get right up on her, positioning myself between her legs, and rip the slit running up her dress even wider. A black lace thong peaks out at me, and I promptly rip that off of her too. I'm rewarded with a breathy gasp.

  But before Chloe can swallow that moan, I reach in, taking my cock in my fist, and begin to slide deep into her slick, wet box.

  "Fuckkk..." The curse comes out as a plea on my lips, and I drive even deeper into her.

  Chloe is protesting my invasion, her hands holding my hips, pushing them back to slow me down. My temper flares.

  "I'm in control!" I spit at her, grabbing her wrists and pinning them behind her back with one hand. The move pushes her tits farther up into my face. She looks absolutely breathtaking.

  And all I want to do is unravel her. Destroy her.

  I pummel my cock into her, over and over again. I hear myself snarling at her. I've given into the rabid, violent animal inside me.

  But Chloe's not just taking it. She's reveling in my dominance over her.

  Her head is thrown back, long black curls a stormy mist haloing her face. Her slim, lithe body is wrapped around mine, her feet digging into my ass to keep driving me back into herself. She's making unintelligible noises and biting at her own lips, something that drives me to the brink of crazy.

  I reach up with my free hand, keeping my relentless, pounding pace in her pussy, and palm her small, but amazing tits. They're so round and perky, they look fake. Even though, just by touching them, I know they aren't. I've touched my fair share of fake tits. I tweak her nipple and she gives a sharp cry.

  "That's what you like, huh? This is what you wanted? My cock?" I bark at her, and I'm so close that it feels like my dick will snap in half from all of the pressure its experiencing. "You better come, right now, princess. Don't say I never gave you anything."

  With that, I reach down, rubbing hard across her swollen, pulsing clit. Chloe's crying, there might even be tears, but I don't care. All I care about is the orgasm I can feel building at the base of my neck, the shockwaves hurtling down my spine to grip me by the balls.

  "MILES!" She screams my name, and when her pussy grips me hard with the first wave of her orgasm, I see white. I slam inside of her, to the hilt -once, twice- and then I'm coming, sticky pleasure coating her walls. I wrap my arms around her buttery skin and revel in this feeling. Complete bliss.

  When I come to from nearly blacking-out, I'm still lodged deep inside of Chloe. Except she's staring at me, her violet orbs glassy with unshed tears, and she's biting her full bottom lip.

  What is her problem? I pull out, and realize why she's on the edge of a breakdown.

  I came inside her. Without a condom.

  What. The. Fuck.

  I've never done that. No matter how drunk, stoned or stupid I've been, I've never not remembered protection. Yet, I just hate-fucked the girl I can't stand totally bare. Raw dogged her without a second thought.

  I hastily pull my pants up where they sag at my knees, and grab my ruined white button down, slipping it on like a vest over my chest. I don't know what to say to Chloe, who is still sitting on the desk, completely mussed up from my handy work, trying not to cry.

  So I don't say anything. I turn around and flee the Zeta house without a backward glance.

  10

  Chloe

  The doo-doo-doo jingle of an incoming Skype call distracts me from my History of Theater homework. Which I hadn't been concentrating on anyway, seeing as how it felt like my stomach contents could land on my carpet at any minute.

  Grabbing my pink-covered laptop from the end of my blush comforter, I hit accept. Kels's tan, freckled face fills the screen, the open slit of a tent her backdrop.

  "Hi!" I squeal. I haven't talked to her in a week with how spotty the wireless is out there. "Where are you now?"

  "Jesus, I forgot how pink that room is. I need to adjust my eyes." She fakes shielding her hazel orbs and sticks her tongue out. Kels, ever the grunge hippie, loves to tease me about how girly I am. "I'm in Tanzania, we're doing a retreat in the Serengeti National Park. It's so beautiful, Chlo. That word doesn't even begin to describe."

  Her eyes go all dreamy, as they always do when she's talking wildlife. I know how she feels. It’s the same way I feel about ballet.

  "That sounds amazing. Take pictures of the elephants for me." I press my hand to my stomach as another sharp jab assaults my uterus.

  I must have grimaced, because Kels is immediately on me. "What's wrong?" Her voice is tinged with concern.

  I'm glad she had time to talk today. I could talk to Minka about this, but I don't need to hear the "that was so irresponsible" speech right now.

  "So...I had to take Plan B for the first time..." I knew Kels would get it. I know she'd taken it before. Mainly because I had driven her to the drug store to get it.

  "Oh, Chloe. Did you have to go by yourself?" This is why I needed her home. She read my mind and felt my emotions like no one else could. For two people who were so different, we could have been twins.

  "I did. I went yesterday morning, right when they opened. It was tough, but I'm glad I went." I'd been a wreck the last two days. Right after Miles ran out, without so much as a goodbye, I broke down into a snotty pile of tears. I'd allowed myself two hours, until the dead of the morning, to lose it. Then, I'd picked myself up, gotten a few hours sleep, and went to get the pill from the pharmacy at 8 a.m. the next morning. I may have been dumb Tuesday night, but it didn't mean I was going to be dumb in the aftermath.

  "Well, who was it? And tell me that little fucker didn't promise you he'd pull out? Guys who fake that are such assholes." Kels always knew how to make me laugh. I giggle at her crude question. Gosh, I missed her humor.

  "It was...um...Miles." I wait for the shriek, which I get about half a second later.

  "WHAT! You slept with Miles Farriston? Is this a dream? Mink had told me you two had been spending time together with this competition but holy shit. How was it? I heard he's great."

  I frown at her last statement. I didn't need anymore reminders of just how many people Miles had been with. Not that he hadn't bragged about it himself when he was stroking into me. I didn't protest about it then, though. I could barely breathe, let alone think when he was winding me up like a top.

  "It was...fantastic. Mind-blowing. The best sex I've ever had. And also the worst. He was horrible to me." I feel the searing heat as blotches of humiliation bloom on my face. Remembering the way he'd spoken to me, how he'd pushed into me almost violently. The sex had been completely consensual, I was practically salivating for him. But after, when he'd run like his hair was on fire, was when I'd realized he'd only fucked me. Hard. Almost as a punishment. Or revenge.

  "What? What are you saying...did he, hurt you?" Kels looks pissed, but also worried.

  "No, no! Nothing like that. I wanted it, very much. Its just...I get this feeling he was hate-fucking me or something."

  "Oh...that's hot. Tell me more." Her tone immediately turns from worried to naughty. Typical Kels.

  "Kels it's not hot. It's pathetic. I've had a crush on this guy since he saved me on the playground at Mitchum Elementary, which by the way, he probably doesn't even remember, and I let him use me for sex because I figure it's the only way he'll ever truly see me? And without a condom nonetheless. I'm almost as gross as him. I was so stupid."

  "Chlo, ugh, you sound like Minka. Life is not a romance novel. The white knight does not come to sweep you off your feet, sex is just for pleasure, not connection, and it doesn't end in a happily ever after. Once you remember that, life, and hooking up, gets so much better." She shakes her head in dismay. Miss Sexpert is mad at my overenthusiastic picture of love.

  It was the one area where we differed. Kels didn't believe in monogamy or relationships. I saw my parents, who'd been married for twenty years, more in love with each other on a daily basis. It was only natural I wanted to find someone who made my life complete. The kind of love my parents had.

  "So, are you gonna do it again?" Kels leans in close, waiting impatiently for my answer.

  "Um, no. He hasn't even texted or called to see if I'm okay, much less ask me to hang out." Did I even want to do it again? No, and yes. It had been the best sex of my life. Not that I'd been with too many guys, only four. But I just knew that no one would ever be able to come close to Miles.

  He hadn't been there for me though. He'd fucked me in spite of me. Whether it was actually about me, all that anger, or about something entirely different, he'd taken it out on me. And as forgiving as I was, I was not about to be someone's punching bag. No matter how long I'd crushed on him.

  "Oh shit, I gotta go. There are giraffes migrating towards our camp. I love you! Say hi to Mink and Clint for me!" And with that, the call went black with her exit.

  I sigh, the sound reverberating in my tiny single. I was lucky enough to even get one of these. But I was usually gone so late and up so early with studio time that no one had wanted to room with me.

  I pick up my phone, willing there to be a text from Miles. No such luck. He hasn't even tried to get in contact after our night together. Jerk. He was entirely aware of the fact that he hadn't used a condom, and didn't even try to rectify the situation. I'd gone by myself, picking up the morning-after pill while the judgmental pharmacist rang me up.

  Miles Farriston. I still kind of couldn't believe I'd even slept with him.

  I'd been seven-years-old, he nine, the first time I'd laid eyes on him. Bruce Nichols had been bullying me during recess about my height, I was awfully tall for a first grader. I was crying, sitting on the swing while Bruce called me a praying mantis. All of sudden, Bruce was on the ground, holding his arm and whimpering.

  "Leave her alone. Pick on someone your own age, Nichols." A tough voice had said. I squinted up into the sunny spring sky, and Miles stepped into view, blocking out the rays. "Are you okay?"

  All I could do was nod. His blonde curls, so much lighter than, sprung out from his head, his small smile showcasing a row of uneven baby teeth. He had on a Superman shirt and jeans. I fell hard right then and there, for my own personal superhero.

  Ever since, I'd been trying to get him to see me, like he saw me that day. It had never happened, despite my many attempts and passes in high school. Until now. And now, he didn't see me in any way that was good. In any way that could lead anywhere except for me getting hurt.

  So, in my usual fashion, I would forgive. But this time, I wouldn't forget. I wasn't pursuing him anymore. I'd get through these next five weeks and then we'd be free to move on completely from each other.

  My phone vibrates, and I snatch it up quickly. Okay, so the whole not waiting for Miles thing is going to take some work.

  Checking the screen, I realize it's just an email from Madame Vivienne. She's a former French ballerina who trained at the French Academie of Ballet. While she's tough, she's taken an interest in me, which could catapult me to success faster than I can imagine. I just have to put up with her very strict way of teaching.

  Ms. Trabucco,

  We've missed you in class the last two days. I hope you're feeling better. I know I don't need to remind you what two days off will do to a ballerina striving to make a company. Please see me in my office tomorrow after class, that is, if you're feeling better.

  —Madame Vivienne

  Oh, just perfect. Not only am I bleeding heavily from my stupid sex decisions, but now Madame V has decided to take a stab at me too. Her quiet, guilting jabs hurt more than a knife in the gut.

  No, I'm definitely not going anywhere near Miles Farriston again. He left me, alone and scared, to deal with our mistake. But he also cost me two days of studio time, training time. Time that I'm in dire need of to make my dream come true.

  No, I wasn't wasting anymore time on him and a seven-year-old's fantasy.

  11

  Miles

  When I envision a baseball, I see the seams ripped open, the cottony guts of the thing flying through the air. That's what I want to do that three-inch-round sphere each time its thrown in my direction. That's why, as it comes at me from behind the automated pitch machine on the mound, I use all of the power and strength in my body to swing my bat. With a crack, I make contact, propelling the cowhide-covered circle up into the second deck of seats. That deafening pop, the one that rings in your ears when you know you've hit a homer...it's almost better than an orgasm for me.

  "You wouldn't be hitting like that if I was on that mound." Owen's jeer snaps me out of my zone. I'd been swinging for the last 20 minutes, home run after home run after home run. Too bad this was an empty stadium and not an actual game.

  "Dude, are we going or not?" Parker Avery clambers up the dugout steps, with Clint close behind. Parker, that surly son-of-a-bitch. I used to tease about being such an angry prick all the time. That was, until I joined the club.

  "Where are we going? I say, dropping my bat and wiping my face with the towel I'd shoved in the back pocket of my practice pants.