“It’s not like Sunny’s going to stay in that house forever. I give her six months tops. Or maybe Miller will move in, and I’ll have to find my own place. Besides, I don’t really know anyone in Chicago.”

“That’s not true. You know Alex and Violet and her friend—the one who’s with Westinghouse—and most importantly, you know me.” My voice goes low as I stick my hand inside my pants and adjust my hard-on. “Think about all the fun we could have, Lily.”

“Oh, I’m very familiar with all the fun we could have.”

“Then you should definitely consider it. I mean, how awesome would it be if we could have bathroom sex in houses, as well as hotels and arenas.”

“We could’ve had bathroom sex at Alex’s.”

“True, but the bed was so much better. Fuck. We need to stop talking about sex in bathrooms.”

“Why? Is it stressing you out?”

“It’s making me hard.”

“You should send me a picture.”

“I’m hanging up and calling you back.” I seriously have no idea what’s wrong with me. It’s not like I can’t take care of this shit on my own. Or I could hook up with some random and get relief, but then I’d have to deal with Miller and possibly Waters getting on my case.

“What? Why?”

“I want to video call you.”

“Video call me?”

“Yeah. You cool with that?”

“Yeah. Yup. Uh-huh.”

She hangs up before I can.

Chapter 17

Hands in the Pants

LILY

I throw my phone on the bed and run to the mirror to check my reflection. I’m wearing a camisole and a pair of shorts. Sexier would be better, but there’s no time. I drop my pants and check out my panties. They’re horrible. My phone’s already ringing. I accept the call, then rush back over to my dresser and yank open the top drawer with all my underwear.

“Hey. Gimme a second.” I’m not sure what exactly Randy has in mind, but if we’re going to have video-phone, mutual-masturbation sex, I need to be wearing nicer panties. I also make sure my door is locked and find my headphones.

“Why am I looking at a ceiling?” Randy asks.

“Just hold on.”

“Oh, I’m already holding on.”

A rush of warmth floods my body, settling low in my stomach. All Randy has to do is speak, and I feel it right in my magic marble. He’s a human aphrodisiac. I root through my undies until I find the pair he bought me. I check my girl parts. I took care of business yesterday, so everything’s a thumbs up there. So are my legs. After Randy-bathroom incident number four, I’ve been way more regular about shaving them.

I smooth out my hair, turn on the lamp on my nightstand, and turn off the light over my bed to help set the mood. Then I get an idea.

I was Jason for Halloween this year. It’s an easy, inexpensive costume: a mask and a blue jumpsuit. It’s also not slutty, which is one of the things that bugs me about that particular holiday. It’s like a license to dress like a hobag and then get all militant about guys who do the ass-dickrub in bars. I don’t go out on Halloween if I can avoid it, especially not in a university town like Guelph.

I rummage around inside my closet for the mask.

“What’s going on over in Canada?” Randy asks from his spot on my bed. If only he was here. And my mother wasn’t in the living room watching some stupid TV show with Tim-Tom. He seems to have become a new permanent fixture.

“I’m just getting ready for you!” I call back.

“I seriously hope that means you’re going to be naked.”

I slip the mask over my face, take a deep breath and pick up my phone.

“Hey.” I can see my own image in the small video box on the right side of the screen. All Randy can currently see is my horror-movie-inspired face.

“Fucking shit, Lily. Are you kidding me with this?” He sounds distressed.

I smash the phone against my chest to muffle his voice and burst into a fit of giggles.

“Seriously, Lily. That is not a sexy look.”

“What about this?” I hold the phone out farther so he can see the rest of my outfit. I lost the shorts when I changed undies.

Randy groans. The sound makes my nipples hard and all my sensitive places tingle. “You need to take that mask off. It’s seriously freaking me out.”

I toss it on the floor, then drop down on the mattress, holding the phone back up to my face. “Better?”

He’s lying on his bed, shirtless, his tattooed arm tucked behind his head. God, he’s built. There’s so much arm and chest and sexy going on, it’s hard not to sigh. His hair isn’t pulled back and it’s shorter, reaching his cheekbones instead of his chin. He’s trimmed the beard. I remember how that felt between my thighs the first time he ever went down on me. He’s gorgeous.

“You need to show me that whole outfit you’ve got going without the mask,” he says in that gravelly voice that makes my girl parts light up like a Christmas tree.

I scan my body with the phone, then bring it back up to my face. “That’s all you’re getting.”

“If you lived in Chicago, I’d be at your place in a hot minute.”

“Would you now?”

“Definitely. So you should give serious consideration to moving here.” He lifts his head and runs his hand down his chest, following the action with his phone. He’s wearing one of the pairs of defaced underwear. He has a serious hard-on. I can see the ridge of the head through the blue cotton. “Just imagine, Lily, all this could be yours, as often as you want it.”