The Games We Play - Chapter 11: Chapter 11

I inhale deeply and roll over onto my stomach.
I crack one eye open, morning light peeking in through my closed blinds and slanting across my room. Too early. My head drops back onto the pillow, and I exhale as everything stills.
Then my memory hits me like a truck, and I instantly push myself up onto both palms.
I spin back around onto my ass, resting back on my hands, and glance at the other side of my bed, finding it completely empty, though the sheets are clearly crumpled like someone had been there.
Not just someone. Wes.
Oh, fuck. You naughty, naughty girl, Cam.
I bring my knees up to my chest and fall back against my headboard, covering my face with both hands as I let out a frustrated groan into the room. It takes me longer than necessary to realize I'm buck-naked too.
Spreading my fingers, I peek out at my room for a few seconds as I try to process all this chaos.
Then I'm groaning again and dramatically flopping onto my side.
His hands, his mouth, the way he whispered my name like it was the only thing that mattered—it all comes back to me in too much detail.
I can't even blame it on being drunk like last time.
It was all me. Horny and stupid and horny me.
I can't even blame Wes for leaving either—I snuck out on him before, so it's only fair he does the same.
I'm kind of relieved too. If I had to deal with his smug, cocky expression this early in the day, I might just have to punch it.
After giving myself a few moments of self-care to wallow in pity, I drag myself up from my bed. I step onto my rug, stumbling a little from the blood rush to my head, and glance down at myself.
I'm peppered in love bites: my tits, my hips, my inner thighs. There aren't too many, none in obvious places, but still—fuck. It looks like Wes really feasted on me last night.
I run a hand through my hair before grabbing my white-and-pink floral short robe from the back of my door and tying it around my waist. I open the door, smiling at the glorious scent of our coffee machine, and flick my hair out from beneath my robe.
"Good mor—" I freeze the second I round the corner.
Scar is leaning back against the kitchen counter, her long blonde hair tied up, wearing a dark green spandex set. Across from her, perched casually at the kitchen island, is Wes.
Wes.
Back in his sweats and nothing else.
He's leaning on his forearms atop the counter, both hands wrapped around a wobbly, lumpy mug I made in a pottery class during a free trial. It has tiny little strawberries around it and a red handle and looks so damn tiny in his quarterback hands.
They're both looking at me, and I blink as my brain decides to reboot itself in that very moment.
"Morning," Scarlett fills the silence as she lifts her mug to her mouth to hide her infuriating smirk.
I snap out of my stupor and force a smile onto my face. "Hi."
I make a beeline for the coffee machine on the back counter. I have to pass behind Wes sitting at the kitchen island, and when I do, I notice him shift on the stool and reach for me.
But I don't stop. Instead, I keep my focus solely on my little pink Smeg baby.
I open the top cupboard, perching on my toes to grab a mug, and begin to quickly create the magic potion that will get me through this incredibly awkward morning.
Why couldn't he have just left? The door is literally right there.
"So," Scarlett starts as she puts her mug on the countertop and folds her arms, "Wes was just telling me you stole the Sigma Chi mascot?"
I glance at her, then over my shoulder at Wes, then back down to the coffee machine. "Technically, it was Jude. I was on lookout duty."
"But whose idea was it?"
I pause. "No comment."
I hear both Scar and Wes chuckle behind me.
"Either way, it seems it was needed. Carter sounds like a total dick," Wes explains, and I glance at him with a frown while heading to the fridge.
"You know about Carter?"
"Jude told me." He beams proudly. "Then asked me to make him feel better."
Both Scarlett and I glance at each other with non-surprised smirks, and we shake our heads.
"Well, yes, he is," I nod as I retrieve oat milk from the fridge shelf before explaining to Scar, "Got himself a girlfriend while he was still sleeping with Jude."
"Ah," Scar nods. "So, an eventful night then."
I keep my eyes focused on my coffee mug as I begin to pour. "Yeah—sure—I guess."
"You guess?" Scar prods. "You seem like you're glowing."
I slice her a glare. "I'm not glowing."
"You kind of are," Wes chimes in, and I shake my head, choosing to finish off my coffee instead of launching the mug at him.
Scar pushes off from the counter and heads toward the sofa where her tote bag is waiting. "Well, I've got to go. Pilates."
"Is that shit actually good for you? Why not just go to the gym?" Wes asks as I turn around and rest back against the counter.
Scar and I reply instantly, "Men."
"Fair enough," Wes nods.
I smirk and lift the cup to my mouth to take a sip of the sweet, sweet elixir of life.
"It's resistance training," Scarlett nods as she throws on a navy sherpa three-quarter zip and pulls her Lululemon tote onto her shoulder. "So it's basically the same thing. You should take a few classes, Wes."
Wes scoffs, turning to face her over his shoulder. "Callin' me fat, Raleigh?"
"That uniform was looking a little tight yesterday," she smirks as she heads for the door. She glances at me. "I was going to ask if you wanted to come to the class, but it seems you already got your workout in."
My eyes widen. "Scar—"
"Bye!" She flaps her fingers at me before she's out the door, and it swings shut behind her.
I grit my teeth while staring at it, hearing Wes chuckle softly behind me.
"I swear I'm constantly apologizing for my friends around you," I exhale heavily with a small smile, stepping toward the kitchen island to place my mug down.
"Don't worry 'bout it, Cam," Wes nods his head toward the door. "I liked that one anyway."
I scoff. "I'm sure you did."
"What?" He beams a cheeky grin at me, and I roll my eyes. He lifts his coffee. "Cute mug, by the way."
I ignore him. "Are you heading out soon, or...?"
"Tryna' to get rid of me already?" Wes asks with an arched eyebrow.
I don't even hesitate. "Yes."
"Can't a fella just enjoy a cup of coffee in the mornin'?" Wes asks as I run a frustrated hand through my hair and shake my head.
"Sure you can. I just have plans today, and you do not fit into my morning routine." I round the corner of the kitchen island and head back toward my room.
As I pass behind him, Wes reaches out for me, and this time, he gets me.
He tugs me toward him by his wrist, and I'm a weak, weak woman because I follow.
Wes pulls me in close between his spread thighs. "Have me over every night, and I'll show you just how well I fit."
I gently flick at his forehead. "God, you're even more annoying in the morning."
"Mmm, talk dirty to me, baby." He grins up at me before his hands are on my waist, and he's effortlessly hoisting me up onto the kitchen counter.
Déjà-fucking-vu.
His hands are already at the tie of my robe, pulling it apart.
"Wes."
"Mmm-hmm?"
"What are you doing?"
"It's breakfast time," Wes mumbles as he pulls my robe apart to fully expose my nude body. His pupils widen like an animal's as he leans down to place a kiss on my inner thigh. "Gotta start both of our days off right."
He hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, tugs my butt toward the edge, and devours me.
Ass to clit. One fell swoop.
I'm so sensitive down there from the night before, my lips swollen, and Wes' mouth feels like a godsend. I flex one hand behind me on the cool counter while the other digs into his hair, holding him there as he feasts.
I roll my hips over, grinding myself against his face.
"Shit—Wes."
His fingers soon join in, just two, spearing and spreading my lips to give him more area to explore. I dig my heel into his broad back, my head falling back as I moan up at the ceiling. My robe slips down my shoulders, catching at my elbows, but other than that, I'm completely naked atop the kitchen counter.
His tongue spears my folds before it flattens hotly, slurping up the juices gushing out because of him. His nose knocks against my clit, and I shiver. Every reaction, every puckered nipple, flushed area of skin, dripping arousal—it's all because of him.
Wes' groan of approval, of satiation, reverberates against my sensitive skin, and my breathing shudders.
His lips wrap around my clit, and he sucks hard. I all but scream through the apartment, "Fuck! Oh my—shit—nhhhhhhhh."
He replies to my moans with audible slurps, squelches, and hums of fulfillment.
"Ugghhhhh—god." I hiss out, my breathing becoming fast and shallow. I glance down at him. "We—Wes. Shit."
And then his tongue enters me, and I'm gone—just like that.
My mouth opens as my eyes roll into the back of my head, and I feel every muscle in my neck and shoulders tense. White light explodes behind my eyes.
Is this what it feels like to die?
I think I scream out his name—it definitely sounds like that in my head—as he continues to lick me through my orgasm.
My breathing shudders as I exhale, unlatching my fingers from his hair and falling back on both palms behind me. Wes rises, his eyes still on my pussy spread open before him, before his gaze flickers up to me.
I'm all over his smirk, my juices glistening in the morning light flooding through the windows.
"Now that's how you give a proper good morning." He nods, and I can only hum, my head falling back again as I struggle to regain my breath.
He chuckles softly, and I feel him place a gentle kiss on the inside of my knee.
Good fucking morning indeed.
☆☆☆☆
The walk across campus is warm, sunny, and annoyingly perfect.
Everything about this morning is so perfect it pisses me off.
From my coffee, to my several orgasms, to my bus being on time for once—everything seems to flow seamlessly, which rarely ever happens in my life.
I have work for a few hours this morning, and even that is one of the best shifts I've ever had.
It's not a hard job, but it can get long and boring. I work the front desk at my uncle's divorce law firm. I answer calls, make appointments, and go a few rounds in the ring with that damn photocopier.
But not today. Today, it responds to my every command. I don't have to get yelled at over the phone by some insane divorcee, and even an elderly woman compliments my eyes—which is always so much better than a compliment from a guy.
Luckily, Uncle Kenny's law firm—not really my uncle but my mom's cousin—is a few streets over from campus. So, when the office closes at midday, I head over to the library to catch up on some readings.
I don't want to risk going home just yet.
After Wes brought me to ecstasy yet again in my shower this morning, he took great pleasure in washing me again. He spent a little extra time on my tits because, according to him, if you're gonna do a job do it properly. He was mesmerised by them, could barely take his eyes off them as he played and cleaned my nipples.
With my pink loofah in his hand, he gently wiped it over my skin, leaving vanilla scented soap suds in its wake. He rinsed the both of us and then spent a few good minutes drying me off.
His level of aftercare is actually crazy.
Once I'm dry and wrapped back up in my robe, Wes leaves me in the bathroom so I can go through every step of my complicated skin care routine.
When I walked back into my bedroom, Wes was face down, completely passed out on my bed, with a fluffy pink towel still wrapped around his waist—clearly spent.
It made me laugh, and I went about my morning, feeling it would be rude to wake him.
I left him there, too, writing him a note to lock the door on his way out, and went to work.
And knowing how annoying he is, I'd bet my left tit he's waiting out there until I get back.
When a large yawn overtakes me on the way to Carrigan Library, I make a quick detour to Brew & Blue. The line, of course, is long—even though it's a Saturday—so I queue up behind my fellow losers who clearly have no life.
And then I see her.
A freshman, judging by the wide-eyed way she's looking around. She's petite, pretty, and standing a few spots ahead of me. She's also wearing a Charlotte Colts jersey.
Wes's jersey.
Number ten, large and unmistakable, stretched across the back under REED in bold font.
I blink, momentarily thrown. Then I roll my eyes.
Of course. Of course, she's wearing his jersey.
It's not like he gave it to her—anyone can buy those things. But the sight of his name on her back still makes something twist in my chest.
The girl laughs, the sound ear-piercing and kind of bird-like, at something her friend says.
I force my gaze away, dropping it to my phone. Tasha had brought it to me at the office early this morning. She was hungover and in a hoodie with sunglasses, and I screamed so loud when she first walked in, thinking she was about to rob the place.
But thankfully, like the glorious woman she is, she remembered I work Saturday mornings and made an equally hungover Liam drive her around town to reunite Jude and me with our long-lost babies.
The line soon moves up, and as I reach the smiling boy behind the counter, I order a cinnamon-raisin bagel and an iced coffee.
The girl and her friend move to a table nearby, still laughing, and I catch another glimpse of the jersey as I wait for my order. The name REED feels like a neon sign, glaring at me, taunting me.
When my food is ready, I collect it and head back out to the sunshine.
My bagel is gone by the time I reach the library. The cold air conditioning is a saving grace on a day like today, and the common spaces are quiet and nearly empty.
Save for the faint hum of printers and the occasional cough or shuffle of papers, it's perfect. Fuck yes.
I take up a seat at a long table, sliding out my laptop and piling my textbooks on top of each other. My sketchbook sits beside me, its pages overflowing, the edges torn and frayed, even though I only bought it last month.
I focus on getting my readings done first, pulling out my pack of colored highlighters and preparing a Word document on my laptop for notes before diving in. Rihanna's "Yeah, I Said It" plays through my AirPods.
While arguably a bedroom jam, it's honestly great to study to.
My coffee disappears fairly quickly, and I know I should've ordered a double shot because soon enough, I'm yawning again. I stretch my arms out, leaning back into my chair as my spine clicks deliciously.
Lazily, I glance around the rest of the library—and immediately regret it.
Rome Booker is leaning against the circulation desk, his broad shoulders and easy posture impossible to miss. He's mid-conversation with another guy, but his eyes are on me from all the way across the large room.
My stomach flips, and I drop my arms, averting my gaze back to my textbook as I awkwardly click my tongue. My reading has never been so riveting before, as I focus my entire attention on it.
That is, until the chair across from me is pulled back. I keep my gaze cast downward.
"Well, well, well," Rome starts lightly. "How you doing there, Just Leaving?"
My eyes flick up to his, and I pull out one AirPod. "That's not my name."
"I know it's not, Cam." He chuckles as he adjusts himself in the seat across from me. "But how's it going, anyway?"
"Really?"
"What? I'm genuinely curious," he says, but the cocky smirk on his face betrays him. "We didn't get to talk much last time."
I pick my arms up from the table, realizing he's settling in, and drop my highlighter. "Didn't need to make the walk of shame longer than it needed to be."
He inhales through his teeth. "Shit. Was Wes really that bad?"
"Why are you asking?" I say with a grin and a tilted head. "Here I thought football guys were real close with their fellow players."
Rome smirks.
I mirror it. "No?"
"Touché, Cameroonie."
"Not my name either." I shake my head as he chuckles softly, the sound like warm butter on my skin.
I sigh. "Why are you here, Rome? Don't you have your own study spaces in that glass castle my student loans helped build?"
He glances back at the circulation desk. "Gotta sweet-talk myself out of a late fine."
"How late we talking?" I raise an eyebrow, not sure why I'm curious.
"Three years," Rome nods, and I can't help but laugh. "I think I checked it out during the first week of freshman year."
I chuckle. "Well, do you have it on you?"
"Why do you think I'm stalling?" Rome scoffs, taking another glance toward the main desk. "My charms just never seem to work on Bertha."
"Not just Bertha."
"Funny." Rome snorts at me.
"But true. Bertha is a beast." I nod, also glancing at the large elderly woman behind the desk. "Just ask her about her two Pomeranians. That usually puts her in a good mood."
"Noted." Rome nods slowly, his lips pouted as he assesses Bertha again in silence. It gives me the chance to look at him—and his handsome face.
It's not like I have Rome's jersey in my drawer for no reason.
He was my favorite player, both on and off the field.
He hit the genetic jackpot with a mixed, light-skinned father and a Hispanic mother. Deep olive skin, dark brown hair cropped on the sides and tousled on top, with deep brown eyes. A jawline sharp enough to cut glass and big, pouty pink lips.
He was also jacked as fuck, with a sleeve of tattoos up his right arm.
I blink when he turns back to me, hoping he didn't just catch me checking him out.
But by the way his lips perk up at the corners, I think I'm caught red-handed.
"So, what are you studying?" Rome asks, glancing down at my books. He picks up one of them and begins to read the cover. "Art of Meso... Meso... well, fuck, I've never heard of that country before."
"Because it doesn't exist anymore," I inform him as he drops the book back onto the table. "It's for Art History."
He nods with bright eyes. "Oh, that's right. That's what you're helping Wes out with, huh?"
"Indeed I am," I reply with a small frown. "Did Wes tell you?"
"Yep. Said you're a tough one."
"Good."
He scoffs. "Shit, props to you, girl. I swear he can't focus on anything but football."
"Still can't," I laugh before shaking my head. "But it's fine. We've only just started."
"Well, for what it's worth, he's one lucky son of a bitch to get you as a tutor." Rome runs a hand over the top of his head, and I'm thrown by the compliment for a second before I nod.
I point at him. "Make sure you remind him of that."
"Oh, I will." He scoffs. "Not many girls would be able to sleep with him and then be professional like that. It must drive him fucking crazy."
"I know. It's amazing." I beam as he chuckles at me and shakes his head.
He then stands. "Anywho, I'll leave you be. Gotta go whore myself out to Big Bertha."
I pout. "Aww, my new favorite campus couple."
Rome scoffs, flipping me his middle finger as he walks away from the table. I watch him go for a few seconds before turning my attention back to my books, and it takes me a while to realize I'm still smiling.
I slap a hand against my cheek, and it's a knee-jerk reaction—I swear.
It startles both me and the guy sitting further down the table. I glance at him to see him staring back at me like I'm a mental ward escapee—and honestly, fair.
I just give him an awkward smile before returning to my work.