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Nothing seems wrong at four in the morning.
I know what I’m doing when I text Scott.
He knows what I’m doing, too.
That’s why he shows up twenty-three minutes later, freshly showered with a condom in his pocket and a barely dissolved breath mint on his tongue.
I smirk as he looms over me. “You are such a dirty old man.”
“We need to stop doing this.”
“Because you’re twenty and I’m not. Because I want to take you on a f***ing date and you won’t. Because we wind up yelling at each other half the time.”
“But the rest of the time you’re inside me and it feels so good, right?”
His eyes darken and I don’t need to look down to know he’s hard for me.