Just Ask Ch. 02

Read more about a romantic burnout and his hunky jock crush...

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I wake up in my bed, tangled in the covers. My tongue is fat from the cottonmouth, so I lean over to my dresser and grab my mug. I always keep water in it because I wake up thirsty. The water tastes like it's from Jesus himself, and I gulp it down greedily. I kick my way out of the covers. I sit up, my head in my hands. My room faces east, so the sun is never shy about saying hello in the mornings.

I look around my room. It's a disaster. You can always tell if my life is going to hell if my room looks like it just survived a storm. I look at the clock, see that it's eleven-oh-six, and I sigh. The brunch meal at the caf starts at eleven, and they close at one, so I better get moving if I want to enjoy all of my mealtime. My feet touch the floor, just testing it at first, then they bear my weight and I stumble over to the mirror.

I really am a hot mess. I'm in last night's outfit, last night's sex hair, last night's eyeliner... I could use a shower. All of this is permissible until I spot my neck. Fuck me. That old fuck from last night left choke marks on my neck. I squint at the marks. They are bad, worse than I can cover up.

"Guess I'll wear a scarf." I say. I shrug my shoulders and clean myself up some. I throw on some sweats I found on the floor, a shirt that looks clean enough, and I hide my hair under a beanie. After I reapply my eyeliner and grab my things I am ready to leave. I slip into some flip flops and exit my dorm.

The mountains are looking great today- you can really see the blue on the peaks. The fall colors are blazing on the trees, so the whole side of the mountain looks like a painting. It's a sunny day, the wind is chill for the area, and it's not as cold as it could be. So what, I have choke marks on my neck. So what, there are probably scratch marks on my back. I should probably check my wrists, I don't remember if I was restrained last night...

I walk up the hill from my dorm, towards the caf. It's a bit of a hike, since the school is almost a mile up in the mountains. Pieces of last night flash back to me. The club. Getting ready. The man who took me home. Looking at the stars. And also...

Jackson. Holy fuck. I've been jacking off to Jackson since who knows when, and I'm eighty percent sure we had a moment. Like a moment moment. There were sparks, I'm sure of it. I grumble to myself, hating myself for jumping straight to "sparks". The guy gave me a ride to my dorm, that's nothing special. I would have done the same.

But Jackson is about the most beautiful man I have ever seen. And he was giving me all the right signals, they were just... subtle.

I crest the top of the hill. I can see the caf at the base of the other side. I wish I had smoked a bowl before I went to the caf. All those people stress me out. If I smoke a bowl, I can enjoy being around people. Otherwise, I get anxious. I sigh, and put my hands in my pockets, wishing for some bud. My right hand detects something unfamiliar in my pocket, so I grope about and finally seize it. I look down at the object in my hand. It's a pill. A little nude-colored pill. I've just found a Vyvanse in my pocket.

Naturally, I pop it and walk into the caf. It'll kick in in about thirty minutes. I walk down the stairs and open the door to the caf itself, and swipe my card at the cashier register. No one's at the station, which isn't supposed to happen, but who really cares? It's not like the students are lined up at the door to eat the shitty food here.

I immediately spot a group of people I wouldn't mind sitting with. They're all seated at the other side of the caf, near the big windows. Before I begin the journey to get over there, I decide it'd be smarter to pick up food first. I browse the hot section, knowing that the food will be mostly things I am allergic to. Surprise, it's biscuits and gravy. Moving on. I find the scrambled eggs and load my plate. I turn away from the bar, and I nearly knock into a massive set of pecs.

I freeze all my muscles, barely saving my eggs and the stranger's jiggling pecs. Is he laughing at me? I look up to his face, slightly annoyed at having to raise my head to see someone. Then my heart stops. It's Jackson. Jackson, with his perfect face and sexy just-woke-up stubble. He's in his pyjamas too- though his shorts and tee fit him way tighter than my baggy ensemble. He seems to be tickled by the situation.

"Your reaction time is impeccable." He says. Wow, does he purr when he talks?

"Yeah, well, you scared me." I retort.

"Do you always take compliments so well?" he asks, raising one perfect eyebrow. Okay, he wants to play? I'll play.

"Do you always give such bland compliments?" I brush past him and reach for the tater tots, as if they had been my destination all along. He follows, and takes the other serving tongs.

"Was that a challenge?" he throws a sidelong glance at me, one corner of his mouth raising in a smirk.

I put my tongs down but keep the plate in my hand, like I have somewhere to be. I turn and face him, looking right into his gorgeous brown eyes. They really do remind me of Hershey's. I eye him critically, as is pondering whether he was worth an answer, but really I'm just buying time. I finally decide how to respond.

"Wow me." I challenge. He meets my gaze with equal confidence.

"Fine," he says, then leans in to me. His lips are brushing my ear and we are in full view of anyone who would happen to glance up from their food. I am absolutely still, hardly daring to breathe. I've had a lot of sex, but have rarely felt so intimate and exposed. "You look sexy as hell looking like you just rolled out of bed, and your hair smells amazing," I never even thought I'd be close enough to Jackson for him to develop an opinion on the scent of my hair, yet here I am. His lips juuusssst brush my ear and it's sending shivers throughout my entire body. I am so incredibly turned on. Jackson continues his efforts, "And your eyes remind me of the ocean."

Suddenly I am turned off. "Really?" I say, taking a step back, "Remind you of the ocean?" I'm snickering now, because what he just said was so ridiculous. "Shall thou compare me to a summer's day?"

Now he's beginning to crack up, too. "I'd rather just come out and tell you how hot you are." I glare at him ruefully. His smirk is growing in size, rapidly becoming a shit-eating grin. The bastard knows he's won.

"Well, sir, I am flattered for sure. But I think I need to cool off now." I take my plate and turn to leave. If I stay any longer, I know I'm gonna say something real fucking stupid. Or awkward.

Jackson didn't let me get away so easily. He casually fell in my step, following me to the drink fountain. "Alright, you cool off. But you let me know when you want to heat things up again."

I felt my face flush. Heat things up again? Were we ever hot? I don't think so, but boy would I like to be right now. He could have me scrambled, over easy, sunny side up, and he could especially have me runny... but I won't let him win the game.

"We'd have to have a first time to have an again." I walk away with purpose now, having filled my cup with the one flavor of Gatorade my caf offers. I congratulate myself for having successfully won the mixed signals flirting game, when I hear Jackson's last retort:

"I'm down whenever, baby." Oh God. I should have worn underwear with these sweats. I am tenting.

I make like I don't hear him and sit with my friends. I'll admit, I'm a little bit hard from that interplay. Okay, I'm hard because Jackson was basically growling into my ear, and because Jackson made me squirm standing up. I would love to steam things up with Jackson. The winters here are pretty harsh, it'd be nice to have smoking-hot Jackson laying me out every night. And morning. And afternoons, in the bathroom of the student center, up against the stall walls.

I've got to get it together. I can't even focus on what my friends are saying. I'm hoping the Vyvanse will kick in soon, because I'd really like to get out of my head. One of my friends says something vaguely amusing, and the whole table laughs, so I laugh to feign investment. Really, I'm trying my best not to look in the direction of Jackson. I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to look at him. He's sitting with the rest of the football team, where he always does; but this time his seat is openly angled toward me. He hasn't looked away from my direction in minutes, and I don't want to give him the satisfaction of catching me sneaking a peak.

And then I wonder why I'm playing coy. I only play coy when I want someone to think I could be interested, if they worked hard enough. Jackson doesn't have to work hard enough- as far as my fantasies are concerned, he's a regular visitor. He's a VIP guest. He's got his own frequent flyer miles. But I don't chase straights. That's one of my few rules, and it's a rule by which I stand firm. It's never led me astray, and it keeps me from being beat up at clubs.

Maybe Jackson is looking to experiment, and he wants someone who knows what they're doing. It makes sense, I've probably got the best moves he'll find on campus. And I would gladly rock his world. That's when I realize how bad I've got it. If Jackson offered, I would hop on that dick the first chance I got and I would ride it until Jackson couldn't physically ejaculate any more. I get harder just thinking about it.

So maybe it's worth investing a little more effort in after all. I finally gather my courage enough to meet Jackson's gaze. I was right, he is looking at me. Well, staring really. He's eyeing me like he's trekking the Adobe and I'm the first canteen he's seen in days. At first we just stare, then his lips start moving. I'm think about how those lips would feel on the sharp angles of my hip bone when I notice he's trying to communicate with me.

I squint my eyes, working hard to read his lips. It looks like he's saying... blow... fumble? I'm so confused.

I openly show my confusion and mouth "What?" to him. He tries using a gesture that I don't understand. My face reads only confusion and riddle. His gestures get bigger, and his expression more animated, and his whole team is watching us, and so are his friends, and suddenly I feel a lot less sexy about this whole game.

Jackson is in the middle of some very complicated-looking interpretive dance when one of his teammates finally grows tired of it. Exasperated, he yells out to me, "He wants your phone number!" and the whole caf erupts in laughter. His teammates are bumping fists and making gaga eyes at each other. I may vomit. I roll my eyes and try not to show how badly I want to hide. Even my friends have tuned in to what's going on, though none of them understand any more than I did a few seconds ago.

Another one of his teammates pipes up. "Aren't you gonna give it to him?" Jackson's face pales.

Another raises his voice. "Yeah, he's been hoping you'll give it to him since freshman year!" Jackson looks like he's about to shit himself, and he punches his friend in the arm. His friend yelps, and the whole table laughs again, and everyone is still looking at me, and I don't quite see what's funny. Jackson gets up, detaches himself from his crew, and swaggers over to me. The whole caf is glued to Jackson crossing the entirety of the space to get to me. It takes forever, but he finally reaches me.

He leans over the table, resting his elbows and what I assume to be washboard abs on the table. His face is inches from mine. My dick does not miss this. His eyes are sparkling, and his smile comes easy, but his physical demeanor indicates anything but comfort. In fact, he seems anxious. Seeing Jackson trying to put on a show for his buds as he asks for my number, which he obviously is worried about getting, puts me at ease. I thought I was the only one who was afraid of fucking up- turns out, Jackson is just as unsure about handling me as I am him. I decide to give him this one easy.

"Would you do me the honor of giving me your number?" he says in a low voice, and all I can see are his eyes. They fill my vision, and they are so brilliant I forget about my peripherals. I didn't know he had gold specks in the chocolate oceans... okay, maybe his ocean comparison wasn't so lame after all. I see it now.

"I'd love to, but..." the caf is silent now, and Jackson is trying hard to keep control of his mask. I have an intense desire to see behind it, and to let him see behind mine.

"But what?" he says.

I laugh apologetically. "I don't have a pen."

Beside me, my friend groans. Jackson gives me a look that I imagine I elicit from lots of people, and out of nowhere a sharpie materializes in my friend's hand. I look at her, and she's absolutely nuts with innuendo, and I turn back to Jackson. I take his hand, which is searing with heat and just a bit slick, and I slide it toward me to extend his arm. I stencil the digits on his forearm, trying hard to focus on my number despite the fog in my brain and the uncomfortable tightness in my pants. Jackson's arm is so strong, and he smells like fresh Christmas, and his breath is right in my face. Thank God he brushes his teeth. Did I brush my teeth this morning? Maybe he's too focused on my hair to notice. It's so hard for me to focus. I don't normally get this way about guys, but this one is by far the hottest who has ever hit on me. I barely know what I'm doing with a guy this far out of my league.

When I am finished, I cap the pen and press my thumb into Jackson's hand. I look into his eyes one more time. Once more, I get the distinct feeling that Jackson wants to kiss me. I sure know what I'd like to be doing with Jackson, and it's got a lot more than kissing involved. I let his palm go.

He smiles at me, leans in a little closer, and whispers, "Thanks." He smirks at me, slides his torso off the table, and slinks back to his table with his buds. They catcall and hoot, and Jackson has the biggest grin. I suppose I'm grinning too. He looks at me and winks, real slow. I might shoot.

Eventually, the caf settles down and everyone goes back to their own routines. I have almost recovered to the point where I am comfortable getting ready to leave, and I say goodbye to my friends. As I'm depositing my dishes in the return, I feel a buzzing in my pocket. No way. Already?

It's from him. A text from an unknown number.

What are you doing this afternoon?

I look up, at Jackson. He's smiling at me... then he winks.

I think I know exactly what I'm doing this afternoon.