Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 48601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
I frown. Why did I call?
I shake Ramona out of my head, trying to clear my thoughts.
“Look, when you and Ms. Hay—” I catch myself. “When you and Emily… You know, when you first got together.”
“Yeah.”
“How’d you know?”
“Know what, that I was into her?”
“That, I guess, but more how’d you know it’d be worth it?”
Ethan snorts. “What would be worth what?”
“If she’d be worth the shit-storm dating your high school art teacher would bring.”
He chuckles. “You’re aware of who you’re talking to, right? Hey, it’s me, Ethan, your brother who did time at a juvenile detention center for breaking into cars and houses. Do I really come across like someone who plans things through?”
I grin broadly. “Fair call.”
“Thanks.”
There’s a long pause before I clear my throat.
“Alright man, I’ll let you go get ready for—”
“You want to know if Ramona is worth it.”
“I never said—”
“Yeah, I know, but that’s what you’re asking.”
I sigh, and he continues.
“Listen, J. The thing is, you don’t think, you just know. When you think about Ramona—”
“I’m not thinking about Ramona.”
He sighs heavily. “Fine. When you’re thinking about this mystery person you’re not supposed to think about, what do you feel?”
I close my eyes, but I don’t even have to think very hard to know how I feel when it comes to Ramona Weiss.
“I feel alive is what I feel,” I say quietly.
“She the first thing you think of when you wake up?”
Yes, I say to myself.
“The last face you see when you close your eyes at night?”
I grin. “Well shit, check out Mr. Poet.”
“Fuck off. You know when you know, J, and I’m guessing you already know. I’m actually guessing you’ve known for a long, long time. So, listen, chew on that. I’ve gotta run.”
I nod. “Yeah, for sure.”
“Talk to you soon, bro.”
“Hey, Ethan,” I smile. “Thanks.”
“Hey, J?”
“Yeah?”
“Shit or get off the pot, man. Now quit fucking around trying to come up with excuses for why you can’t be with Ramona and just take the damn leap.”
“I never said—”
Ethan laughs. “Later, denial.”
The phone goes dead, and I glare at it as I pull it away from my ear before I toss it on the bed.
My brother, the dick-head prophet.
I head to the bathroom to get ready for the day. At the toilet, I pull my sweats down, take my cock in my hand, and let go as I look up at the ceiling and… fuck!
I yell, jumping back as the piss splashes all over my fucking legs and the floor. Swearing, I hiss, stopping the flow as I glance down, my brow furrowing.
Oh well fucking played, Moaner.
It’s fucking cling wrap—clear plastic cling wrap stretched tight across the top of the toilet. It’s juvenile as fuck, but damn that was a good one, I have to admit.
“Well played, Ramona,” I mumble to myself as I tear the cling wrap off and toss it in the trash. I finish pissing before I kick my sweats off and toss them in the laundry hamper and jump in the shower.
I’m still grinning as I soap off, shaking my head as I think of the balls it probably took her to creep into my room at night and pull that off. It’s a good one, and that’s definitely a check for her scoreboard. But now?
Now it’s payback time.
After my shower, I head over to Ramona’s room. For a second, I wonder if she’s still out for her usual morning run, but I frown when I hear the sound of her own shower going through the door. My mind wanders, thinking of her in that shower—that tight cheerleader body, wet and soapy and glistening as she runs her hands over her skin…
I groan, my cock thickening, and before I know what my plan even is, I’m turning the knob to her bedroom door and pushing it gently open. I glance in, seeing that her bathroom door is closed. My eyes slide over the room, and when they suddenly land on the open drawers of her dresser, I grin.
Because suddenly, I know exactly how to get her back.
7
Ramona
What the fuck.
I blink, my mouth opening wide as I stare at the empty drawer. The drawer that is usually quite full, of my underwear. I stare at the empty space, at the wood of the bottom of the drawer, and slowly, my lips purse.
Jamison.
Jamison who’s apparently come into my room while I was showering and taken all of my damn underwear. Every single one. Every bra, every regular panty, every boy short, every thong—even my freaking tattered boring period underwear. I tighten my jaw, holding the towel tight around myself.
That. Fucking. Prick.
I shake my head, turning to glance at the clock. Fuck, I need to get going for school soon. You know, that place I go every day with a fairly strict dress code. A dress code that, needless to say, includes wearing panties under my freaking uniform skirt.