Home > Show Me (Extracurricular Activities #3)

Show Me (Extracurricular Activities #3)
Author: Neve Wilder

Prologue: Jesse



I wasn’t going to make it. I tried, I really did. I loved nineteenth-century literature and all, but there was a specially ordered precision-molded hunk of lifelike silicone singing a filthy siren song in my backpack, and the semi in my pants was quickly winning out over examining symbolism in Sense and Sensibility.

I wiggled impatiently at my desk as time moved like my grandma down a shuffleboard lane. When Prof. Carter turned back to the whiteboard, I bolted from my seat, ducked out of the lecture hall, and raced toward the dorms, my backpack hammering against the small of my back with the additional weight of the new toy I’d all but torn from its Amazon box at the student post office an hour ago.

I’d grown up in a three-bedroom, two-bathroom house with seven brothers and sisters and two extremely tired and overworked parents. I didn’t know what the fuck privacy was until I got to college. I’d heard jokes in high school about guys and socks that took me way too long to get because I didn’t have the luxury of a crusty sock tossed under a bed. I slept on the bottom bunk in a room I’d shared with three younger brothers, a hamster, and approximately nine billion unmatched socks that had only ever gone on feet.

Since the day I’d figured out how my dick worked, I’d had 2.5 minutes in a lukewarm shower to jerk off before the water turned cold or Armageddon broke out in the hallway. I could knock one out in forty-five seconds if I had to, but it wasn’t pretty. I had to blow the smoke off my palm afterward, gunslinger-style.

I’d had blue balls since puberty, basically.

So a college dorm room, even with a roommate, felt like living in the lap of luxury. I swear I spent the first three weeks busting nuts in the room whenever my roommate Nate left for class just because I totally could. I wouldn’t even be horny, but I’d learned to live by hobo code of never wasting an opportunity.

But I had something even better now. My very own personal teenage dream. And all the things I’d missed out on in high school? Well, I’d more than made up for lost time. I’d known college would be better than high school, even if the only improvement was privacy, but I never imagined that not even a full year in I’d be so…content. Not bad for a kid whose moments of triumph had previously included fixing six peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in under five minutes and cutting them into perfectly equilateral triangles.

I sighed happily as I caught the door on the backswing and hoofed it up the stairs of Hamlin Hall. I waved to Chet, my boyfriend’s roommate, as he strode toward me from the opposite end of the hallway. I grinned shamelessly as he approached. “Yeah, I’m gonna need you to disappear for a while.”

“I know. I just got the text. I was going—”

“What text?” I frowned.

“From Reid, saying to steer clear.”

“Reid sent you a text saying to steer clear?”

Chet’s brows drew together. “I feel like we’re having communication error, and yet I literally can’t think of how to express myself any clearer. Reid messaged me and—”

Thunk. We both swiveled toward the door at the same time. A groan followed, then came another quiet sound that was definitely not someone in pain.

“Well, shit,” Chet swore softly, and the sudden sympathy in his gaze made a muscle in my jaw flutter until I clenched it.

I lifted my chin resolutely. “Open the door.”

“Mm, nope. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I narrowed my eyes at Chet, ignored my churning stomach and focused solely on the facts. “Did you know?”

He gave me an incredulous look. “What? No. I don’t know jack. I only see him with you.”

“When’s the last time you got another text like that one he just sent?”

Chet winced as he looked down at his messages. “Two days ago at 3:00. Monday at 1:00. Um…last Thursday at 4:00.” Reluctance was thick in his voice. “Should I keep going?”

I shook my head. My skin vibrated with electricity. I’d probably zap anything I touched. “Open the fucking door, or I’ll kick it in.” I wouldn’t, because I had weak ankles, but I’d cross that bridge when I got to it. I had other options. My shoulders were plenty strong.

“I think—” Chet began, and I reached for the keys in his hand.

He put his palms up in a sign of surrender before fitting the key in the door, turning it, and stepping back. He gestured with a pained flourish.

I pushed the door open wordlessly.

Taylor Swift’s voice poured out of a Bluetooth speaker, disconcertingly peppy. Reid’s back was to me, bare ass pistoning as he swiveled his hips in time to the beat. Or attempted to. Until five seconds ago, I’d found his lack of rhythm endearing. I caught a flash of wavy blond hair and the pink gleam of manicured nails as the girl on her knees in front of him smacked his ass abruptly.

“Fuck yeah,” he growled enthusiastically.

“Reid!” She and I both shouted over the music in awkward unison.

I glared at her for the unwanted solidarity.

Reid looked over his shoulder at me, the glazed cast to his eyes sobering. “Shit,” he muttered. “But you have class right now!” As if I was the one who’d fucked up.

For a second it worked, and I was thrown into confusion that cleared when the girl looked between us, her eyes narrowing. “Is this your—”

“My tutor!” Reid covered his junk and shot me a pointed look as Chet groaned behind me.

I mustered my sweetest, most patient smile, honed over too many years of siblings’ birthday parties, the countless number of times I’d been sneezed or vomited upon, the numerous repetitive birthday and Christmas gifts from extended family who couldn’t keep me and my siblings straight, and the single time I’d lied for my brother Jack when he’d come home hammered after junior prom.

I nodded as the girl looked at me for confirmation. “We’ve been working together for a few months. I’m so sorry about his rhythm. We’re still workshopping that, but it looks like he gets a gold star for sneaking in extra practice. Mind your eyes. His aim’s not exactly on point either, which is kind of funny given his accuracy with a football.”

“Jesse.” The resigned plea in Reid’s expression was worse than walking in on him had been.

I put up my hand. “Nope. You’ve found another study partner. It’s cool.”

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