Page 10 of Just Once
“Shit,” I say, scrambling up to get dressed. “My parents are going to think I got hit by a car or something.”
“You might want to take another quick shower. Otherwise you’re going to walk into their house reeking of sex.”
“Right,” I say, stopping what I’m doing to pull my clothes back off. “Good thinking.”
But on my way into the bathroom, I stop and look over my shoulder at Dante.
“If you make it quick, you can join me,” I say.
He gets off the bed as fast as lightning.
We have a quickie in the shower—a crazy-hot quickie—and then I rinse off and hurry to get dressed. Before I run out the door, I give Dante a kiss and promise that I’ll text him later. Then I’m out on the sidewalk, practically sprinting back home. I didn’t bring my phone with me—it’s a pain to carry when I go running—so all I can do is hope that my parents aren’t freaking out about how long I’ve been gone.
Thankfully, when I get back to the house, my parents aren’t alarmed as I worried they might be. I can tell they were both concerned about me, though. I apologize multiple times for losing track of time and promise that I won’t do it again.
My mom nods. “I can’t believe you were jogging that whole time, Angel. You’re going to be so sore tomorrow, you poor thing.”
I laugh and shrug. Images of Dante fucking me flash through my head, and I can feel my cheeks go hot. “I didn’t actually jog the whole time. I was…just walking and stuff, too. It’s so beautiful out.”
“It really is. Maybe we should have dinner out in the yard tonight. You don’t need to leave until after dinner, right?”
I nod. “Yep. I can stay until then.”
“Good,” says my mom, and reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze.
* * *
I feelguilty already about keeping my relationship with Dante a secret. During dinner that night, part of me wants to just blurt it out. But I keep it locked inside. And I try to keep my mind off of Dante for the rest of the time I’m with my parents that night—even though it’s impossible to do.
That night, after I make the two-hour drive back home and walk into my apartment, I send Dante a quick text to let him know that I miss him already.
He texts me back right away, telling me he misses me too.
I’m pretty swamped with schoolwork that week. But Dante and I continue to text, sending each other flirty messages throughout the day. One night, things even get a little extra steamy, and we end up sending each other dirty pics—and the moment he sends me a photo of his hard-on, I feel weak in the knees. Thankfully, I’m already in bed when his photo comes through.
As the next weekend nears, Dante asks if he can drive down and see me. I’m so excited about visiting that I type back:YEW!Then, laughing at myself, I type:I meant YES! I would love that.
He shows up at my apartment building late on Friday evening holding a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. I give him a long, eager kiss, and bring him up to my floor.
“Before you come in,” I tell him as I unlock my door, “I want you to have very low expectations about my apartment. Okay?”
“I know what college apartments are like, you know,” Dante says. “It wasn’tthatlong ago that I was in college, too.”
Still, I’m a little nervous letting Dante into my apartment. Compared to his house, it’s so…small. And kind of sad looking. But it genuinely doesn’t seem to faze Dante as he walks in and looks around.
“It’s really cozy,” he says, and grins and gives me a kiss.
It doesn’t take long before we’ve shucked off our clothes and are making love up against the wall. And then on my couch. And then in the shower. After our little sex fest is over, we order delivery and pop open the bottle of wine.
It feels like such a magical weekend, getting to spend all that uninterrupted time with Dante. And not just because of the sex. It’s just so nice being with him. Talking. Joking around. Getting to know each other.
Honestly, it feels like we’re meant to be.
I can’t help but feel increasingly guilty about hiding this from my parents, though. And before Dante goes home, I know I need to bring it up with him.
“You really want to tell them?” he says, looking doubtful.
“I mean, I’m scared as hell to,” I say. “But I hate hiding something like this from them. They deserve to know.”