When I leave, I want him to follow me. He doesn’t. I walk home by myself, tempted to turn around the entire time, but forcing myself to keep moving forward.

Jack Kingston makes me question everything. And I hate him for it. What kind of a guy turns down a no-strings hook-up? What kind of a girl refuses to entertain the possibility of more?

Maybe this craving I have for the rush of a hook-up isn’t good for me. I wonder if, like most addictions, it’s not sustainable. Right now, I need it, but the only person I want it with wants more.

For the second night in a row, I return to an empty condo without getting my fix. As I stand there in the vacant living room, I can’t bring myself to go upstairs to my bedroom. It’s dark, and depressing as hell. Maybe if I text Chris, he’ll come over, and I won’t even have to face Jack again. But that idea depresses me even more.

I need people. I should go back to the party, let the throngs of drunk and horny college students suck me in and pull me out of this funk. No, that won’t work. It would only make me more dejected and likely to get drunk and do something stupid.

I’m standing there in indecision, wondering how to get the fix I need, when there’s a gentle knock on the door.

Without thinking, I turn around and open it.

Jack Kingston stands there on the bottom step, hands in pockets, peeking up at me through thick lashes.

“Hey,” he says.

“Did you follow me?” I ask, curiosity overshadowing the accusation.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Yep,” he admits with a chuckle.

He waits for a reaction, and when I don’t give him anything he shrugs. “I didn’t mean to follow you all the way here. I didn’t know what I was doing. I wanted to stop you, talk to you, but… didn’t know what to say.” He pauses, frowns, and then admits, “Or do.”

My heart rate starts to pick up as the possibilities open. He wants me, but doesn’t want to want me. He needs me to make the move, so he can just go with it. Maybe he’s a guy who can have his mind changed, after all. Or maybe we’re both hoping to change each other’s.

“So I saw you leaving the party, thought I should make sure you were safe.” Teeth sink onto his lower lip, and my heart skips a beat at his earnestness.

Oh, the sweet Jack is back. He’s harder to handle, but still hot as hell.

“Why don’t you come in?” I suggest, though it’s more of a demand than a question.

I watch his Adam’s apple as he swallows. By the time he finally takes the step up and into the house, shutting the door behind him, the sexual tension in the air is thick as syrup. Before we can drown in it, I surrender to the tug between us and let our bodies collide.

Jack must surrender too, because he doesn’t just kiss me, he devours me. It’s like he’s been barely holding on to his sanity, waiting for this connection since leaving me in the locker room last night.

A rush of relief flows through me when he takes the next initiative, unzipping the back of my dress, and not even asking permission or if we should move upstairs. The strapless dress falls to my feet, and I’m standing there in nothing but panties and heels. His harsh breaths are the only sound between us as he takes me in, head to toe and back again. He saw most of it last night, but this time, he takes his time looking, and I’ve never felt so exposed in my life.

It makes me uncomfortable, and I need to break the intensity brewing between us, so I drop to my knees, popping open the button on his jeans and tugging them down until he springs free. Yeah, I was right. Huge.

His hands are trembling when he touches my head, and his voice is pleading when he says my name. I want to assume he’s pleading for me to take him in my mouth, but I sense it’s something different. Like he wants me to get off my knees. I’m suddenly hit with the feelings he left me with yesterday. Shame and embarrassment. But this can’t end like this. No way. So, instead of taking him in my mouth, I slowly stand up and take his hand, refusing to meet his eyes as he tugs his pants up enough to follow me upstairs and to my bedroom.

When he shuts the door behind him, he doesn’t allow me time to think, this time turning the table so that he’s the one on his knees, taking me in his mouth. The ugly emotions are chased away as he swirls his tongue, bringing me to the brink and over it in a whoosh so fast, I crash back onto my bed, dizzy and panting before I even realize he’s pulled off the rest of his clothes, sheathed himself with a condom, and is hovering over me.

It’s all happening so quickly. There wasn’t even a conversation. Nothing. This is how I wanted it though, right?

That dark look is back on his face, the rocker Jack I’m calling it, as his eyes bore into mine, and he positions himself at my entrance. He’s confirming it’s what I want, and when I only return the look of intent, he plunges forward, seating himself in me with a gruff “Fuck,” before dropping his forehead, eyes closed, breaths coming in harsh pants. Without opening his eyes, he begins to thrust, and it’s not gentle. He doesn’t ease into it, but pounds with a punishing force.

It’s what I want, what I wanted, so why does my chest ache? I’m turned on, the thickness of him as he beats into me on a steady rhythm making my core tighten and coil, but I also have the weirdest feeling like I’m about to cry. What the hell?

Jack’s fucking me with one purpose, his own release, and it comes quickly, before I can catch up for another one. I feel him swell inside me, his thrusting getting impossibly harder and faster as he repeats the only word that has slipped out of his mouth since crossing the threshold of our condo – “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Before his movements slow, he’s pulled out of me, like he can’t get away fast enough. He might even still be coming. By the time I sit up, bewildered, he’s pulling his pants on and shoving his feet into shoes. Jack looks at me for only a second, and doesn’t give me a chance to read his expression before pulling a tee shirt over his head.

“If you change your mind, you have my number.” His voice is rough, angry, and I think there’s even a twinge of hurt there, which makes absolutely zero sense. He’s used me. Just like I asked him to. Just like I said I wanted. But that’s the thing. This isn’t what I wanted at all. I wanted the power that comes from being in control of something so intimate with another person. But he was in control from the moment we walked into the bedroom. As he walks out of it, I think he might be taking a piece of me with him, because I feel like something’s been ripped out of me. Again.

Coco is in the kitchen sipping coffee when I come down the next morning.

“Hey there, beautiful,” she greets me.

“Ugh,” I respond. I don’t have a hangover, at least not from drinking, but I feel like shit.

Coco gets up to pour me coffee and hands it over. “You busted out last night without a goodbye. Everything okay?” She tries to sound cool, but I sense the concern in her voice.

I shrug, taking a sip and grimacing. “Yuck. This takes like sludge.”

She chuckles. “I like my coffee strong. You know that.”

“Yeah, this isn’t strong coffee. This is mud.” Finding the sugar in the pantry, I dump a couple of spoonfuls in and then add milk.

“So, tell me what happened last night. Jack Kingston left right behind you. I know there’s a story.”

I’m not big on rehashing hookups. Normally I’ll just give the basics – “he came over, we hooked up, he left.” I suppose given the context of how we left the party, and Jack’s growing fame, Coco’s question demands a little more info.

“Yeah, he followed me back here. Creepy, right?”

Coco raises her eyebrows. “Didn’t you go to his concert Friday night?” Yeah, she knows there’s a story here.

“I did. And I hung out with him afterward.” I pause, unsure if I really want to share the embarrassing truth of what went down. But this is Coco. She gets me. She won’t judge.

“We started hooking up after the concert, but then he was all like, wait, I don’t want a one-night-casual thing. I want to get to know each other.” I roll my eyes and Coco stares, riveted. “I told him to just be in the moment, but he got all weird and left, saying to call if I changed my mind.”

Coco’s jaw drops. I laugh at her reaction and turn to the fridge, rummaging around for something to cook.

“He left his number then?” she asks.

“Yes. In my pocket.” Pulling out eggs, goat cheese, and chives, I busy myself at the counter. “Anyway, the whole thing was pretty embarrassing for me. I mean, I assumed we’d hook up, and I was all into it, so when he stopped, I acted all desperate, trying to get him to finish what we started. I was kind of pissed about it.”

“Hmmm,” Coco says thoughtfully. “You weren’t expecting to see him last night?”

“Nope.” And how the hell am I going to explain to her what happened? The words rush out of me. “Guess he changed his mind. He came in to the condo, we got together, and then he left. It was a little weird actually,” I add, the only reflection I’m willing to give on the situation. In reality, it wasn’t so much weird as it was disturbing. He was trying to teach me a lesson, and the thing that pisses me off the most, is that I think he got through. I feel used and unsatisfied, which means he made his point.

“Must’ve been quite the quickie. I wasn’t far behind you, but didn’t hear anything when I got home. Slept in Shay’s bed. She went home with Jett.”

“Those two are fucking adorable.”

“They really are. Good for her.” But Coco doesn’t take the bait on the topic change. “So, you gonna call him?”

“What? Hell no. Why would I do that?”

She smirks at me. “He sounds like an interesting guy. You usually give the interesting ones a couple of weeks before you’re done.”

I shake my head at her description of my habits. She’s not wrong, even if she makes me sound like an animal. Or a psychopath. I know I’m not normal when it comes to guys.

“Yeah well, this one might be a little too interesting,” I mumble, and regret voicing the words when Coco’s eyes light up.

My cell rings from the counter, and I’m thankful for the distraction, until I see it’s my mom calling. Ugh. She’s been trying me for a week and I keep ignoring her call. I decide now is as good a time as ever to answer, if it gets me out from under Coco’s scrutiny.

“Hello?”

“Lydia. Hi. How are you?” We might as well be on a business call with the formality.

“Good, fine. Just woke up. Making breakfast.”

“Just woke up? It’s nearly the middle of the day.”

“Yeah, I know. I get like two days a month to sleep in. This was one of them.”

She’s silent for a second, letting her disapproval be known. “How are classes?”

“Fine.”

“Have you thought about your plans after graduation? It’s not too late to apply for internships. I’m sure I could pull some strings to help you get a good one.”

I let out a tired sigh. “No thanks, Mom. I don’t want an internship.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to follow a band around again. I thought you got that out of your system.”

Last summer I spent a month touring with Indigo Centrals, helping with set-up, take-down, and general miscellaneous tasks. I thought it would be awesome, but it got old after the first show. Not that I would ever tell my mom that. I won’t give her the satisfaction of being right.

“Maybe. Probably not. I could waitress, bartend, be a barista at Starbucks or something.” I know normal jobs are my mom’s worst nightmare, but I keep going. “Or, I’m thinking about starting a food truck, one that travels to concerts. It could make good money.” The idea has crossed my mind, but I’m not all that serious about it. Just putting it out there, letting Mom know I’ll be doing my own thing and making my own decisions. Maybe she’ll like it more than the normal college jobs I’m contemplating. Or not.

“Oh, honey. That’s a terrible idea.”

At least it’s mine. “Right. Well, I gotta go, Mom.” I don’t bother offering an excuse. We’ve done the dance, and we can wait another week or two until we do it again. She’ll check in, do her motherly duty of reminding me I’m a loser. I’ll confirm nothing has changed and I’m not suddenly a star student with big career plans, and we’ll go our separate ways.

We sign off and I turn to Coco, who’s looking at me sympathetically. “Let’s go out for breakfast. You don’t need to make anything.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Maybe I’ll even have a couple of drinks, replace the empty feeling in me with something else.