Hoax in One

| 25 |

"Happy Monday," I whispered into Tate's neck when he bear hugged me awake.

"I can't leave without kissing you bye. I'm sorry." Tate kissed me slowly, savoring it. "Okay, you can go back to sleep now. I'll see you later. Good luck on your test."

I nodded and pulled his warm pillow into me to replace his body heat.

I heard him move quietly around my room until I drifted back off to sleep, dreaming about how Tate had made love to me the night before similarly to the kiss he had just given me.

Evidently, Tate covered the spectrum when it came to his sexual personality, and it only made me fall for him even more. I got the best of every one of his moods, his multifaceted temperament.

The night before had been slow and sensual. The wonderfully tortuous kind that dissolved me into a quivering mess. Instead of being forceful and uninhibited, he'd been relatively quiet as he took his time kissing every inch of my body, mapping it out, and taking note of what made me moan, what made me gasp, what rendered me silent. He found every one of my sexual pressure points. Tate wasn't kidding about knowing my body better than I knew my own. He found spots I'd never realized could feel so good when stimulated. He wasn't hurrying me along or pushing me so that he could finish. He built my orgasms slowly, helping me ride the waves for as long as I could, longer than I ever had, because he seemed to truly enjoy making me feel good. And he made me feel good a lot—more times than I had before in one night.

When I woke three hours later, I actually wasn't dreading Monday.

I was ready for my test, thanks to the hundreds of notecards Tate had quizzed me with, and I walked out feeling confident I'd made an A.

I made a short detour afterward to visit Clark in his office.

The sports administration building was one of my favorites on campus. Glass walls, glass windows, glass upon glass, letting in the warm Florida sun and throwing the light around like a prism. The marble floors shined, the hallway carpet somehow seemed better.

I paused at Clark's transparent door. He was on the phone, but he looked up, sensing my presence, and motioned for me to give him a minute.

His office was filled with pictures of teams and championships and big sports moments spanning three decades in the wooden built-ins behind him. To the right, he had two floating shelves: the top packed with Southern Florida trophies and medals and a shelf below littered with family photos and kids' trophies. I hoped I would have an office as impressive as his one day.

He smiled at me when he hung up, so I pushed open the door. I tried to steel my nerves and muster professionalism, but he spoke first.

"Your ears must have been burning. That phone call was about you."

Dammit. Two seconds in and I already felt like a little girl. Had I made a mistake trying to stand up for myself and not let them print that photo? I didn't want to put Clark is hot water. Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut. That was always easier.

"Yes, um," I stumbled. I straightened my shoulders and pulled them back. I imagined men never felt this way in professional settings. They didn't need to straighten their body to look less small or find their voice. "I wanted to thank you."

Clark furrowed his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue. I suddenly wanted this to vanish. Actually, I wanted to vanish.

"For the other night. Matt took advantage of me. Of the situation. I'm sorry if I put you in an uncomfortable position." I paused. He had a mild look of pity in in his eyes. "I'm regretting now that I said anything. I should have let them run it, and it would have just gone away."