Chapter 6: Heels Over Head

... He just flopped onto the bed and started taking off his shirt.

I froze. Hand still wrapped around my dick under the blanket, heart thudding in my chest like I’d been caught stealing.

Mason didn’t look at me right away. He pulled his shirt off in one smooth motion, then stretched out like he owned the room, sweat still glistening on his stomach. He grabbed his water bottle, took a long sip, and groaned like he’d just finished a marathon.

“You good?” he asked, casual.

“Yeah,” I said. “Fine.”

It came out rough. I tried to make it sound normal, but I was pretty sure I failed.

Mason rolled to one side and grabbed his phone. He didn’t seem to think anything was weird. He didn’t even glance my way after that. Maybe he hadn’t seen. Maybe he had and just didn’t care. I had no way to know.

“Casper went full psycho today,” he said. “Legs still feel like Jello.”

I nodded and didn’t say anything. My dick had gone soft, but it still felt heavy under the blanket. The sweat hadn’t dried. The shame hadn’t either.

Mason let out a breath and tossed his phone on the nightstand.

“Practice get you all worked up or something?”

My whole face went hot.

“I guess,” I muttered.

I waited a full minute after he stopped talking, just to be sure he wasn’t looking, then muttered something about needing a shower and peeled myself out of bed.

The blanket stuck to my thighs in one spot. I didn’t look down. Just grabbed my towel, shoved it under my arm, and booked it into the hallway before I could think too hard about anything else.

The shower didn’t help as much as I’d hoped.

The water was hot, the pressure decent, but the embarrassment clung tighter than sweat ever could. I stood under the spray for longer than I needed to, letting it beat down on my face as if that would rinse away the last ten minutes of my life.

God...

Eventually, I lathered up, rinsed off, and towel-dried like a human being who hadn’t just been caught mid-stroke by his gorgeous roommate.

When I got back to the room, Mason was still lying on his bed, one knee up, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

“You alive in there?” he asked without looking up.

“Barely,” I muttered, heading for my dresser. I pulled on a fresh pair of briefs and gym shorts under the towel before dropping it. Didn’t matter. Mason wasn’t looking.

“Dude,” he said after a minute. “You ever talk to that blonde girl from the welcome party? The one with the green top?”

I blinked. “What?”

“You know, the one with the killer jeans and scary eyeliner. She kept asking if we were roommates. Thought we looked like opposites in a hot way.”

I snorted. “Opposites how?”

He shrugged, still looking at his phone. “She said I looked like I’d ruin her GPA and you looked like you’d quietly tutor her back to a 3.0.”

I shook my head. “What does that even mean?”

“I think it meant she wanted us both,” He set the phone down, grinning a little, “at once.” His grin spread further. “Anyway, I got her Snap. We’ve been chatting.”

He stretched lazily, arms over his head, ribs lifting with the motion. “Might hang out this weekend if she doesn’t ghost.”

“Nice,” I said.

“She’s got that whole chill-but-hot vibe. Like Emma Chamberlain and Sabrina Carpenter all in one package.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a selling point?”

“It’s more fun than dating someone who’s predictable,” he said. “Less safe. More stories.”

He looked over at me then — just for a second — and smirked. “You should get out there more, man. It’s college. Somebody out there’s probably into whatever mysterious vibe you’ve got going on.”

I didn’t answer.

I just toweled off my hair and tried not to think too hard about why I didn’t want that kind of attention from anyone like her.

The next week passed in a blur of orientation crap, early morning stretches, and trying not to die in the weight room.