Chapter 5: Be real!

The study was dead quiet except for the low hum of the AC and the ice cracking in my glass. I hadn’t taken a sip. I couldn’t..My pulse was still lodged in my throat from the last time I’d buried myself inside Jessy—her tight little body shaking, my name ripping out of her like a prayer.

I’d told her to get out but i really felt her presence..

And here I was, my cock hard under the desk like a teenager, replaying the way she’d sucked me clean. The tiger stripes on her hips where I’d gripped too hard. The way she’d *whimpered* when I pulled her hair.

Pro-level mouth on a girl who still blushed when I said *fuck*.

I was losing it.

The burner in the drawer hadn’t buzzed in months. The legit phone, though—this one lit up.

"Hey Moretti. Word is you’re back,living clean. "

I thumbed back fast.

Who the fuck is this?

Call connected. That laugh—greasy, high-school hallway, cigarette smoke behind the gym.

“Joshua, you paranoid prick. Still jumping at shadows?”

I leaned back, let the silence stretch. “Talk.”

“Damn, man. Cold as ever;It’s me—*Joshua*....Track team? Senior prank with the principal’s Benz? You really forgot?”

Memory clicked...Joshua Park used to fence stolen phones, bragged about his uncle in the Korean mob. Small-time. Always sniffing for a bigger bone.

“Yeah. I remember. What do you want?”

“Heard you’re out of the game. All suits and boardrooms now. That true?”

“Clean,” I said.

He laughed again, louder. “Bullshit. You don’t quit. Not *you*. The grabs ,The hits. The blackmail drops in Manila, Prague, that thing in Bogotá—word is that was *your* signature. You really gonna pretend you’re done?”

My jaw flexed. “I know I couldn’t just stop. I’m still in the game—but I’m careful. One wrong move and the feds crawl up my ass.....Or worse.”

“Careful?” He snorted. “You? Mr. ‘Leave No Witnesses’? Come on. You’re either lying to me or to yourself.”

I stood slow, walked to the window. The hill dropped away into black nothing. Somewhere down there, Jessy was probably touching herself thinking of me.

“Joshua,” I said, voice flat, “if you’re here to play games, I’ll bury you in the foundation of this house and pour concrete over your smart mouth. You want a meet? Fine. But you come alone. You bring heat, you bring eyes—I’ll know. And I’ll carve your tongue out and mail it to your mother. Clear?”

“…Crystal, man. Just… catching up.”

“Catch up somewhere else.”

I killed the call.

JESSY

The library smelled like old paper and burnt coffee, same as always. I had the corner table by the window, the one with the wobbly leg, my macroeconomics notes spread out like a crime scene. Elorm slid into the seat across from me, iced latte in one hand, phone in the other, eyes sparkling like she was about to drop gossip that could restart wars.

“Girl, listen,” she whispered, leaning in so close I could smell her vanilla lip gloss. “I *told* you I’d hook you up. His name’s Jeffery. Jeffery ;Captain of the rowing team. Six-three, skin like dark honey, smile that could get you pregnant just looking at it.”

I rolled my eyes, but my stomach did a little flip. Not because of Jeffery—because the last time someone described a guy like that to me, I ended up bent over a couch screaming *Daddy*.

“Elorm, slow down. Every girl on campus has a ‘Jeffery’ story. Remember Chioma last semester? Swore he was ‘different,’ then found him in the engineering lab with twins.”

Elorm waved me off. “That was Tobi...Jeffery’s not like that. He doesn’t even post girls. No thirst traps, no ‘soft launch’ bullshit. My cousin’s roommate is on the team—says Jeffery’s been single since first year. Focused, polite. Rich-rich.Like, his dad owns half the new mall downtown.”

I chewed my pen. “So he’s not a fuckboy?”

“Zero playboy energy. He asked about you specifically—said he saw you at the last econ lecture, back row, laughing at something on your phone. Wanted to know if you were seeing anyone.”

My laugh came out sharp. “Great. So he’s been stalking me.”

“*Scouting,* Jess. There’s a difference.” She grinned. “He’ll be here in, like, two minutes. Fix your hair.”

I tugged at my ponytail, suddenly hyper-aware of the frayed hem of my denim skirt. “I look fine.”

“You look like you just rolled out of a situationship,” she teased. “Which, fair. But *comport yourself.*”

We talked for maybe two minutes—her listing Jeffery’s stats like he was a Pokémon card (GPA 3.9, speaks three languages, drives a matte-black G-Wagon but “never flexes”)..

He moved like the library belonged to him, but quietly. No loud greetings, no entourage. Just a navy polo stretched across shoulders that definitely rowed, khaki shorts, pristine white sneakers. His watch caught the light—subtle, expensive. When he smiled, it was slow, one corner of his mouth first, like he was testing if you deserved the full thing.

“Ladies,” he said, voice low and smooth, the kind that didn’t need to try. “Elorm. And you must be Jessy.”

He extended a hand. His grip was warm, firm, but not the crushing kind guys do to prove something. His eyes—deep brown, gold flecks—held mine a second longer than polite.

“Hi,” I managed. My voice sounded small. *Get it together.*

Elorm kicked me under the table. “Jeffery, Jessy’s the one I told you about. Top of the class, zero filter, secretly a softie.”

He chuckled. “I like all three.”

The girls at the next table weren’t even pretending to study anymore. One whispered, “*That’s him. Told you he smells like money.*” Another: “*Watch him ghost her in 0.2 seconds—he’s too fine to commit.*”

I wanted to roll my eyes. That’s how it always went. Girls ranked boys like stock options: *hot but broke, sweet but clingy, rich but rude.* Jeffery checked every box except the one that mattered—*he wasn’t Mark.*

Jeffery pulled out a chair, sat like he had all the time in the world. “I’ve got a seminar in ten, but—Jessy, let’s meet tomorrow. Café by the fountain, 3 p.m.? Just us. No pressure.”

I blinked. “Uh… sure?”

“Cool.” He stood, flashed that half-smile again. “See you.”

He left. The table of girls exhaled like one organism.

Elorm squealed. “*Personal talk?* He’s *into* you!”

I stared at my notes. The numbers blurred.

Jeffery was perfect.

Perfect was boring.

Because last night, I’d been on my knees in a mansion on the hill, choking on a man twice my age who’d growled *good girl* while he painted my throat. Mark Moretti didn’t *ask for coffee. He took. He sucked my worries out of my brain until the only thing left was *more, please, harder.

I couldn’t keep doing this—sneaking, lying, coming home with his bite marks under my hoodie. But God, I wanted to. I wanted him to ruin me again. And again. Until Jeffery and every other boy felt like a coloring book next to a wildfire.