name falling from those plump pink glossy lips before she came.
Now things click into place with the blood flow returning to my brain. This is all a case of mistaken identity. She texted the wrong number. Whoever this Wyatt guy is, he’s not me. And if I have anything to say about it, he won’t ever get to hear Thea moaning his name like that.
The games I play with her at school are out of petty boredom. I need more of this side of Thea. Things just got a lot more interesting.
The next time she makes those sounds, it’ll be because I drew them out of her.
My mouth curves in a mean smirk. I bet it will piss off her neighborhood busybody mother if she ever finds out her shy, mousy little daughter is naughty under those good grades and oversized granny sweaters. It’s time for some revenge for what that woman did, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.
If I’m going to do this, I have to be strategic. I can’t reveal myself yet. It will end this game too soon. Thea is the shy type who likes to get freaky in secret. She’ll piss her pants and take off running if I come at this too hard.
No, I have to take it slow and steady. Figure out my play and the next three possible moves ahead to find the right moment to unveil that it’s been me all along.
For now, I save her number to my phone and take care of the dirty tissues I dumped on the floor after cleaning myself up.
Thea doesn’t know it yet, but with one racy selfie, she stepped into my world.
Five
Connor
By the next week, I’ve settled into a new routine. Wake up, text the little mouse that lives next door, take care of my morning wood with help from photos of Thea’s sleepy eyes sparkling with mischief, shower for school, text her again—and so on throughout the day until I’m coming before bed to the image of Thea’s perfect tits. The best part of the game is passing Thea in the halls or in classes we share, completely unaware I know how she sounds when she’s about to come.
I’ve been keeping up the pretense that I’m this Wyatt guy she believes she’s messaging.
On Tuesday, the soccer team has a practice scrimmage after school. Half of us play positions to cover one team, and the rest play against us. We’re tied 1-1, but we’re coming up on the end of the game.
There’s nothing like the feeling of driving the ball toward the goal, the sweet grass-scented breeze in your hair, every nerve ending fizzling with energy. I love playing soccer. Always have, since my dad first put a ball in front of me.
My boy Devlin only has his head half in the game. I’ve pulled him up on it as captain once, but he keeps watching the girls track team. More specifically, the school’s charity case sitting nearby like she’s being subtle. Devlin got her kicked off the team because she pissed him off. Those two are bound to be fucking by the end of the year if they aren’t yet.
“Dev!” I shout, dribbling the ball while avoiding two mid-fielders. “You better quit making moon eyes at Davis when I make this pass.”
I check my periphery for him. One guy playing against us tries to break my footwork, but Devlin appears out of nowhere, like the lightning-quick devil I know, and picks up the pass I send him.
Satisfied laughter bubbles from my chest as Devlin’s attack turns merciless, whipping past the other team’s defenders and punting the ball with insane speed. It’s how he got his nickname, the dark devil of Silver Lake. Together we’re an unstoppable pair. The ball becomes a blur, cutting through the air and sailing past their goalie’s outstretched hands as he dives for the save.
Devlin turns back to me, a sharp, wicked smirk in place. He jogs to my side at a lazy pace. I shake my head, grinning at my best friend. He’s an asshole, but I love him. We get each other in a way the rest of the superficial idiots at this school don’t.
“We could’ve cinched that goal faster if you hadn’t been all goo-goo eyes for Davis. I told you last year, bro, you’ve got to just do her already, get your obsession out of your system.” I hook an arm around Devlin’s neck and rub my knuckles into his scalp. “Watching you two