I’d met him a couple times before. Parties, Snapchat, eventually we matched on Tinder and he asked for us to link up. I agreed—we went on a date, and while it was clear he wanted to fuck then I was too drunk to go through with it. I expected not to talk to him again, but kept in touch, waiting to see when things would drop off.
Then he asked me to hang out again.
It’s finals now, and I’m busy as fuck. But I agree—I wanted to see his D1 athlete body.
So here I am, walking into his dorm after fucking around for an hour acting like we were there for coffee and chatting. I make eye contact with his flatmate working in their living room on the way into his room and know that we both know what’s about to go down. It takes a minute, we make it halfway through an episode of some show before I decide if I don’t fuck him it’s gonna be weird and I’m not gonna cop out with head. Not tonight.
Lights dimmed. Top off. Hair up. Did I mention he’s on Adderall?