Free Read My Lips (A College Obsession Romance) by Daryl Banner Page A

“fart”, “poop”, “penis”, and “Cherry Coke”.
    Brant comes around the couch and plops down by my legs, nearly sitting on them, and asks me if I’m still planning on coming to his thing. What I was planning to do was jerk off, you fucker. Truth is, I’m not even sure that’s what he asked; the sleepier I get, the harder it is to read lips. I have to think for a moment before realizing what he means: he’s got a bowling tournament next Saturday that he’s invited Dmitri and I to come watch. It’s an unofficial sort of local thing with the prize being free drinks for a week, but it means a lot to Brant. Also, he happens to be some weird kind of bowling ball whisperer.
    I nod at him, which seems to satisfy him more than the supposed lady-sex he just had. I didn’t see her leave, but I know he never lets a girl stay over, so either her stealth level is top notch or he made her climb out of the window.
    The six-pack appears once again and he rips one off, tossing it into my lap. With a snapping of its lid, I take a long, deep swallow. The cold beer runs down my throat and fills me with a comfort I’ve so craved. My eyes glaze over as Brant throws an arm over the back of the couch and flips on the TV.
    I read the captions for two minutes before growing bored.
    It doesn’t matter what’s on TV. Between the cold, wet can in my fist and the colors flashing over my face from the screen, I let the alcohol numb my incessant, invasive thoughts of that girl I shouldn’t be craving … a girl I can’t let stay over, a girl I’m letting climb out the window of my mind …
    A girl still waiting for me on that stage with her jagged breaths …
    A girl who finds me on this couch when my eyes finally close, her soft fingers dancing across my skin and sending currents of pleasure up my arms. A girl whose touch makes me so hard, my cock aches as it tents uncomfortably in my jeans. A girl whose pink, pouty lips hover tauntingly over my face, ready to make a slobbering, paralyzed idiot out of me.
    A girl who is carefully, patiently taking me apart … one agonizing piece at a time.
     
     

 
     

     
    I can’t contain my excitement, not even in acting class. My stomach’s doing cartwheels in the grass and my lips keep twisting into a smile that hasn’t gone away all weekend.
    I don’t care if he’s deaf. He didn’t hear my song? No big deal. He felt it. I could see it in his eyes, which burned black with hunger, with need, with danger …
    I don’t care about my friends’ warnings, either. Everyone has a story attached to them. Living in the limelight of my parents, I’m used to doubting every piece of gossip or hearsay that drifts past my ears and eyes. I’ve seen my mother blasted on enough slanted, click-bait articles to know not to trust rumors.
    My phone buzzes. I glance down at a text.
     
    NOT-VICKI
    OMG Des, the cast list is up.
     
    I gawp, pulled out of my thoughts of Clayton. Already? It’s only been two days. Who the hell casts a whole season of shows in two days?
     
    ME
    I didn’t expect it so fast.
     
    NOT-VICKI
    Yep.
    Im stuck in costume history tho
    :(
     
    ME
    I’m in acting.
    Meet up afterwards?
     
    NOT-VICKI
    YESSS and then lets get some lunch
    to celebrate!!!
     
    I stow away my phone, worried that my acting professor Nina has caught me when I realize the room’s gone silent, but instead it’s just one of my classmates performing, being all dramatic and taking long, annoying pauses between his lines.
    My mind drifts back to thoughts of Clayton, and the rest of the class period is forgotten.
    I leave the black box eagerly. The world brushes past my face as I reach the cast list hanging off the rehearsal room door. A flock of eager students push one another out of the way to read its contents, much in the same way dogs fight over a bone. There is a moan of disappointment to my left. There is a cheer of victory to my right. There is silent pondering everywhere else.
    And then there’s