"Fuck, I still can't get over these." Jake's chuckle vibrated through my and Li's room as. To my horror, he paused from the last bites he had in his to-go dinner box and panned his phone camera over her wall of posters. "The fact you see them every day when you wake up and before you go to bed? Hilarious."

"Nauseating," I corrected him, groaned quietly, and squeezed past him. "I try not to look at them, otherwise I have to bleach my eyes."

Thankfully for my pint-sized roommate's dignity, Li still wasn't back from her parents' house. What was very noticeably here was another poster of Kieran hung on her wall. This one showed number eighteen in his full Bruins' uniform and helmet in game action format. A ball was tucked under his elbow and legs positioned like he ran his ass off.

Even more thankfully for my sanity, Kieran number three hung on what looked like Li's last open wall space.

So, either no more Kieran or we're picking off Jake one-by-one.

Win-win.

While I'd actually planned to tell Jake about Ethan's confrontation, courtesy of Kieran's stupidity, Jake couldn't have surprised me more when he steered the conversation not one-eighty degrees but a complete seven-twenty and apologized. The date went from a lighter 'fuck why am I here?' to a steaming shit pile of heavy, emotional issues that I hadn't anticipated.

Especially an apology for Jake soul-crushing my fourteen-year-old self.

At the risk I came off a dismissive bitch, I hadn't reacted to Jake's apology because fuck, I couldn't. Those were the last words I'd expected he said but why he was sorry wasn't a direction I was ready to step towards. Fourteen-year-old Harper swooned happily at the idea Jake cared about my feelings but almost twenty-two-year-old Harper brain farted at an apology that was one dickhead short and six years past due.

I'm sure a nice person or even Hallmark card would acknowledge the 'better late than never aspect,' but fuck, why even bother at this point? Jake's already getting what he wants, easy access to another sure score.

As much as I forced similar thoughts and self-preservation reminders through my head as a defense mechanism, Jake and I's relationship felt so blurry that my brain physically hurt if I disentangled the details to focus on what they fuck we were anymore.

So instead of the mature, emotionally stable approach that we calmly hashed out our past emotional baggage, I sat largely silent during his apology and studied him more than the actual words he said. The soft glow of the restaurant's overhead hung lights shone dimly in his eyes. They were dulled over, heavy with guilt, and yes, I also noticed when he slipped one hand in between his legs like a junk shield.

The only reason I hadn't kicked his hand back into his own junk was how Jake spoke with a level of sincerity I hadn't heard in... ever.

The weight of how fucked up our relationship circled around his apology like a bad hair clog around a drain. My opinions clashed from relieved Jake finally admitted he'd screwed up to angry at myself for how fucking insane I was to even breathe the same air space as him after all the toxic shit we'd done to each other.

The fuck is wrong with me?

Why do I just keep going back to him? Over and over?

Back in my apartment, I mentally burned the same questions into the back of Jake's fat head but still came up short with any tangible answers.

I do like his hair longer. Mental note, tug on it more.

After Jake's vomited confession about his past mistakes, I was beyond thankful he changed the subject quickly afterwards because my feet had already planned their escape route out the restaurant. What surprised me most was my verbal response, not the words that expressed how I appreciated the detachment lesson but how hollow and rehearsed they felt. I'd always lived by those words but, at that moment, I wasn't sure I believed them.

And fuck me sideways, I still don't know if I do.

And while I fully agreed with the reasons for Jake's apology, the weight of it still hadn't entirely sunk in before my brain literally shut down.

I also probably should've apologized for my shitty mistakes too.

The video of Jake's emotional breakdown that Ethan flashed in front of me like some kind of fucking trophy still haunted me. I had no idea Jake was that... emotionally invested, especially after I'd found solicitation texts on his phone. That sobering reminder of Jake's promiscuity was the only one I'd needed that we were a bad idea long-distance.

Even after he'd suggested it, which that damn bearskin rug was supposed to take to its death.

After we'd fucked each other senseless in Canada, I'd assumed, incorrectly in hindsight, that Jake was just emotional because of the recent loss of his Dad. During the funeral service, from where I sat with my dad a few rows back, Jake was a silent statue. From the moment I stepped into the church, through the service and burial, until Dad and I left from the wake, he'd barely registered a single emotion.

Even when Grace and Gianna mentioned the ski trip, Jake had barely flinched with a reaction. The way Jake had opened up about his father after what ended up being our last round of fucking inside the ski cabin, I'd thought he'd just had a delayed release of grief. The fact he'd gotten texted for a welcome-home booty call just poured salt in a wound that I now saw was self-created.

I was so, so wrong about his feelings.

And for that, I should apologize.

Jake hadn't seemed to mind the silence I gave his apology at the dinner table, at least not by the way he'd steered the conversation away with no pressure on me. For all of the 'perfect relationship' advice that couples never went to bed angry or talked through, I couldn't have been more appreciative that we hadn't talked further.

He also hadn't minded the way I'd slurped up my ridiculously expensive dinner off my lap on the drive back here so we avoided any further conversations. My mind, though, was a haphazard shitstorm of thoughts.

I mean, fuck, we're not a couple. Technically yes, two people but, oh fuck I don't know anymore.

Unfortunately, once inside my dorm room that felt so much smaller with his fatass in the center, he also noticed my side's lack of poster real estate. His take was completely different than mine though.

With a smirk that pressed out the dimple in his left cheek, his eyes shifted to my blank walls. "If she gets any more then you'll just have to put my posters on your side."

"That..." I grumbled while my hands dug out my 'tampon' box from where I'd stowed it inside my deeper desk drawer. "Will not happen. Those fuckers are getting incinerated or thrown in the trash before that happens."

"Aww... firecracker, be nice or I won't autograph them," he muttered.

"Huh?" At a few scratched, squeaky sounds, I lifted my head out of my desk area. My mouth dropped open and hung that way while Jake's large frame Spiderman-climbed up and signed every one of Li's seven posters with a Sharpie he'd gotten from...

"Carry that around with you, Mister local celebrity?" I snorted softly. "Explains the micro bulge in your pants."

"We both know I'm not that small." He didn't even turn around and signed the last one with an illegible signature. The now eighth Jake Harrison smirk in our room flashed at me as he capped the pen, bent over Li's loft area, and set it on her desk. "You'll get a reminder if your slow ass ever finds your toys, but hope Li's okay with me signing her stuff."

Even though I knew Li probably would love the signatures, I took my opportunity and snorted softly. "Probably not, since you just devalued them."

My eyes lifted up to Kieran's posters. "After what you told me earlier, I'm surprised Meade hasn't drawn a dick on all your faces."

While I'd meant the comment as teasing, it was probably too harsh too soon. Jake's forehead creased with a frown but he just shook his head a few times and looked at my dildo-empty hands. "Are you coming, or?"

"That'd better be the plan." I pulled out my box, turned around, and stepped into the narrow hallway between our beds. 

Jake stood two feet from me, with one of his hands rested on the corner of my bed. Thankfully, three hours of walking hadn't given him any worse manstink than he normally wore.

Although, I sweated more through our dinner conversation than the surprisingly pretty cool tour.

Once I stood up, a giant mound of satisfaction rose inside me at the surprised look in Jake's eyes when I shoved my box of dildos under his chin. The top flaps were open because only one of my twenty-eight self-service friends hadn't worked out over my lady bits since the semester started and I'd tried to forget the asshole who now breathed over me. A feeling of pride surged forwards at how clean and neatly arranged they were - first by size, then color, and orgasm peak level.

The various shaped tips poked up like they waved at Jake, whose eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and awe. "That's... a lot." Right when his eyes darkened, I knew his mind had flooded with usage suggestions.

I wasn't entirely on board with any of my collection in Jake's possession except for a small spark of curiosity, so I snapped the box shut and tugged it flush against me.

His eyes tracked my hands' movements. "How many are there?"

"Less than the number of girls you plow through each month." I scoffed, turned my back towards his front, and hugged my loyal friends into my chest like a mama bear protected her cubs. "And unlike your warm holes, they are sterile, faithful, and here when I need them. And when they've run their course, I just upgrade to a better model."

"But they're not everything." One of his hands reached down, where his knuckles not-at-all subtly grazed over my bright breast. My skin tingled from the combination of the contact's friction and the warmth on the back of my neck as Jake leaned his head down closer.

"And for you..." His breath fanned over my neck and prickled goosebumps on my skin. My lips parted when his warm, soft mouth pressed into the side of my neck and lingered long enough that his tongue softly teased my sensitive skin.

"Short-term they scratch the itch..." The semi-circular path the ridges of his knuckles traced over the outer curve of my breast drew a moan up the back of my throat. "But like all your other guys... They're not enough."

So damn cocky.

"And you think you are?" A tremble involuntarily ran down my spine. "Enough."

"Like I said," his deep voice vibrated the shell of my ear. I was glad Jake saw my back because I avoided the satisfied smirk that I definitely heard in his voice, "Bring them. I like a challenge and there's no fucking way you'll trade me in for... these."

The word 'yet' hung in my mind uncomfortably but I couldn't resist the unspoken challenge he also issued. With my chin dipped over my shoulder, I asked, "Who says I don't have an upgraded fuck buddy in the works? You can buy anything on Amazon. I saw this one model that -"

With one reached around to my shoulders, Jake turned me towards him and pinned my backside against the side of my dresser. My head bumped against the bottom edge of my bed frame where it was lofted over it but the heated gaze in his eyes held my attention. The way his eyes darkened with each breath, Jake looked like he wanted to tear me apart.

His hands lifted slowly, then cupped around my face with a gentleness that contrasted the tension that he held his eyes and clenched jaw. My lips parted and a sharp inhale dried out the inside of my mouth.

The corners of Jake's thin lips curled up as he bent his head lower until he almost touched mine. With soft strokes of his thumbs over my cheeks, his eyes darkened one slow, labored breath at a time.

I needed a few seconds before I realized the labored breaths I heard were mine, not his.

"Don't tempt me. I'll prove myself right now, in this tiny fucking space..." Jake's warm breath fanned over my parted open lips. "But we both know we're not finished with -"

"You promised me post-date... performance." My gaze dropped downwards to the box. "Again, which one am I bringing?"

Without a blink, he replied in a smug, confident voice, "Like I said, all of them."

I glanced up at him for any signs that he teased but he couldn't have looked more serious. The only motivation I needed was the dark pair of eyes, pupils dilated, that looked hungrily down at me.

Now I'm definitely interested.

"Here, let me." Jake reached his hands out to my box, but I just shook my head.

With the box balanced on the inside of my forearm, I one-arm hugged it into my chest and opened the door. Out in the hallway, Jake threw me an amused look and leaned one shoulder against the hallway wall near the door. An amused smile pulled on his lips as I locked with one hand and stuffed my keys in my purse.

"Let me carry the box for you," he offered, but again I paused at his outstretched hand.

Even when he added inward curled fingers, I hesitated. As silence fell between us, I felt an invisible, weighted pressure. My dildos were my fallbacks, physical representations of when I took control over my own stupid body's urges, whenever I needed them subsided. While I trusted Jake when we slept together, that simple motion felt like... a surrender of deeper trust.

For that reason, my lips pressed as tightly together as my fingers into the box.

Fuck, it's not like he's going to do anything with them.

Other than what he'd better do with them.

When Jake cleared his throat and curled his index and middle fingers again, my mind went right into the gutter. He used the same motion when he stroked my inner wall and by his returned smirk, he knew exactly where my thoughts were. For that reason alone, I relented and pushed the box into his hands.

For a second that felt painfully longer, he studied me. But, in that second, I caught a sense of playful warmth that flickered in his eyes. By the time the corners of his lips relaxed into a casual smile, I second guessed my trust.

"Handle with care, this shit's expensive," I grumbled.

"Come on." He tucked the box under his left elbow and extended his right hand to me.

Now I really don't trust him.

"Fuck no." I turned and stepped down the hallway towards the exit door.

Still, a smile tugged across my lips at the sight of Jake while we walked outside. After a thorough cleaning, I'd arranged my canoe paddles base down. My longest one, a long, slender glass dildo I'd nicknamed "IceMan," was too large for the lid to close.

The early evening sunset colors painted the sky overhead in hues of pink and orange, but my eyes were glued on Jake's shipping and handling of my vagina's care package. A quiet laugh escaped me as the various shaped heads twitched or wiggled slightly with each step Jake took.

With a slight look down and sigh, Jake tugged the box tightly against his left ribs. While I bit back cackling like a witch, Jake showed no signs that he was embarrassed and carried an open box of twenty-eight dildos down the long sidewalk from Reiber to the drop-off area curb where he'd parked his car. In fact, his drawn down shoulders, puffed up chest, and cocky smirk showed he wasn't at all affected.

My forehead creased with tension when Jake stopped prematurely at the building's corner and rounded it. "Huh?" My head followed his ninety degree turn and tracked his steps. "Where are you going?"

His only answer was he walked further away, with quicker strides of his long legs. My mouth tugged into my right cheek when he rounded a second corner, until he stepped into the U-shaped back of the building. As his large frame disappeared, the fucker had the audacity that his head leaned back and winked at me.

"Oh fuck, no," I cursed and broke into a slow jog.

By the time I rounded the second corner, the asshole had stopped near one of the gray metal trash dumpsters behind the dorm building. Like a slow-motion horror scene, his palm raised up the box by the bottom like a waiter who balanced a tray on his shoulder.

Fuck, he wouldn't!

My eyes strained from how wide they stretched open. With soft pants from my rushed steps, my lips parted and a string of most likely cursed empty threats poured out. Jake's smirk only widened and, by the time I got two steps away and lifted both my hands in a 'gimme' gesture, his hand lifted the box to the edge of the dumpster.

"Fuck you, Jake! Those aren't -" I squealed and grabbed his wrist with both hands. The contact rolled his left wrist over and the box's contents emptied into the dumpster. "- yours!"

While multiple colors fell downward through the air and out of my line of vision, I only saw one: red. A banshee-liked scream tore from my lips, "What the fuck!? Jake!! You are so fucking dead, I swear -"

My hands acted second, where they palmed his chest and shoved him as hard as I could. A dull thump echoed from where his back banged into the dumpster.

The vibrations that chased the contact sound rumbled through my palms as I clamped them on the dumpster's top, flat ridge. Without a single doubt in mind, I tossed aside my dignity with the angriest glare I had at Jake...

...and jumped in after them.