Stone Creek by Davis, Lainey (reading diary .TXT) 📕

soft body a squeeze. God, she feels good. But I need to control myself. This is Olive. Not some random girl I take home to meet my primal needs.

She rolls to face me and we fall asleep curled together.

I’m ripped from my recurring nightmare—the dream where I plead with my mother to stay with us, with me, after my brother died. It’s still dark in my room, though, and it takes me a minute to figure out what woke me up.

It’s Olive, and she’s moaning. I take a few breaths to let my heart rate slow down and observe what’s happening here. She seems to be rocking and groaning in her sleep. Maybe she’s having a nightmare, too?

But then, as my eyes adjust to the dark, I look at her. Her shirt has ridden up and I see the creamy white skin of her soft belly. I see her hips rocking in her sleep. “Oooooh,” she says in her sleep. “Yes, Bax.”

Fuck. Me. Olive Hampton is dreaming about me. Not a nightmare. That kind of dream. My dick jumps to attention and I have no idea what to do. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to pull her close, let her grind those hips against me until the friction gives us both what it seems we need right now.

“Shit,” I mutter. This isn’t right. I feel like I have invaded some privacy screen. Olive can’t help what she dreams. She’d probably be horrified if she even found out.

But I can’t fall asleep again, not with my cock standing stiff against my stomach and Olive moaning and writhing like this. I slip out of bed and go out to the couch. It seems like a few minutes later when Scotty shouts in my face. “Morgan! We gotta go.”

I groan, because I barely slept a single second. My god, now I know what Olive’s face looks like when she’s about to come. The urge to dive in there and finish the job, take her over the edge and have her screaming my name—fuck!

But Scotty is standing over me in the living room. “Give me a minute, ok?” He nods and heads off down the hall. I head into the room, where Olive is asleep in my bed. I murmur against her ear, “I have to go to the weight room. Let yourself out whenever, ok, Liv?” She nods and pulls the covers up to her nose. I plant a kiss on the top of her head and meet Scotty in the hall.

“I thought it wasn’t like that with you guys,” he says, offering me a granola bar.

I snatch it and tear into it, shaking my head. “It’s not,” I state, emphatically, hating that it’s true. I’m starting to wonder how long I can last this way.

CHAPTER FIVE

Olive

I stay in Baxter’s bed for another hour or so, but I can’t sleep. I’m enveloped in his scent, remembering the rush of his breath on my cheek as he whispered in my ear.

And then I had to go and dream about him. Those dreams are the worst, because I wake from them wanting, so hungry for his touch, knowing I cannot have it.

Baxter is so clear that he’s got just one focus: making it to the pros so he can move on with his life. He won’t make time for a relationship. He says so repeatedly, when he calls me after screwing some nameless fangirl. When he grabs me for lunch in the athletes’ dining hall. Over and over, he repeats: No relationships. No complications. Train, lift, watch film, and smile for the cameras.

The arms he drapes around my shoulders on the way in to social events are brotherly for him. He makes this clear all the time and besides. As soon as we get anywhere, he immediately finds a conquest, disappears with a woman. He usually dispatches a freshman from the team to walk me home.

I sigh, neatly folding Baxter’s sweatpants and setting them on the foot of his bed. His room is sparse and tidy. He has almost nothing personal in here except two framed photographs: one of him and his brother Brody taken shortly before Brody died. I smile at the picture and shoot Bax a text. Love that pic of you and Brody. Thinking of him today!

Sometimes I wonder what our relationship would be like if Baxter’s brother hadn’t died and Baxter’s mom hadn’t taken off. Overcome by grief, she withdrew until she couldn’t bear living in their house another second. I don’t think Bax has heard from his mom in years. What if he’d had two allies at home? Maybe then…I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t do any good to think about what if.

The other picture on his dresser is of the two of us. It’s from prom night—he went with a cheerleader, of course, and I went with a group of kids from my English class, but he pulled me in for one slow dance, and someone took a pic.

I remember the feel of my palm on his chest, my other squeezed tightly in his hand, the light pressure of his fingers on my lower back. I rested my head on his chest as the live band played Into the Mystic and I thought maybe, just maybe, I could feel him aroused through the layers of his tux.

“Dance with me, Livvy,” he’d said. “Just this one time.” As if I’d turn him down.

The other girls in my dorm have their doors open as I slink back in to change. I see them standing at their mirrors with curling irons, talking to each other as they eat yogurt at their desks. I smile at the two girls who live across the hall and offer a small wave.

One of them, Elyse I think her name is, wags her