As we lurched down the corridor, giggling like drunks—even though I'd abstained all night, since Coach was really starting to come down on us about the partying—I heard other familiar voices start to call, Landon! Landon! But there was suddenly nothing I wanted to do less than go play Flip Cup with a paper crown on my head, or stand inside a shoulder-to-shoulder circle of fawning, sophomore Alpha Gammas—end-of-junior-year-blow-out be damned. The thing about all those girls who had it bad for the football team was that they had a way of making you feel replaceable. Even when, say, Tracy Johns was foisting a blow job on me during Monday's half-time, there was this crazy look in her eyes, like she couldn't even see me. People, I've found, tend to see the capital letters: Landon Sterling, Quarterback. Landon Sterling, Favorite for the Broncos. Landon Sterling, Draft Pick, Homecoming King, Preacher's Son, Landon Sterling...Great On Paper.

Which is why I was so drawn to this little creep. I watched her walk into the party from across the room, with that punk freshman Melanie Something who's somehow in with all the frats. Doll clearly didn't know a soul in the room, but she held her chin level to the ground, and walked with her chest out in a way that didn't seem designed to draw male attention. (Though it hella did.) I watched her laugh like a hyena at something her friend said, and then I watched her slap at a mosquito bite on her otherwise spotless, soft-looking arm, and then I watched her peel the label off her Mike's Hard while apparently so bored by something Joey Fontenot was saying that she couldn't even fake a smile. I liked the way she carried herself, so I zeroed in. And then suddenly, somehow, we were talking, and she was saying yes to all these things I expected her to say no to—but not like Tracy Johns. She was looking into my eyes, she was trying to figure me out, she was thinking about it. And I was trying to figure her out. And then, so soon after, she was touching me.

The way this girl kissed was like nothing I'd ever felt before—she was urgent, but also curious. She'd let me hold her silky arms, she'd let me grope her ass...but I still never got the feeling that I'd sealed the deal, or anything. My Dad has a geeky religious word for it—presence. She was very present under my thumb, she was present on that roof with me. Her mouth tasted so sweet. And then we were running like clowns, and her laugh was like some bird call, and she was tripping into my Saab, slamming the passenger door tight. We looked at each other. I put my fingers on her freckles, and thought: fuck, do I want this girl.

She leaned in and kissed me, harder this time. I tucked her dark hair behind her ears, cupped her chin with both my hands, and reveled in her smallness. When she opened her soft mouth to mine, I let my tongue press inside. I wanted to feel every piece of Doll. My cock had been hard through the whole awkward run down the hall, and at that moment it seemed like it could burst from wanting. I took her dainty hand and put it on my manhood. She was tentative at first, but then she started to rub me like a pro.

I worked my way down her pale, perfect neck, thinking that she was the exact color of the moonlight pearling my car seats. I sucked on her neck—slow at first, then hard. She made little sounds at the back of her throat, and let her head collapse against my hand. With a draining thrill, I worked my other hand down to her swollen tit, where I could feel a nipple grasping through the fabric for my touch. I wanted to tear the shirt clean off. It's not like I'm some big one-night stander, but for whatever reason I literally couldn't get this girl naked fast enough.

“Wait,” she breathed, her voice like a bell in my ear. “Should we...go somewhere?” As soon as she said this, she hoisted herself up over the gearshift and draped herself over me. She weighed next to nothing, but the pressure on my cock was too great. I worried for one impossible second that I would come, right there in my pants, just from holding her. I tried to send my mind away from the precarious situation—Naked old people naked old people puppies crying, parkas...

“Do you want to go somewhere?” I asked, heart beating hard in my chest. I sat up against her, hoping she'd feel the rock wall of my muscles. She kissed me lightly on the mouth, smiled, and seemed to consider something.

“Beer,” she said finally, as I worked my way around to nibble on her ear. “We need beer. I know this place on Kerbey Lane.”

“If you want beer, there's a closer spot.” If this was to be the obstacle to our fucking, I was prepared to shoulder the burden. I patted the seat beside me and fumbled for my keys. As she climbed off me, smiling, I got a whiff of her fruity shampoo and an echo of Virginia Slim. The combo made me achy. Ever since I quit smoking, even the hint of tobacco sends me spinning, just like the smell of sex.

I could hardly focus on the road as we ventured out into the city proper. She started up giggling again, huddled her tiny legs up against her chest. I was trying to think of some well-lit place where we could go, some room where I could see her whole body splayed out in light. The apartment was out of the question—Kyle had “booked” it hours in advance. And even though we'd broken up a full two weeks before, my bros were so used to me shacking up at Zora's place that they tended to invite friends over to use my bed. But something about Doll made me think I needed to take her somewhere special. Like, she maybe didn't have another place to go.

“So where are you from?” I asked, more to kill the charged silence than anything.

“Uh-uh. No personal details, remember? Like You've Got Mail.”

“Is that what we agreed to?” I kept my follow-up question to myself: what the fuck is You've Got Mail?

She reached across the seat and put a cool palm to my forehead. She leaned over and took my earlobe lightly between her teeth. “At the end of the night. Remember?”

Fuckkkkkkk.

The car practically skidded into the gas station lot, and I had my seatbelt undone before I'd put us in park. Doll stayed still, her brow furrowed in the direction of the neon sign.

“This isn't the place I said,” she murmured.

“No, it's better. It's closer to where we're headed.” Thinking quickly, I'd decided on the player's locker room—no one would be there at this hour, and with my key I could get easy access to the comfy couch in the PT Gym. We could turn on all the lights. I could drag her wet clothes off with my teeth. I could take her soaked panties in my mouth. I could...

“Come on!” I said, shaking off the impure thoughts. If the old man could have seen me then—oh, he'd probably have keeled over and died. Pastor Sterling's progeny, following his dick to certain doom. The thought of his face all angry with talk of hellfire made me laugh to myself.

“I have to come with you?” Something in her tone then made me suspicious—it was something I shoulda caught, in hindsight. But instead of thinking with my brain, I shut my door, walked around the car, and opened her passenger side door like a Prince's henchmen or some shit. She looked at me with her brow all scrunched up. It was super adorable. After a final prod, she took my hand and followed me into the store.

We drifted around the aisles, forestalling our foreplay. She pretended to hide behind the rack of softcore porn mags, and I pretended to look for her. When I had her cornered, I grasped her middle and picked her up. She giggled like a schoolgirl. It felt so natural and good, like we were high school sweethearts.

“You kids watch what you're knocking over,” yelled the harpy at the register—this older woman in a tent-like zebra print muu-muu and cat-eye glasses. She sneered at us over a copy of UsWeekly and a slushy the color of eggplant. Doll rolled her eyes at the intrusion, and pinched me on the ass.