Once a Nerd Ch. 12 - Sex Stories

Once a Nerd Ch. 12

... borders on parched.

Much like John, she's not a gossip or a blabbermouth. Unlike John, she keeps broad, overlapping circles of friends and acquaintances—so it's all the more impressive. I didn'ttell her about Sam, but as we sit next to each other, she's a side-eye away from gleaming any deep, dark secrets to be found in the scroll and swipe of my phone. Obviously, Sam's less risqué pictures come up a lot.

Last week, when there was a break in the lecture, I might've been...a little moony. She didn't beat around the bush:

"I guess I was presumptuous." She murmurs, leaning in.

"What?" I look at her, too lost in fantasy to even translate a word likepresumptuous.

Her eyes jump pointedly to my phone. More specifically, the most recent selfie of Sam I'd been mooning over. "Oh." I shrug, unashamed. "I never said I had a girlfriend."

"You definitely didn't." She admits. "He's cute. Long distance?"

"Unfortunately."

"Is he back in Illinois?"

"Berkeley."

She spares me a withering look. "Dude, that's an hour away."

"I know." I sigh, because to me, that distance feels insurmountable at times. He feels entire oceans and continents away.

"Oh—my God." She laughs quietly, mindful of those working around us. "I've never even met the guy, and I already feel sorry for him."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Being loved by you must be exhausting."

I couldn't defend myself, because I'm conscious enough to know that's probably true. Sex aside, ...

... Sam does seem generally exasperated by my antics—fondly exasperated, but nonetheless. With Cecilia being the only woman I engage with in plain view of others, she's become an accidental beard. Rumors catch and spread like plague or fire, and without either of us being asked, the general consensus is that we're dating. When it's brought up, I deny it. I'm sure she does the same, but to no avail. Said denials aren't taken seriously, and it's a hot topic amongst my teammates.

It's a big, motherfuckingpain in my ass.

Through drills, runs, rehabilitation, showering, changing, it's brought upconstantly. Wednesdays are set aside for Nelson's strengthening program in the weightroom. It's one of our shorter days, two hours of nonstop lifts and bodyweight exercises, lasting from four to a little after six. Nelson calls it 'the bare minimum of what you boys should be able to do', but it's a brutal, draconian affair that would put the most stalwart of men on their ass. Even I feel gaunt and terminally ill by the end of it, wrung out like a rag between twisting fists. So, you can imagine howirritating it might fucking be to field asinine questions and comments while in recovery.

Before showering, a majority of us seek repair in heat therapy—either the sauna or jacuzzi. Including myself, there's a group of seven piled on the two-tier, wooden benches in the dim-lit sauna. Leaning back into the bench behind me, the back of my head flat to its seat, I'm breathing deeply into a warm, ...