Chapter 2: Aftermath and Obsession

1

Nineteen-year-old boys have endless energy—Lucas Grant, born with a silver spoon and a cocky streak a mile wide, was no exception.

In our college town, the summer heat seemed to fuel every reckless decision, and Lucas was right there in the thick of it. He was the kind of guy who never worked for anything—a trust fund kid, his family name always showing up in the Wall Street Journal—but on the basketball court, he played like he had something to prove.

It was the seventh day after graduation, the third since he’d confessed to me. We were still strangers in so many ways.

We’d barely had time to breathe since finals, let alone define what we were. I didn’t know his favorite movie, what music he blasted in his car. Sometimes I’d watch him out of the corner of my eye, wondering if I was just a trophy he’d already claimed.

After that rushed first time, he bounced back quick. When he started again, he was even more at ease.

There was something almost athletic about the way he moved—like he approached sex the way he did a pick-up game at the rec center: all confidence, all muscle memory. My body felt foreign, new, but Lucas acted like he’d known me forever.

My body was like a new toy to him. He explored every inch, obsessed, unable to let go.

He’d trace lazy shapes along my skin with his fingertips, as if he was learning a secret code. Sometimes I’d catch him staring, a puzzle in his eyes. Being wanted like that made my head spin.

The stubble on his chin, once clean-shaven, now roughened his jaw. When he leaned in to kiss me, it made my chest itch and ache.

I felt every scrape and tickle—he smelled like aftershave and something expensive, the kind of cologne you only find at Nordstrom. His body heat pressed into me; even now, I remember that mix of thrill and fear.

I couldn’t help it—I bit him. It only made him grin wider.

He laughed, low and rough, then nipped my collarbone in return. That was Lucas—always up for a challenge. Maybe that’s why I let my guard down. I wanted to see just how far he’d go.

When it was over, he still held me tight. His eyes showed satisfaction, but underneath, a restless hunger.

He tossed and turned in his sleep, but every so often he’d squeeze me like he was afraid I’d vanish. I almost wished he’d let go, but I kept silent.

“Natalie.”

He kissed my earlobe, slow and soft, then trailed lower.

His breath was warm, sending shivers down my back. Hearing my name in his voice made my heart stutter every time.

“Go shower. Then we’ll do it again.”

His words were teasing, but there was a gentleness there too, making me wonder if he cared or just liked the chase.

“But it’s your first time. You sure you can handle it?”

I bit my swollen lips, closed my eyes under his gaze, and nodded anyway.

My cheeks burned. I stared at the cracked ceiling, pretending not to care. But inside, I felt a secret thrill—I wanted to prove I was more than he expected.

Lucas carried me to the bathroom.

He was surprisingly gentle, holding me like I might break, joking about the cheap towels. The tiles were cold under my feet, but his hands were warm.

An hour later.

I stared blankly at the ceiling, my eyes unfocused.

Sunlight crept across the dirty window. Exhaustion washed over me—arms limp, skin buzzing. It felt like a dream, blurry and beautiful.

Who would have thought the once-cold campus heartthrob, Lucas Grant—his family in the Wall Street Journal—was now pressing a girl from the wrong side of the tracks beneath him, kissing every inch of her?

It was almost funny. All those rich kids in their designer jeans, and here I was, a girl from a two-bedroom off Main Street, tangled up with Lucas Grant like I belonged. For a second, I let myself believe I did.

2

When dawn barely broke outside the window, Lucas finally stopped. He pressed his weight on me, face buried in my neck.

The city was waking up—garbage trucks rumbling in the alley, his breath matching their rhythm. For a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just us.

“Natalie, do you like it?”

His voice was muffled, hopeful—a rare crack in his cocky armor. I didn’t trust myself to answer, so I just nodded, cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“If you do, how about coming over every day?”

It sounded like a joke, but the way his fingers tightened, I wondered if he meant it. I imagined what it’d be like, slipping into his world and never looking back.

I was so tired I couldn’t open my eyes, mumbling a half-asleep response.

“Mm-hmm,” I managed, not sure he even heard. Sleep tugged at my eyelids.

Lucas’s phone rang. Suddenly I felt lighter—he got out of bed, picked up his phone, and answered.

I heard the springs creak as he shifted away, the air cooling on my skin. I curled deeper into the blankets, pretending to be asleep.

He probably thought I was out cold. Lucas was tired too, so he just lay on the futon by the window, answering the call.

The old leather squeaked as he settled in. Sunlight streaked through faded curtains—a college apartment morning, laundry everywhere, no coffee to be found.

The call connected; the other end was chaos.

Somebody was shouting, music blaring—like they were crowded around a kitchen table after a night out. I listened, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

“What’s all the noise?” Lucas’s voice was hoarse, but you could hear the satisfaction.

He sounded smug, like he’d just scored the last point in a tie game. My stomach twisted, but I kept my eyes shut, breathing slow.

Someone howled, “Is this... just finished?”

I pictured a bunch of frat guys, half-drunk, waiting for Lucas to brag. It was embarrassing, how predictable they all were.

“Mm.”

Lucas replied lazily, pride dripping from his words. “Three days to win her over, you all lost.”

He sounded like he’d just collected a trophy. I wondered if he’d remember my name tomorrow.

“Was it her first time?”

“Of course.”

“Damn, awesome, she looks so innocent.”

I gritted my teeth, cheeks burning. I wanted to scream, but all I could do was pull the covers tighter.

“So what? Look who it is—there’s no girl our Lucas can’t handle.”

“I don’t believe it. Natalie seems really pure. Last time I talked to her, she blushed.”

The shame stung, but I reminded myself: I was in control. Let them talk. Let them wonder.

“You just finished finals and already got her?”

“Believe it or not.”

“Unless you take a photo in bed. That was the bet, right? You have to take a bed photo to really win.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and ugly. My fists clenched beneath the sheets.

Lucas didn’t hesitate: “Wait.”

He got up, and I heard his footsteps on the creaky floorboards. My breath caught, but I didn’t move. I wondered if he could see my heart pounding.