Oh yeah. There’s a rich girl who smells like strawberries asleep down the hall. I get up at seven sharp, do some pushups, situps and pullups, my usual routine. Pull on an Underarmor compression shirt and gray shorts. I’m more tired than normal, probably because I had weird dreams that made me wake up with a serious boner. When I pass her door, I’m surprised to hear her voice. Most girls – hell, most college students – aren’t up this early on a Sunday. Especially the night after a party. It sounds like she’s on the phone, and speaking in a worried voice, but I don’t stop to listen. I’m lacing up my shoes when she comes downstairs, carrying that huge bag again. Today she’s wearing shorts and a tank top. It’s less modest than what she had on in practice, but has way more coverage than last night’s dress. Her hair, long and smooth, is tied back in a ponytail that hits between her shoulders.
