Julian's POV
I spend most of the following day fighting to get Bryson out of my head. Every time I try to focus on my textbook, my mind drifts back to the party. To that bedroom. To the way he looked lying beside me on that bed, the sounds he made, and the expression on his face when he finished.
"f**k," I mutter, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes.
I have a test tomorrow. Economics, the class I'm already failing. I need to focus on supply curves, not the curves of Bryson's muscles.
I force myself to read the same paragraph three times before it finally starts making sense. The formulas blur together on the page, numbers and letters refusing to stay in order. My phone sits face-down on my desk, deliberately out of reach so I won't be tempted to check it.
Hours
