She's cute, we meet.

She's cute, we meet.

I’m sprinting, late to class (again) with my mismatched socks peeking out from my Converse. Because I’m me, and talented, I’m reflecting on boys while I sprint. College is supposed to be the time to meet boys. Lots of boys. Interesting boys. And so far, I've met exactly... three. And two of them were most definitely not interested in me. Not that way, anyway (thanks, Ethan).

I need a new strategy. Perhaps I should start attending those weird club meetings? "Join the Underwater Basket Weaving Society! Dive into Creativity!" the fliers practically scream it from the bulletin boards. Maybe the handsome, mysterious, misunderstood type is into that? It's worth a shot.

As I entertain this thought, I whirl around a corner and nearly introduce my face to a tree. Well, a human tree. A broad-shouldered, towering figure in a letterman jacket. Seriously? Cringe.

Suppressing a giggle, I manage a double take. There’s more to this scene than an overgrown jock. His beefy arm is holding a petite blonde woman against the wall, her escape obviously blocked. She’s pinned, like a trapped butterfly. Her anxious eyes are darting about and her lips are sealed in a tight line. She’s clearly not a willing participant in this high school hero’s testosterone-fueled display.

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I rack my brain, trying to place her. I’m certain we’ve never crossed paths in class or in any of the awkward orientation icebreakers. Yet, the sight of her trapped in this unfair situation ignites a spark of righteous fury in me. This isn’t just uncool. It’s unacceptable.

My fists clench at my sides, adrenaline replacing the earlier romantic musings. In the grand scheme of things, the absence of boys doesn’t compare to the presence of the wrong kind. And right now, there's a wrong boy who needs to be taught a lesson. Time to bring out the Jo Magic™.

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Summoning my most boisterous, gregarious Jo-self, I stride up, wedging myself between the jock and the mystery blonde. "Samantha! Oh my God! I've been looking everywhere for you!" I squeal, wrapping one arm around her shoulder and pulling her close.

She gives me a quick, startled look as I pull her close, and then her expression morphs from surprise into relief and gratitude. "Oh, hey! Um, Heather!" she replies, playing along.

"That's me! I am indeed Heather! That is my name!" I reply cheerfully. I can see the jock trying to re-enter the conversation, so I throw in, "I've been searching for you all over campus! I've missed you SO much.” I pause, and the jock is about to jump in again, and “Samantha” is looking at me blankly, so I improvise: “Remember that wild night with the flying squirrel?"

“Samantha”, laughs, her tension starting to ease. "Oh, how could I forget! You mean when it got into Professor Langley's office and chaos ensued?"

I nod vigorously, getting into the flow of things. "That's the one! And how you saved the day with that net you conveniently had in your backpack!"

The jock, clearly not liking being out of the loop, interjects, "Wait, who are you again? And what's with the squirrel story? It doesn’t matter.” He scoffs a scoff so loaded with toxic masculinity I almost throw up on his letterman jacket. “So, babe, are you going to our game this Saturday?"

"Sorry," I wave dismissively, making a face like I'm trying to remember where I've seen him before, "have we met? I'm super busy, especially with squirrel rescue, which I need Samantha’s squirrel net to do, right now, so it's hard to keep track."

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“Samantha” stifles a giggle, leaning into me a little closer, "Yeah, such a bummer, because Heather and I, remember… we uh, have that big, girls night on Saturday? So no going to the game for us."

"Right, right," I jump in, "very official Squirrel Sisterhood business."

She shoots me a look, like “Don’t push it.” Oh, she should have chosen a different person to be rescued by if she wanted that!

The jock is visibly frustrated now, not used to being so effectively sidelined. "Look, ladies," he starts again, trying to push through the absurdity, "I feel like you might be fucking with me with this squirrel thing, I was just trying to invite you to—"

Section 2242: An illustration from an otherworlderotic story. Romantic erotica with beautiful images.

But I’m having none of it. I hold up a hand dramatically. "Sorry, dude. We have to run. She doesn’t have time to be accosted right now, you know how it is—squirrel net call of duty and all." Oh man, he’d be angry if he knew what “accosted” meant.

“Samatha” nods vigorously. "Super busy, yep."

As I steer her away, arm around her shoulders the jock just stands there, looking baffled. When we're a safe distance away, she lets out a deep breath. "Thank you," she whispers, eyes wide. "I didn’t know how to get away from him."

I chuckle, "No problem. Always happy to help a fellow squirrel enthusiast. By the way, I'm Jo!"

The blonde woman laughs softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "That was... quite the story, Jo. I hope you don’t actually need that squirrel net, because I definitely don’t have it." She extends her hand, giving me a warm smile. "I'm Amy, by the way."

"Amy," I repeat, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."

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Her hand is warm in mine, her grip gentle yet firm. As our fingers touch, I notice a faint blush spread across her cheeks. It's a sight that gives me pause, my heart fluttering slightly in my chest. That’s… really weird. I’m taken aback for a second, her hand soft in mine. It’s nice, and I hold it for a bit too long. She quickly pulls her hand back, leaving me standing there with a confused smile on my face.

“Um,” she stammers, glancing down at my chest. “One of your buttons on your sweater came undone during the, uh, rescue.” She looks nervous, glancing around back towards where the jock was. Jeez, that guy must have been real bad news.

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I blink a couple of times, and her eyes flash down to my chest again. Finally, I process her words. Ah! I’m letting the girls hang out. I look down, and notice my buttons are all out of whack, in the wrong order and everything. No wonder they got loose!

“Hey, thanks!” I say, giving her a smile. She smiles back, in a way that seems... different, somehow.

"You know, I actually prefer not to wear a bra with this sweater," I confess, nonchalantly. "It's just so much more comfortable. It’s like I'm wrapped up in a cloud. And the material against my skin feels... liberating."

Amy's eyes widen slightly at my comment, and a hint of redness creeps into her cheeks. She seems taken aback, her gaze darting around nervously. She seems... flustered? But, she quickly regains her composure, giving me a small nod. "That's, um, cool. Comfort is important," she stammers, her voice cracking slightly.

I can't quite put my finger on it, but something in her response seems a bit unusual. But before I can probe further, I realize I need to fix the button situation.

“Okay, I’m going to need to unbutton this whole thing and start over. It’s just a sweater, no big deal, right?” I say with a shrug, trying to play it off casually. “Could you, maybe, keep an eye out for me? I don't want to give the whole campus a show.”

Amy nods, seeming to regain her composure. "Sure, I can do that," she replies, positioning herself to shield me from any prying eyes.

As I begin to undo the buttons, my fingers fumbling slightly with the tiny fastenings, Amy casts quick glances my way. Every so often, I catch her looking at me, then quickly averting her gaze when our eyes meet. It's kinda cute actually, in a shy, awkward sort of way.

The soft fabric of the sweater falls open, revealing my bare skin underneath. I can feel the cool fall air on my chest, the thrill of being so open and vulnerable in a public place. I carefully re-button the sweater, taking my time to ensure each button finds its rightful place. The entire time, I'm acutely aware of Amy's presence, of her quick, stolen glances.

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Once I'm done, I straighten up, pulling the sweater close around me. The soft material feels even more comforting now, wrapping me up in a warm embrace. Amy looks relieved when I finish, her posture relaxing as she steps back.

"Okay, crisis averted," I declare, giving her a grateful smile. She returns it, her eyes sparkling with a mix of relief and... something else I can't quite put my finger on.

"Thanks for having my back, Amy," I say, giving her a playful nudge with my elbow. "I owe you one."

She laughs, a sound that catches me off guard—it's soft and genuine, unlike the nervous chuckles she'd offered earlier. “Well, I suppose that does make us even. You saved me from the jock, I saved you from a minor wardrobe malfunction.”

"That’s true, huh, one girl-code act begets another," I respond, chuckling. Her humor, though tinged with awkwardness, is endearing.

"Exactly," Amy replies, her smile growing wider. "It's like the law of conservation of energy. In the universe of girl-code, kindness cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred."

I blink at her, not quite following. "The law of… what now?"

Amy's cheeks flush as she realizes her joke may have missed the mark. “It’s, um, it’s a physics thing,” she stammers, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Never mind, it was a nerdy joke."

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"No, no! It's cool," I assure her, even though physics was never my strongest subject. "I just... didn't catch that one. But hey, I can appreciate a good nerd joke even if I don't always get them."

I then pat my boobs confidently, the grin on my face not wavering. "I might not bring the intellectual humor to the table, but I've got charisma and sex appeal in spades," I declare, striking a playful pose for emphasis.

Amy's eyes widen, and she lets out a surprised laugh—an honest, full-bodied sound that makes my heart flutter in my chest. There's a moment of silence before she responds, her voice barely above a whisper, "Well, I... I can't argue with that."

Her cheeks are a deep shade of pink, and she quickly averts her gaze. But not before I catch a glimmer of something more in her eyes. She’s flustered, but there's also a hint of intrigue, maybe even admiration, that makes me feel warm inside.

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"I, uh," Amy stammers, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I should probably get going. My next lecture starts in ten minutes and it's all the way across campus."

She hesitates, her feet shifting as if she's torn between staying and leaving. Then, she glances back at me, her eyes soft. The corners of her mouth lift into a smile that's part sheepish, part sincere. "It was nice meeting you, Jo. I hope to see you around."

As she walks away, I'm left standing there, a whirlwind of emotions churning inside me. I'm usually the one in control, the one who knows what to say and when to say it. But for some reason, Amy's departure leaves me at a loss for words.

I’m still frozen for some reason, emotions running through me. What the hell? I’m the confident one! Before I can react, she's already turned and is walking away, leaving me standing there in the middle of the campus, a goofy smile on my face.

I watch as Amy's figure grows smaller in the distance, her petite frame swallowed up by the sea of students rushing to their next classes. It's not until she's out of sight that I realize I missed the opportunity to ask for her number or make plans to meet again.

A pang of regret hits me. I just flawlessly executed a girl-code save. I should've at least gotten her number. But the opportunity's gone, and all I can do now is hope that I'll run into her again soon.

As I start walking towards my own class, I can't help but replay our encounter in my mind. Amy's smile, her genuine laugh at my antics, her nerdy yet endearing energy. It was refreshing, different from the usual reactions I get from people.

My mind drifts back to my time at the all-girls boarding school. I've always been able to appreciate the beauty of a hot girl, their grace and confidence. But I've never been attracted to them in that way.

I've had my share of wild nights and close friendships with girls. Some of them even tried to blur the lines a bit, but it was never more than just fun for me. I mean, girls are great, and I can see why guys are into them. But they've just never been my thing.

If I were into girls, I'd have probably already made a move on Amy. That's just how I am - direct, assertive, and unafraid to go after what I want. Especially when it comes to sex. But with Amy... it's different. I'm drawn to her, yes, but not in a way I want to explore in the bedroom. I think.

Yup, that must be it. Pure logic: if I was into her, I would have made a move. I didn’t make a move, so I’m not into her. Irrefutable! Q.E.D.! Whatever that means.

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Well, she did have a really great smile. And the way she laughed at my squirrel nonsense… it’s like, everyone looks at me like I’m crazy (which I am), but her laugh was genuine, like she appreciated my creativity…

As I continue on my way, I’m not really thinking about boys anymore.

Well, for a bit, at least…

The story continues in Chapter 4...
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