Strum Your Heart Out by Crystal Kaswell Read Free Book Online

huh?
    Kara: Sure, why not? Do you masturbate?
    Drew: Of course.
    Kara: So why don't you go fuck yourself?
    Drew: Maybe I will ;)
    Kara: Enjoy it.
    Drew: I always do.
    I throw my phone on my bed and boot up my computer. It's just after nine. The essay is due at the start of class tomorrow. If I skip my finance lecture and pull an all-nighter, I have a solid fourteen hours. Way more than I need.
    My phone buzzes against the bed.
    Drew: So by "write an essay," you really mean...
    Kara: GOOD NIGHT!
    Drew: Feel free to picture my ass if it helps.

CHAPTER SIX
    I wake up to a picture message. It's the album cover of Born in the USA. Bruce Springsteen's jean-clad ass over red and white stripes.
    It's from Drew, of course.
    Drew: If The Boss doesn't get you there, no one will.
    ***
    Friday morning, I wake up early and focus all of my energy on packing. I have about six hours and there's a ton to do. I get lost in the tasks, emptying my closet and bookshelf. Everything fits into two suitcases and four cardboard boxes.
    My existence in this apartment fits into the trunk of my car.
    I'm so focused, I don't stop until my stomach is growling. It's well into the afternoon and I haven't eaten all day. I finish off a box of Froot Loops and toss them in the recycling bin.
    One last look around my room. Nothing under the bed. Nothing in the closet. Nothing left of mine.
    I grab the handle of one of the suitcases—it's a huge pink thing, perfect for moving large amounts of shit—and drag it to the door. Getting it through the door is trickier than I'd like, but I manage okay. The stairs are going to be a bit more difficult.
    I roll my shoulders back. The only way out is through. I grab the handle and lift it. Shit. It's heavy.
    "You need some help with that?"
    It's Drew. What the hell? We're supposed to meet at the new place in an hour, and he's standing at the bottom of my staircase.
    "I've got it." I drag the suitcase down the first step and set it down with a thud.
    "You're going to hurt yourself."
    "Good."
    He runs up the stairs and grabs the suitcase right out of my hands. Then he lifts it like it's nothing and descends.
    Drew sets the suitcase on the concrete. He opens the trunk of his car—somehow he got a free space right outside the building—and shoves it inside.
    "I could have done that," I say.
    No response. He walks back up the stairs, past me, inside the apartment. Okay, fine. Apparently, we're doing things his way.
    I make my way to my room and grab my other suitcase. Drew plucks my hand off it.
    "I can do it," I say.
    "It's heavy."
    "I'm aware." I grab onto the handle. "Aren't you supposed to protect your hands?"
    "My hands are more than capable."
    I try to push him out of the way, but he doesn't budge. Drew raises his eyebrow. He stares at me like he's daring me to do something.
    "Please move," I say.
    He shakes his head.
    Fine. I try to push past him. He grabs my shoulders and holds me in place. I try again. This time, he wraps his arms around me and lifts me off my feet.
    What. The. Fuck.
    Drew slides one hand under my ass and holds my body against his. I press hard against his shoulders. Not enough to hurt him. Or to convince him to never do this again.
    "Put me down," I say.
    "Are you going to let me carry the bags?"
    "No."
    "There's your answer."
    "What is wrong with you?" I ask. "When did you get so fucking weird?"
    He takes a step forward and drops me on the bed. I land on the mattress—Nadeen's mattress—with a thud. Drew climbs on after me. He slings his knee over my thighs, so he's straddling me.
    His fingertips skim the edge of my t-shirt. He leans close. Close enough to kiss me. Close enough to fuck me.
    "I don't want to tickle you into submission," he says, but from the way he's smiling it's clear he does.
    He runs his fingers over my stomach. It's this strange thing between I want you so bad and I'm going to tickle you until you pee your pants.
    I clear my throat. "Fine."
    "Thank you." He shifts off me and