Eager to Learn (Complicity Cycle) Read Online Free Page A

stomach and past my navel. Down, down, to where all the warmth and the electricity coiled and vibrating in anticipation.
    And in all the wetness and the heat, I felt the cool dry brush of foreign fingertips against my skin.
    I gasped and stumbled back at the remembered sensation.
    “What?” he whispered, glancing at the livingroom-side wall that symbolized Ashley’s presence.
    I stepped out of the shower, streaming water and making puddles on the bathroom floor. I didn’t care. I grabbed a towel distractedly and wrapped it around my nakedness like a cloak.
    I looked in the mirror, and through a steam-mottled haze, a faceless me looked back.
    A hard stone formed in my throat.
    “What is it?” Jeffery asked, genuine concern in his voice as he stumbled out of the shower, his hard penis bobbing.
    I breathed and closed my eyes. “I can’t do this right now,” I said, hating myself as I said it. I glanced at his cock, and I felt like a bad girlfriend.
    “Okay,” Jeffery said, rebooting. “Um, did I do something wrong?”
    I shook my head. “No,” I said. “Sorry, it’s just… I can’t explain it, but I just can’t do this right now.”
    Jeffery, naked and dripping, scratched his head. Another boy might have been angry or indignant or at least demand an explanation. But not Jeffery. Though his expression was bewildered, all he said was, “Okay. That’s… Okay.” He grabbed a towel and dried off. When he wrapped it around his waist, a resistant bulge remained. “Are you all right?” he asked.
    I nodded. “I just need a moment.”
    “I could make some popcorn,” he said. “We could watch a movie.”
    I nodded again, trying to swallow back strange tears.
    The fuzzy Jeffery in the mirror watched me for a moment, clearly trying to decide if he should say anything else. Then he grabbed his jeans off the floor—where I’d dripped on them—and headed back to my bedroom.
    The sh ower continued running, continued filling the air with steam and static.
    I remembered now. I remembered everything.
    I was a bad girlfriend. A very bad girlfriend.

Chapter 3
    Earlier that day, I’d climbed up the steps to Choppin Hall after Calculus. The concrete baked in the heat, and a distorting haze wavered over every bright surface, reminding me—somehow—of a beachside gin-and-tonic, sweating and swirling as the melty ice mixed water with alcohol. A swooning kind of heat that you could almost get drunk on.
    I was light-headed as I stepped into the air conditioning, and my stomach felt like someone had it in their grip and was slowly tightening and twisting it. The light-headedness came from the heat. It was a feeling familiar to anyone from the South. The stomach twisting was because I was about to have to talk about my memory problems, and this was a feeling that would be familiar to anyone with a disability they have to discuss with strangers.
    As I started up the interior s tairs to his office, I hoped Giacomo wouldn’t chide me again for being late. I’d learned my lesson, and it wouldn’t happen again. Talking about my disability made me feel somewhat naked, and it’s hard to take any kind of criticism when you’re naked.
    The hallways were empty—as they had been earlier that morning—but the sound of lectures echoed behind closed doors and my shoes once again squeaked on the tile.
    Much sooner than I was ready, I found myself standing in front of heavy wooden door with the brass plaque: C. GIACOMO.
    I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and knocked.
    “It’s open,” said a voice from within.
    I pushed on the door and found it was so.
    In contrast to the cold, sterile hallway, Giacomo’s office was dimly lit, warm, and had a lived-in quality that made me think of good soil. A sweet, smoky maple smell suffused the air, and the walls—which held framed degrees and awards—were made of a rich, red wood. The carpet was the color of a billiard table, and both the chair and the couch against the wall were dark,