Get What You Need Read Online Free PDF

dug through the closet next to her bathroom. “Really, though.”
    He stood, terry balled up in his hand. Tilting his head to the side, he took a better look. Blue. What the hell was he supposed to say about that? “It’s okay. I liked the red better.”
    “Red is so pedestrian. It could almost be mistaken for something natural.”
    “Not that shade of red.”
    “Whatever. You’re just envious.”
    “If you say so.”
    With that, he locked himself in her bathroom and started up the water before stripping out of his clothes. He winced at the feeling of the dried come on his skin. Never a good thing. Except when it was.
    Shaking his head at himself, he stepped under the spray. It wasn’t fully warm yet—the pipes in this tenement took forever to get going, but he didn’t care. He braced himself against the chill and ducked his head into the stream, scrubbing at his hair.
    I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair. He wished it were really that easy. The memory of Greg on top of him was burned into him, that warm, wet mouth surrounding him, the nice hard dick inside his hand, and the pulse, the way he’d arched when he came…
    Marsh cursed and reached for Yulia’s shampoo. The water was warm now, and he relaxed into it the best he could as he cleaned the shitty day and the shitty night away. He rubbed soap over his dick with disinterest, unwilling to do anything about it, even though he was half-hard. Stupid dick.
    By the time he was done, he was feeling a little more human, and his erection had mostly gone down. He shut off the water and grabbed the scratchy towel from where he’d left it on the counter, dragging it over his skin with as much efficiency as he could muster, considering how crummy and tired and disappointed he felt. He pulled on his fresh underclothes and the same hoodie and jeans. Bundling his dirty clothes under his arm, he left the warm solitude of the bathroom and braced himself for whatever was coming next.
    Only Yulia was apparently not in a ball-busting mood. She was sitting on the end of the sofa, a book in her lap, bright blue curls tied up with an elastic. There was cup of real, strong coffee at her elbow and another on the coffee table, and his vision got a little blurry for a second. He plopped down next to her and reached for the second mug. Sure enough, it was doctored up with just the right amount of cream and sugar, and it was the best thing he’d tasted all week. He hummed and sipped until it was about half gone, then set it aside.
    He lay down next to her and put his head in her lap.
    “We’re not having sex,” she said quietly, not looking up from her book even as she ran her fingers through his hair.
    “Thank God.”
    It had happened a few times since he’d met her during orientation their freshman year. Once that very day, and again the day after, and then not again for a year—not until she’d let herself into his room the morning after something she still hadn’t explained to him had rattled her to her bones. Once his junior year when a recruiting scout had passed him over.
    Sex with Yulia was dangerous and athletic, and it always left him panting and empty and happy that, in the end, they were really just friends.
    She sat in silence for a minute, petting his hair, not turning pages in her book. She didn’t ask again what was wrong, and he loved her so fiercely in that moment that he wanted to shake with it. Instead, he squeezed her thigh and pressed his face against her abdomen.
    “I fucked up,” he whispered.
    The gentle motions of her fingertips against his scalp stuttered, but she picked up her rhythm soon enough. “Oh?”
    And it was too much to explain. There were the conversations he’d had the day before, first with the bursar’s office and then with his coach. The call he’d tried to make home to his brother was definitely off limits. Then there’d been the fruitless outing to the bar with the team that he knew he shouldn’t have gone on, but