*Slow updates*| currently editing heavily.
He needs the spotlight. She wants to disappear. What happens when they're forced to collide?
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After an injury nearly derailed his basketball career, UCLA senior Charlie Murtaugh has one last shot at go...
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For the first time in what feels like forever, I wake to the soft warmth of morning sunlight, not the shrill screech of my 6 a.m. alarm. And despite the sinful choices I made last night and the unmistakable ache between my legs—I feel... good. Refreshed. Rested. Happy.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light streaming through my open curtains, and when I glance toward the mirror across from my bed, I see the shape of my body, tangled in sheets. A smile blooms across my face before I can stop it. A full-body kind of smile. One that starts in my chest, where everything feels soft and still and golden.
I pull the blanket over my face, hiding like some blushing teenager who just had her first kiss. Which, to be fair, isn't too far off.
I had sex. With Charlie.And not just any kind of sex. It was rough. Messy. Electric. Mind-blowing in a way that made the world feel like it had cracked open just so I could see the stars.
Charlie Murtaugh absolutely ruined me. And I liked it. I liked every second of it.
If you'd told me a year ago this would happen, I'd have laughed in your face. Because someone like me—someone with my past, my walls, my quiet, invisible trauma—doesn't get moments like this. Doesn't get to feel beautiful. Wanted. Deserving.
But last night, Charlie made me feel all of that and more. He made me feel like I mattered.
The room is silent except for a low hum of 90s R&B wafting in from my cracked window. I rub sleep from my eyes, glancing at the other side of the bed—empty. No sign of Charlie. A dull ache flickers in my chest as I swing my legs over the edge and rise, every step a reminder of what I gave away. Or maybe what I finally got to have.
There's no regret. Just soreness. And the unfamiliar awareness that I'm no longer a virgin.
And still, I smile.
I bend to pick up my clothes scattered across the floor, and for once, nothing feels out of place—not even my wild sex hair. I catch my reflection and giggle. I look like myself, only slightly more... undone. Hair like a tangled crown. Skin flushed. Eyes soft.
I don't look different. But I feel different. Not transformed. Just... shifted. Like something finally clicked into place.
Am I changed? Probably not. But after everything I've been through—a childhood laced with bullying, years of feeling invisible—I never expected my first time to feel like this. I always imagined it would be transactional. Something I'd "get over with" one day at 40 when someone took pity on me.
But that wasn't the case. This was Charlie.And it was good. Even though he's not lying next to me right now, I'm grateful for what he gave me. For once, life gave me a win. And I'll take it.
Still...You should be happy, not stupid. Where is Charlie?
I inhale deeply, pushing the thought aside before it can bloom into something ugly. He was clear: this isn't a relationship. No obligations. No sleepovers. I left his place too after our first almost-night. Fair is fair. Maybe it's even better this way—no awkward morning-after conversation, no weirdness.
