Fling.
Copyrighted to Jodirium, 2009.

The following story is well... steamy, sexy and hot. Definitely rated PG-13.
And although Harlow doesn't see the inner spirits of troubled classmates, I think you're still going to like her.
Please review?

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Chapter One.

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A taste of tongue, a rush of flesh.

Oh. My. God.

Heavy breathing, pounding hearts.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Bodies pressing, mouths gasping, pure pleasure.

Faster. Harder.

Scream for me.

I blinked. The coffee shop was busy. From my seat on an uncomfortable plastic chair, people moved all around me, carrying drinks, books, newspapers, secrets.
I swallowed, licking my dry lips. Sounds of feet, coffee orders, and loud voices surrounded me. The early-morning sun poured in from the wall of windows to my right. I continued to glance out of them, white-rimmed sunglasses covering my blood-shot eyes.

I was seriously hung-over – and seriously stuck on a ridiculous, but embarrassingly steamy, daydream of love. Not that I have felt that kind of passion before. The only guys, who seem interested in me, are the kinds that are only interested in... Well, nothing that involves personality, caring or commitment – instead these boys prefer to stare at my chest, my ass, and anywhere else that looks appealing.

Usually, these encounters end quickly – with me, on top, one high heeled boot against their throat, and them, on the ground, seriously apologizing their faces off so that I won't kick the shit out of them.

Although, from time to time, I do kick the shit out of some of them – just for giggles.

I stood, my body wobbled as I kept a tight hold on my extra-large, extra-hot, strictly black coffee. (My personal remedy for too much alcohol).

Of course, I looked like hell.

Actually, I looked like a squirrel that had just been run over by a garbage truck, but you get the picture. My long hair, a nice caramel brown, was half-straight, half-wavy, and full of static. Yesterday's clothes – dark wash, skinny jeans, an old, concert t-shirt and a light brown leather jacket – were wrinkled and probably smelled like some mall chick's barf.

I pushed my sunglasses up, and my chair in.

It was five minutes past eight. I was a walking nightmare who dared not be late for class.

Dawn was going to be so pissed.

"Harlow, what the hell are you wearing?" See, like I said, pissed.

I sighed, fumbling around my private dorm room for my English textbooks. It was now twenty-three minutes past eight, and I was back at Kentworthy Academy – a boarding school off the East Coast. My best friend and fellow classmate, Dawn Renee Morgan, stood in my doorway wearing a freshly ironed, lilac skirt and a blazer.

"Classy, ready to rock-chic." I answered smoothly, moving from my messy bed-sheets to my over-flowing desk.

"Oh my god." Dawn groaned for about the four hundredth time since our conversation had begun, "First you sneak out to go to another college party and then you show up after it's all over completely wasted and dressed like a hooker."

"Actually," I said calmly with a slow grin as I pulled my English novel out from behind a stack of assignments, "I do believe the party's still going."

This reply of mine, of course, caused another, loud and exasperated, 'OMG' from Dawn. "Great, so you haven't been home for the last eight hours, nor have you slept. "

"No, but I did get coffee." I waved my plastic cup in front of her blue eyes. Dawn's pretty – maybe even prettier than me. She has long, perfectly straight, chocolate brown hair, flawless skin, small boobs, and a thin frame. Unlike me, who was tall, curvy, toned, full of bruises from past fights, and always had chipped nails. Nevertheless, as pretty as she might be, Dawn has no idea how to have fun – and was rather unimpressed by my lukewarm caffeine.

"So you went straight from some guy's house to a coffee shop?"

"Yep."

"Oh. My. God. You are going to get expelled."

"Nope. My parents have given too many donations to this..." I waved my coffee cup in a circle, indicating the area around me. "School."

"Wow. You are really wasted."

"Yep."

"Fuck." I've found that Dawn only swears –rarely- around me.

"Don't worry, no one attacked me or anything, and I'm still un-wed."

"Well, that's a bonus." Still unimpressed.

"Straight up." I grabbed two, half-finished assignments and shoved them, and my English books, into my over-sized purse. I swung the bag over my shoulder and pushed my sunglasses up on my nose again. Half-drunken coffee still in hand, I then breezed past Dawn into the hallway of the second level of the girl's dormitory.

"Wait," she called, "where are you going?" Her surprised tone implied that I shouldn't go to my first class dressed in what I was wearing.

"To get laid." I replied loudly as I walked away from her, in a way that was hard to tell if I was lying or not.

"Oh. God. Oh. God. Jesse."

I was trying my best to focus on the second, half-finished English assignment in front of me, but the continuous, breathless moans of a female freshman was seriously hindering my task at hand. I mean, we were in the library for Christ's sake – do you think you and your..." Jesse", could go canoodle somewhere else where my grades aren't affected?

Then again, it was partly my fault. I knew better.

You see, it was a Tuesday morning. (Yes, I had gone out to a college party after school curfew on a school night). First period I had a spare class – as did Dawn – and I usually spent it in the library, finishing my school work at the last possible minute. I liked to sit at the back of our large library, close to the window and at a table by myself. (I was far from the model student, as Dawn would kindly point out). Furthermore, as most students at Kentworthy knew all too well, in first period every Tuesday morning, Mr. Green would be the teacher-supervisor in the library. And, as most students at Kentworthy knew all too well, Mr. Green would sit at the Librarian's desk and sleep through the entire first period. This meant that, as most students at Kentworthy knew all too well, from eight fifteen to five after nine, as long as you were relatively quiet, and stayed out of Mr. Green's sight, you could pretty much get away with anything in the library.

"Jesse. Yes. Oh. Yes. Oh. Oh. Oh."

The current freshman chick that was letting "Jesse" get a pretty decent 'feel-ski' behind the last bookshelf to the left of where I sat was certainly boarding on being 'relatively quiet'.

Although, I guess it was pretty difficult to keep your voice down when you were a naive, dumb freshman fully on making out with a shirtless boy instead of going to her first class of the day.

"Oh. Jesse. Yes. Harder. Please. Don't. You. Dare. Stop."

Fuck. Who was I kidding? The girl was basically giving me an orgasm.

I stood – still hung-over, but now moderately pissed off. I mean, most people who are hung-over aren't necessarily in a pleasant mood, but before I was at least trying to make it look like I was fine.

Truth was – huge headache, no sleep, and about fifteen minutes away from recieving an incomplete on my latest English assignment.

And, here at Kentworthy, they don't let you pass English with any in-completes – one of the many formal and strict rules that are always upheld once your parents are paying over five thousand dollars a semester to attend. (And we're only grades nine to twelve – just imagine the money our parents will have spent on us by the time we actually graduate college with actual careers).

I took one shaky step towards them and then-

"You'd better go, Sweetheart."

I flung myself back into my chair, almost falling over in the process. "Jesse" was apparently ending their make-out session himself, and I wanted it to seem like I hadn't been about to tear the chick apart. (Although, it wouldn't have been the first time I'd gotten myself into a bitch-fight).

His partner-in-crime giggled. I gagged. "Okay. See you later, baby." She pulled her shirt back into place, and fluffed her blond hair and breezed past me, face flushed, body shivering, covered in beads of sweat.

Probably in a hurry to tell her freshman buddies what she had just be doing in the back of the school's library. Figures. Another airhead making out with another jock.

I turned back to my English assignment. I had thirteen minutes left. I could finish if I hurried.

"So, I hope you're not jealous."

Shit.

"Jealous of what? You jacking off?" This is the other reason why Dawn would say I'm not a model student – besides my poor study habits, and my sneaking out, there's also my honest and stubborn attitude. I was actually surprised that my consumption of alcohol didn't effect this.

Jesse laughed lightly, I guess to himself. He seemed to ignore my reply. "She was rather inexperienced. I wouldn't dwell on it. I'm sure that you and I could... well, go a lot longer and a lot farther than she did."

I was my turn to laugh, but it was almost in disbelief as I continued to write my second English assignment. "Just because I'm hung-over does not mean I will be your next eye candy to brag about in the boy's locker room."

"Oh, how bad is it?" Without warning, he was suddenly right beside me, lifting up my sunglasses to take a peek at my blood-shot eyes. He smiled again, and sat down in the chair across from me. I blinked, my sunglasses falling back into place. Unlike the girl, their wasn't a single drop of sweat on him. I blinked again, said nothing and continued to write my assignment.

"That bad huh?" Apparently "Jesse" never had a girl reject him for a school assignment before because he wasn't leaving me alone, as my body language clearly instructed him to.

"Yeah." I muttered, not looking up. Jesse leaned across the table and grabbed my almost-empty coffee. At this, I looked up. He popped off the plastic lid, before placing his lips on the cup and taking a sip.

"Mm. Black coffee. Strong stuff. I love a feisty woman."

Yet again, I blinked at him, pressing my lips together. Who the hell did this guy think he was? I mean, okay – Jesse was good looking – built, taller than me, short, dark, scruffy hair with sideburns. I could see his biceps pressing against the fabric of his white collared t-shirt. He, unlike his latest eye candy, was not a freshman. In fact, he looked old enough to be in my grade, a fellow senior student.

I swallowed hard, then suddenly gave him a daring smile and leaned across the table. "So, I guess you're pretty good." I said smoothly, watching him drink my coffee.

"Yeah," He agreed, a slow, charming smile coming to the corners of his pink lips, "I would say that I am."

I laughed lightly, maybe even a little flirtatiously. Then, I stood, leaning farther across the table so that my nose was almost touching his. "Well, that's too bad," I whispered slowly, "'cause I only get with boys who are really, pretty good."

I watched Jesse's macho expression falter, right before I took my mostly-finished assignment in one hand, and slammed my open coffee cup into his handsome face with the other. Of course, what he hadn't drank went all over his perfectly crisp, white-collared t-shirt.

I heard him sputtering behind me as I walked past the Librarian's desk with a classic smirk of victory, nodding at Mr. Green as he finally woke up just before the bell to second period rang.

As if I would ever get with a boy like "Jesse".
Even if he was really, pretty, good.