by Sarina Bowen
LobsterShorts: And yes, the free room thing cemented my decision to bail, but trust me, bailing has been on my mind since the race started. If anything, knowing you’re strapped for cash was the excuse I needed to back out.
Sighing, I type, Fine. I believe you. But you could’ve warned me you were gonna do that.
LobsterShorts: Didn’t know I was going to do it until I did it. Anyway. Congrats.
SinnerThree: Thanks.
I put the phone away and accept the fresh pint glass Ahmad places in my hand. I’m on beer number three, but my tolerance is high so I barely feel buzzed.
Fuck. I won the election. It’s finally sinking in now that my anger as dissolved. I don’t have to pay rent next year, and the weight that suddenly lifts off my chest has me sagging forward in relief. Christ. This is going to help. A lot.
“Your first order of business is clear,” Ahmad is saying. Unlike me, his tolerance is shit, and he’s visibly inebriated. Bright red cheeks and extreme clumsiness.
“Is it?” I laugh.
“Yup! Another dinner party,” he declares. “That food, dude! Soooooooo good!”
Jako snickers from the other side of the booth. “Wait, you want another dinner party for the dinner? Not the girls?”
“They can come too, I guess. But only if they bring the cheese balls.”
We all howl in laughter. But my amusement is cut short when my phone buzzes again.
LobsterShorts: This party blows. How’s the bar?
I frown at the screen. Why is he messaging? He’s at a party. His hands should either be holding a drink or a hot chick, not his phone.
SinnerThree: It’s awesome. Feeling nice and buzzed. And how could a sorority PJ party blow? Aren’t they all in hot lingerie?
LobsterShorts: They are. But…I dunno. I can’t hit on any of these women, Sinner. It feels wrong. Like I’m trying to replace Annika.
I find it interesting that he still calls me Sinner. I guess he’s also having trouble merging my two identities. Sinner and Luke Bailey. LobsterShorts and Keaton Hayworth. There are four people in this equation when there should only be two.
SinnerThree: She dumped you, dude. You need to deal with that fact and move on.
LobsterShorts: I will. But who says I have to deal and move on tonight?
SinnerThree: Good point. With that said, a rebound never hurt anyone. I’ve heard it makes people feel better.
LobsterShorts: Nah. I told you, it feels wrong to hook up with one of these girls. Especially a sorority girl. I’d be thinking about Annika the whole time.
LobsterShorts: No women for me tonight.
SinnerThree: How about men?
Motherfucker.
Why did I send that? It sounds—no, it is—flirtatious. And I shouldn’t be flirting with this guy. I’m still kicking myself for kissing him last night. That was a stupid move.
But the problem with hitting Send is, the other person still gets the message, because you fucking hit Send.
LobsterShorts: Is that a dare, Bailey?
Oooh boy. He used my name. Shit just got real.
SinnerThree: I’m just saying, if hooking up with a woman tonight is just going to remind you of Annika, maybe do it with someone who can’t remind you of her.
LobsterShorts: Someone with a penis?
SinnerThree: Why not?
LobsterShorts: Someone like you?
I stare at the screen for so long that I draw the attention of my booth mates. “Bailey! Yo!” Hoffman calls. “Paxton paid good money for this round of beers. If you’re not gonna drink yours, pass it over.”
Paxton balks. “Hey! If he doesn’t want it, why do you get it? I paid for the fucking thing!”
I absentmindedly slide my pint glass toward Paxton. “Have at it. I’ll be right back.”
Ignoring Jako’s curious gaze, I hop out of the booth and amble toward a quiet spot at the end of the bar. My heart is beating faster than normal, and there’s a stirring in my groin that’s making it hard to concentrate. I reread Keaton’s last message, mulling over how to answer.
A good minute passes before I force myself to admit the truth, but once I do…there’s no debate about what to write back.
SinnerThree: The house is empty right now. I dare you to meet me there in 15.
I’m on pins and needles now. My pulse races, blood drums in my ears. My body feels hot and tight, and there’s no way I can just go back to the table and drink another beer.
I power down my phone, so I won’t be tempted to stare at the screen.
And I slip out and head home.
Gold
Keaton
I glance around the party and see all the usual mating rituals. Judd is refilling his red plastic cup while telling jokes to a sorority woman in a see-through nightgown. She laughs, and he reaches over to touch her elbow.
Seriously, the dung beetle mating ritual—where the male rolls a turd to impress his lady friends—is less predictable than this party.
I can’t even carry on a conversation, because I just keep thinking about Luke-fucking-Bailey, and wondering if his dare was just bluster, or if he really went home like he said he did.
If I show up at the house right now, will he be waiting for me? Or did he pocket his phone and order another beer, saying to himself, That will show the asshole.
He logged off the app, too. There’s no green dot by his name. He dared me and then disappeared before I could say anything. He got the last word. I hate that fucking guy.
I hate him, and I also want him to blow me.
On that thought, I set down my own red cup and break for the door. I don’t even glance at Judd, because I sure as hell don’t want him to ask me where I’m going.
It’s about a three-minute walk to the Alpha Delt house, and I force myself to walk slowly. I’m not in a hurry to look like an ass if he’s not really there.
What am I even after? I blow out a hot breath, and it appears before me like smoke in the cold January air. I’m unmoored tonight. I keep reaching for my phone to text Annika, and then realize we’re not together anymore. And the text I got from my father is no consolation. He congratulated me on my presidency. He didn’t even ask if I’d won. He’d just assumed.
The frat house is dark as I approach. I unlock the front door and step inside to dead quiet. When I close the door behind me, the sound echoes.
Shit.
I head for the stairs, because I have to know. There isn’t a soul in evidence on the first or second floors.
But then I hear music.
My pulse jumps as I climb the last flight. And sure enough, Bailey is home. He’s got some kind of house music coming out of his cheap speakers, a groove that’s somewhere between R&B and electronica.
Whatever it is, it’s just loud enough that he doesn’t hear me approach. So I have a private view of him as he perches on the edge of the bed, raising and lowering his legs while balancing a dumbbell across his ankles to up the ante on the workout.
He’s shirtless, and his cheeks are stained with the effort of using every core muscle he’s got to lift that weight. His bare abs tremble as he does another rep while the music thumps sexily in the background.
For a long minute I just lurk there like a creeper and watch. And I like what I see, damn it. Maybe it’s a side effect of the complete destruction of my life, but I am attracted to Luke-fucking-Bailey.
Those abs, though. And that sinuous torso. Not an ounce of fat on him anywhere.
“Hey,” I say finally, because I can’t stand here forever and not get caught.
I’ve startled him. His chin whips toward me, those dark eyes locking onto me as he frowns. The motion destabilizes the exercise he’s got going. In slow motion, the dumbbell tips and rolls off his feet. And the loss of the weight unbalances him.
Luke rolls off the foot of his bed and right onto the floor with a thump and an oof.
And I do what any red-blooded man would do at this moment. I laugh.
“Fu
ck,” he grumbles from the floor.
“Don’t get up,” I say, trying not to bust a gut. And then I startle him all over again when I sit down beside him on the floor.
He turns to me with surprise on his face. “I didn’t expect you to show.”
“Yeah, I didn’t expect me to show, either.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I’m way too aware of how close we’re sitting, and of the sexy thump of the song keeping time with my heartbeat. “What is this music?”
“Chet Faker,” he says with a sly smile. “The song is called ‘Gold.’ You like it?”
I forget to answer him, because his mouth is only a few inches from mine now. And I’m having a vague, drunken memory from last night. His tongue in my mouth.
Luke tips his head to the side, studying me. I’m probably about as subtle as a brick while I’m staring at his mouth, wondering if another kiss from him would taste as dirty and dangerous as the first one.
He moves in, and I sort of brace myself to taste him again. But at the last second he swerves, and his lips skim my neck instead. Hello, goosebumps. He palms my chin, shifting it out of the way, making space for a line of slow, dirty, open-mouthed kisses beneath my jaw.
I make an inarticulate noise of surprise. Suddenly, all the tension in my body is killing me. Needing to move, I lift both my hands to his hard chest. The heat and muscle against my palms is another shock to my system.
And his, too. He makes a soft sound of encouragement as my thumb grazes a flat nipple. When it pebbles under my touch, he whispers a curse against the corner of my mouth. Still, he makes me wait for the kiss. I’m vibrating with anticipation by the time he finally puts me out of my misery, rising up on his knees to claim my mouth.
Fuuuuuck. My body buzzes with expectation at the scrape of his stubble against my lips. I inhale the smoky scent of ale, and he deepens the kiss immediately. My mouth opens like a hungry bird’s, and his tongue sweeps inside and clobbers me with sensation.
It’s overwhelming. My head bumps against the mattress as he dives in for more, throwing a knee over my body, landing in my lap as he owns my mouth.
We’re chest to chest, and my cock jumps at the proximity. Meanwhile, my hands give in to temptation, roaming his torso, wrapping around to explore the planes of his back.
All that muscle. And his rough mouth. It’s so different than kissing a woman. I fucking love it. I drop my hands to his hard ass and squeeze.
He breaks the kiss, leaning back, staring down at me. “You’re not afraid.”
“What?” I rasp. “That’s a requirement?”
He laughs suddenly, and the sound goes straight to my cock. “No. Whatever. Take your clothes off if you’re so brave.” He runs a hand down my chest, and my goosebumps redouble, as if nobody ever touched me before.
I fight off a horny shiver and then remove my football jacket. “Get off me if you want to get me off.”
“Oh I do,” he says, rising suddenly. His sweatpants have a very distinct bulge in front. And when he catches me staring, he reaches down and pumps his hand over the cotton. Then he steps away and kicks his door shut, clicking the doorknob lock into place.
I get up off the floor, and blood rushes to my face as I shrug off my T-shirt. This break in the action gives me a chance to think about what I’m doing. Stripping down for Luke Bailey.
Yup, thinking is overrated.
Luckily for me, he chooses that moment to slide his sweatpants off, bending over slightly, offering me a view of all his muscles from a brand new angle, and a seriously muscular ass straining the stretchy fabric of a pair of black boxer briefs.
I shuck off my shoes and jeans with shaking hands, still watching him. “You have, like, no body hair.”
He snorts. “Professional upkeep.”
“What do you mean—?” I don’t get a chance to finish the question because he stalks into my personal space and kisses me again. He takes the back of my neck in one hand and devours my mouth with no preamble.
I feel my socks fall from my hands. He gives me a shove and I sit down hard on the bed. “That’s right,” he whispers against my mouth. “Lie back and take more of it.”
Someone’s feeling pushy tonight. It ought to annoy me, but it just doesn’t. I’m too busy lying back on the same bedspread where he made a video of coming all over himself for me.
A moment later he lowers his body onto mine, and I gasp as all that smooth skin makes contact with mine. I receive a single, dirty kiss before he slides a hand right past the elastic of my boxers, palming my cock.
I gasp into the next kiss as my toes curl.
If letting your fraternity brother touch your cock is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.
“You are seriously hot, for a muscle jock,” he mutters, kissing his way down my throat. “Proof that nothing is fair.”
I gulp as his mouth crosses my collarbone and then dips lower. He strokes my cock with a firm grasp, and I’m clenching every muscle in my body, wondering what he’s going to do next.
Releasing me, he suddenly sits up and straddles my hips, his abs rippling. He’s agile, I realize. Watching him move is almost as good as letting him kiss me. He reaches down and flicks both my nipples at once.
“Ah!” The twin sparks of pain only heighten my overeager senses. “Do that again.”
He leans down and bites one instead, grinding his pelvis against mine. There’re two layers of fabric between us, but I still feel the heat of his cock as it brushes against my shaft
“Mmm,” he says, kissing his way down my chest, his fingers teasing my happy trail. “Do you want my mouth?”
“Yeah,” I rasp.
“Really? Ask me nicely.”
I groan as he tugs on my boxers. Lifting my hips, I let him slide them off me and toss them away. My leaking cock swings free and slaps me on the belly.
“Nice,” he whispers, his hands coasting lightly up my thighs. He leans down and drags his lips across my hipbone, biting me lightly on the sensitive skin just to the side of my pubes. He lifts his head and I brace for his mouth, but it doesn’t come. Only his breath grazes my cock as he teases my balls with one hand. “I didn’t hear you ask, yet,” he says sulkily. “How badly do you want this?”
Pretty badly, as it happens. “Please,” I grunt. “Suck it.”
“Concise.” He snickers. “A man of few words. Okay, Keaton Hayworth the third. You win my mouth around your dick.”
I raise my head as he takes me in hand. Yes. And I watch as that sulking mouth opens to engulf the head of my dick. At the first perfect pass of his expert tongue, I nearly shout with appreciation. But then he raises his dark eyes to mine, mouth stuffed full of me, and I have to lock the muscles in my thighs to keep from coming right then and there.
Jesus. I will not humiliate myself. Not quite yet anyway.
I sink back into the bed, willing myself to relax as he takes a deep pull of me. My hips roll because they just have to. And somehow my hand has found its way into his hair, as if having a hand on him might control the experience.
Which is ridiculous. I have never felt less in control than I do right now.
And I love that so much.
He groans and then swallows around me. I feel my cock bump the back of his throat, and my toes curl. The man is seriously good at this. My fingers tighten in his hair as he works me over with rhythmic sucks and licks.
I try to make it last, but it’s too good. Too all-encompassing. “Gotta come,” I whisper, pumping my hips again and again. “Look out.”
He only moans and then gives me a good, hard suck.
And it’s all over but the shouting. I arch my back and pour every ounce of my frustration into his willing mouth. I’m dizzy with relief as he swallows everything I give him. When I can’t take it anymore, I collapse back onto the bed again.
Jesus Christ. Maybe Annika had a point about our sex life. The music still thumps through my veins, and I’m flushed and spent and more satisfied than
I can ever remember being.
Luke isn’t, though. He’s stripped off his boxer briefs and straddled my hips again. “Touch me,” he says, lifting my hand off the bed and wrapping it around his cock.
I’m barely functional, but it registers that I’m holding another man’s dick for the first time. He puts his hands down on either side of me and thrusts into my hand. Those dark eyes drink me in as he strains above me. That hot gaze alone makes my skin heat even more than it already has.
“You like what you see?” I manage to mutter.
“I like it way too much,” he pants. “Don’t talk, though, unless it’s to say you want my dick in your mouth. Nope, wait.” His muscles tense. “Too late.”
His cock jumps in my hand, and then he’s coming in hot bursts that spill onto my stomach.
But the husky groan he lets out is drowned out by the sound of raucous laughter from downstairs. Oh shit. Somebody is home. A bunch of somebodies, from the sound of it. I’m not usually prone to panic, but the burst of anxiety that goes off inside me has me diving out from under him, and rolling off Bailey’s bed.
The proof of his climax drips down my abdomen, but I’m so panicked about the possibility of getting caught that I ignore the mess. I just snatch my clothes off the floor and whip out the door, running for the shower.
The Universe Decided
Luke
“I raise ya fifty,” Judd announces, smirking at me.
I check my cards. We’re playing five-card stud tonight and I’ve got two pair: tens and eights. It’s the “dead man’s hand,” the same one Wild Bill Hickok was holding when he took a shot to the back of the head in some Wild West saloon. If I meet Judd’s bet and lose fifty bucks, plus the ten we all threw in for the ante, I’ll be the dead man. My year of free rent doesn’t start until the fall, which means money remains tight.
But I suspect Judd’s bluffing. And I’m feeling cocky tonight.
Nah, I’ve been feeling cocky ever since I fooled around with Keaton. He’s been avoiding me for three days, and for some reason that makes me feel…victorious, maybe? Like I have the upper hand, which isn’t a position I’ve ever felt like I had with Keaton Hayworth III.