by Sarina Bowen
“I call,” I say carelessly, sliding my chips into the center of the table.
Judd’s eyebrows soar. “For real?”
In the chair next to mine, Tanner starts cackling. “I think you just caught him in a bluff,” he says, poking me in the arm.
I grin. “Let’s see ‘em,” I tell Judd.
Jaw twitching unhappily, Judd lays down his cards. He has a pair of queens, and nothing else.
I flick my own cards on the table and drag the huge pile of chips toward me. Sweet. There’s more than a hundred bucks here. I’m buying myself a steak dinner tomorrow.
“Dead man’s hand,” a familiar voice remarks as Judd flips over my cards.
I stiffen slightly. Keaton appears, peering at my winning hand.
“Yup,” I say, sparing him a quick look. “Only this one doesn’t come with a bullet.”
“A bullet?” Ahmad asks blankly.
“It’s the hand that a famous gunslinger was playing before he got shot to death,” Keaton explains.
I notice he hasn’t met my eyes once, not even when I looked at him. Pussy. I still remember the way he sprinted out of my bedroom on Sunday night, as if his ass was on fire. Hell, I hadn’t even gotten my hands on his ass yet.
And judging by the way he’s been keeping his distance, I never will.
But let’s be honest, it’s probably for the best. I can’t deny I enjoyed blowing him, and I definitely wish I’d gotten the chance to fuck him, but the universe clearly decided it wasn’t meant to be. And I’m okay with that. Screwing around with a frat brother is as terrible an idea as hooking up with one of my coworkers. Way too close to home.
Luckily, it seems like Keaton and I are on the same page about no repeats.
“You in for the next round?” Judd asks his best bud.
I fully expect Keaton to say no. And a beat of silence goes by as uncertainty plays across his features.
“Sure,” he says suddenly. “Let me grab a beer. Anyone want a refill?”
Tanner and Jako take him up on the offer, and a moment later Keaton returns from the kitchen with two Sam Adams and a Dos Equis for himself. Huh. He drinks Dos Equis? This is the first time I’ve paid attention to his beer of choice. And it’s also the first time I have to forcibly stop myself from checking him out.
Before, a passing glance of admiration wasn’t something I’d stressed about, but now I find myself going out of my way not to linger on his appearance. But he looks damn good in those expensive jeans and a snug gray sweater that stretches across his impossibly broad chest.
As Judd deals the cards for the new round, I sip my beer and chat with Jako and Ahmad about the new semester. Jako is an econ major, and he and I share a business class this term—a marketing seminar. Ahmad is majoring in biology, and I almost regret asking him about his schedule, because it ends up drawing Keaton into the conversation. Ack. I keep forgetting he’s also a bio major.
“Marine Ecology is gonna be the shit,” Keaton says as he sorts his cards.
“Excited to stock up on your animal mating rituals knowledge, huh?” I speak up without thinking, then curse myself for the foolish move.
Keaton looks startled, but recovers quickly. “Nah, I think it’ll be more about environmental and population patterns, marine habitats, that kind of stuff.”
“It’s super-fascinating,” Ahmad pipes up. “I took it last year.”
I study my hand, trying to decide which cards to drop. Finally, I lay down two, tap two fingers on the table, and pick up the replacements that Judd slides over. I’ve got a pair of aces. Not bad. But not good enough to call Tanner’s twenty-dollar bet. So I fold, all the while trying to ignore the fact that Keaton’s gaze is on me.
The intensity of it bores a hole in the side of my head. Stupidly, I sneak a peek. A hot shiver rolls through me. The look he’s giving me is loaded with heat.
But when our eyes lock, he breaks visual contact, lowering his gaze to his cards.
Judd bluffs again, but this time it works. Tanner, Keaton, and Jako all fold, and Judd wins the pile. As the next hand is being dealt, my phone buzzes. Before I even check it, I know exactly who the message is from.
LobsterShorts: Stop looking at me like that.
I have to fight hard not to laugh.
Surreptitiously, I type a quick note, keeping my phone under the table.
SinnerThree: You kidding me? You’re the one undressing me with your eyes. I’m not a piece of meat, Hayworth.
Smirking, I raise my beer to my lips.
LobsterShorts: Then why do I want to eat you up right now?
I break out in a coughing fit. A loud, uncontrollable burst of coughs that actually spurs Tanner to lean over and slap my back several times. “You okay, man?” he asks, concerned.
“Fine,” I wheeze out. Cheeks scorching, I glance at Hayworth, and he’s the one smirking now. I can’t believe he just said that. It’s a bold statement from a man who Olympic-sprinted out of my room after we made each other come.
My phone vibrates again. I’m almost terrified to check it, but then I realize it’s a call. Unease washes over me when I see my brother’s name.
“Uh, I’m sitting this one out,” I say when Judd starts to deal. “Important call.”
Once again, I feel Keaton’s eyes on me, but I ignore him and duck into the kitchen to answer Joe’s call. “What’s up?” I demand in a low voice.
“Yo, we need more cash for the biz,” Joe says without preamble.
The fingers of my left hand curl over the edge of the kitchen counter. “You seem to be under the impression that I’m an ATM, big brother. Which I’m not.” My tone is tighter than my muscles.
He sounds irritated. “What’s the big deal? I know you have the cash.”
“Actually, I don’t. And in case you forgot, I just gave you and Mom five hundred dollars.” Plus an extra hundred to him as hush money. “You already spent it?”
“Yes, we already spent it.” Sarcasm drips over the line. “That’s what happens when you’re running a business, moron. You spend money.”
“Uh-huh, and you also make money. How’s that part going for you?” I look down at my knuckles and notice they’re pure white. I force myself to relax my grip on the counter.
“We’re just getting shit off the ground,” my brother retorts. “You can’t expect us to turn a profit immediately.”
“Sure, and you can’t expect me to be the sole investor of this clown show you’re running.”
“Clown show?” Fury thunders in his voice. “You sanctimonious prick! Is that how you view our mother? She’s a clown? She worked her goddamn ass off to make sure there was food on our table and—”
“I’m not calling Mom a clown,” I interrupt. “You’re the clown, Joey. You don’t know the first thing about running a business, and I’m not giving you another dime unless you present me with a proper business plan for this handyman shit, along with a repayment schedule—that’s the only way you’re getting any more cash from me.”
“You little faggot—”
I hang up. Then I sag forward and inhale a deep breath. It doesn’t calm me. In fact, it simply makes me lightheaded and more anxious. The last time I put up a fight about money, Joe threatened to tell the people in my life that I strip for a living, and so I caved. But I’m not caving anymore. The thing about lowlifes like Joe is, if you give in once, they’ll always come back for more.
It was a mistake to pay him. At this point, I’d rather risk being outed as a stripper than be trapped under my brother’s greedy thumb.
“Everything okay?”
I turn toward the doorway. Keaton stands there with what appears to be genuine worry in his hazel eyes.
For some reason, the sight of him rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it’s the designer jeans that probably cost more than I earned at work last weekend. Or his perfect, just-the-right-amount-of-tousled haircut by a barber I could never afford. I don’t need his worry. Or his pity. Or anything from him, really
.
“It’s fine,” I grunt.
He clearly doesn’t believe me, because he saunters over. His strides are long, his expression unfazed. Anybody else would read my body language, the thundercloud darkening my face, and walk in the other direction. But not him.
“What’s going on?” he says quietly.
“Nothing. It’s all good, Hayworth.” I take a step. “Let’s play some more poker.”
“Nah.”
I roll my eyes, taking another step. “Suit yourself.”
A hand curls over my biceps. “Come on, Bailey.”
My gaze slides down to his fingers. His thumb lightly grazes my shoulder. I swallow. “Come on, what? I told you, everything’s fine.” Despite myself, a taunt rises in my throat. “Besides, suddenly we’re talking again? You’ve been ignoring me for three days.”
The moment the words pop out, I regret them. I don’t want Keaton to know that I noticed, or that it bothers me.
“I wasn’t ignoring you. I was working on a paper and didn’t want any distractions.”
“What paper? Nice try, but it’s the beginning of the semester.” And why am I acting like a little bitch all of a sudden? I should be glad he’s been avoiding me. It means that I’ve been able to avoid the awkward morning-after chat in which I’d have to tell him I’m not interested.
“I got short-listed for this internship I applied for,” Keaton says quietly. “The final applicants are required to send a two-thousand-word essay.”
“Uh-huh.” His eyes tell another story, though. And because I don’t always do what’s good for me, I won’t let it go. “If you got freaked out, you could just say so. Wouldn’t be the first guy who couldn’t handle the truth.”
His flinch is swift.
I sigh, because what I’ve said is true, even if it wasn’t very sensitive. “Never mind. It’s no big deal.” I step around him and leave the kitchen, heading for the stairs.
By the time I’ve climbed a few steps, I hear footsteps behind me. He’s on my heels on the second floor landing. And then he continues all the way up to the third floor, damn it.
“What?” I bark, turning around in front of our bathroom. “You have something to say?”
“Yeah.” He drops his voice down low. “You’re right. I did get freaked out. But not only because you’re a dude.”
“Really? Why, then? I’ve had enough of guys who want me to make them scream, only to turn around after and say it’s unnatural or some shit.”
Keaton actually snorts. “Anyone who uses the word unnatural to describe sex hasn’t spent any time in nature. Nature is crude and coarse and up for anything. I’m too much of a scientist to ever say that.”
“What is it, then?” If he’s telling the truth, I’m probably about to become even more offended. If it’s not that I’m a guy, then it’s personal?
“It freaked me out that I wanted…” A burst of laughter comes from one of the closed doors on the second floor. It’s just some brothers playing a video game or watching a movie.
Our eyes meet, and his look wary. Then he looks away. I watch him grab the whiteboard off of his own door. It’s the board where you can leave messages for him. I guess I need one of those for next year when I’m president.
Keaton uncaps the pen with his teeth and writes on it.
My breath hitches when I read what he’s said.
It freaked me out that you’re a guy. And that I let you take the lead. Part of me wants to forget it happened. Most of me wants you to do it again.
Ah fuck. Our eyes meet one more time, and there’s heat in his gaze. He erases the board with his fist, caps the pen and hangs the thing back on the door. Then he turns around and trots back down the stairs and goes back, I assume, to the poker game.
All I can do is stare after him for a long moment. I’m stunned, although it does make sense. If Keaton has been screwing the same girl since they were both teenagers, I suppose my bossy ass would be kind of educational.
Ask me nicely, I’d demanded.
Please, suck it, he’d said.
An evil grin spreads across my face, right there in the hallway. As I unlock the door to my room, I like knowing that I blew his mind.
He enjoyed my bossy ass. He liked it so much that he couldn’t even say it. He had to write it on a whiteboard instead.
I halt in the center of my room as the implication of that settles in. Keaton’s confusion, his reluctance to voice his needs…it’s a bad sign.
A very very very bad sign.
It’s all well and good to have some casual fun with a friend who knows what he’s getting into. And I sympathize with Keaton’s sexual confusion, even if I don’t share it.
But we’re neighbors, and we’re going to be frat brothers for another year and a half. It’s a bad idea for me to blow his mind. Not if it puts him into a tailspin.
I take my phone out of my pocket and open the app. It only takes me a second to do the right thing.
Sorry, not interested. You and I are a bad idea.
Punctuation Saves Lives
Keaton
I put everything I’ve got into my internship essay. I mean, it’s the only bright light in my shitty week. My girlfriend was spotted dining out with a lacrosse player. My ex-girlfriend, that is. When will I get used to saying that?
Meanwhile, my hot neighbor made it perfectly clear that I won’t be broadening my horizons with him again anytime soon. And instead of feeling relieved, I wake up every morning picturing his lips wrapped around my dick. And hearing his voice tell me to lie there and take it.
I think I want to do it again. At least one more time. Or maybe ten. I don’t know what that means exactly, but the thoughts, the fantasies, aren’t going away.
And because life is cruel, I seem to run into him everywhere now. Our new semester schedules must be more closely aligned than before, because he’s naked in the shower whenever I need the bathroom. Or he’s chatting up the cute barista in my favorite coffee shop when I stop there between classes.
Fuck me. I’m single, I’m a little depressed, and I’m very horny, with a side of sexual confusion, too.
Then again, I’m a man who does not complain. So you won’t hear any whining from me. But football season is over, and my single status leaves me with a lot of free time.
I’m at loose ends until Friday night, when I find out that it’s Owen’s birthday. “You have to come out with us, Keat!” he says. “It’s gonna be epic.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to sound upbeat. Maybe a night of carousing will improve my mood.
“He’s turning twenty-one,” Tanner says. “Time to hit the titty bars!”
“You just want to see Cassidy dance again.” He’s taken out the dancer he met at Luke’s Dance-off party twice already.
“Sue me!” My friend shrugs. “We’re going to have a great time. Kinda pricey, but you only turn twenty-one once, right, Owen?” He slaps the guy on the back.
So that’s how I find myself showering to go out.
Naturally, Luke is in our bathroom brushing his teeth when I walk in. I turn on the shower and then stand there in my towel while the water heats.
“Bunch of us are going out for Owen’s birthday,” I say awkwardly. “You should come.”
“Gotta work,” he replies. “Later!” He leaves without so much as a glance in my direction.
Right.
“Who’s the designated driver?” Owen asks as we pile into two cars, including mine.
Silence.
I let out a groan. “Really? You brought me along so that I could Uber you around?”
“We could take an actual Uber,” someone points out.
Grumbling, I start the car. The strip club my friends picked is not close by, and I guess I’d rather drive and drink only two beers than rely on ride-share apps.
They direct me inland, near the casinos, to a big parking lot in front of two clubs. One of them is called Jack’s and the other one is Jill’s.
/> We hop out of the car. I lock it and follow my brothers toward the buildings. They head left toward Jill’s, instead of right.
“Um, guys?” I stop and study the buildings. There aren’t any neon boobs or other tacky markings to distinguish the two. But I’m pretty sure that Jill’s is meant to beckon to women. “Don’t we want Jack’s?”
“Well, Zimmer isn’t here,” Owen says. “And clearly the rest of us are into Jills.”
As far as you know. But that’s beside the point. “But there’s an apostrophe. Jill’s is possessive...”
“You mean Jill is a jealous bitch?” Tanner quips, and everyone laughs.
“No, I…” I sigh. “Go on. You’ll see. It’ll be tonight’s fun little lesson in grammar. Who’s getting the first lap dance?”
“Cassidy says they don’t do lap dances here,” Tanner says. “Sadly.”
You won’t be sorry about that in a second. If I’m right, this crew won’t be wanting a lap dance at Jill’s.
Tanner opens the door and gleefully waves everyone inside.
I’m the last to walk in. And I don’t miss the frown of confusion on the female hostess’s face. “Evening, boys,” she says. “I think I should point out that—”
I put a finger to my lips. “This shouldn’t take long, but it will amuse me.”
She laughs and then shrugs. “No cover charge, then.”
Sure enough, after three more paces, my boys get a glimpse of the stage, where four men wearing only G-strings and chaps are bucking across the stage to whoops of encouragement from the female audience.
Seven fraternity brothers go rigid with surprise.
“See? Punctuation saves lives,” I call to them just as the song ends.
“Oh, shit,” Tanner says.
“Are we in the wrong place?” Owen asks.
I really hope his tutors are on point this semester. We need him to keep his GPA up so we can advance in the postseason next year.
Seven guys hustle by me and out the door before two seconds pass.