Chapter Ten Charlotte
CHAPTER TEN
CHARLOTTE
Super Magnums
“T HEY ’ RE AN ACQUIRED TASTE ,” B LAKE TELLS ME .
“Who?”
“Hockey players. They can be very annoying, but they usually make up for it with oodles of charm.”
“I mean, he thinks he’s charming…” I nod in the direction Beckett Dunne went.
“You might be the only person who is immune to it then.” She laughs and brings her straw to her lips, taking a sip of iced tea.
I offered to buy her a beer. Hell, she could have bought it herself, seeing as how they let her in here without even checking her ID. But Blake admitted she’s not much of a drinker. Neither am I, on account of the hot flashes it gives me. Like I’m going through fucking menopause.
Ergo, she’s sipping on iced tea, and I’m sipping on a Coke. Just two wild gals partying it up on Saturday night. I would’ve taken her to the diner, but it’s closed tonight for a private party.
“Are you immune to his charms?” I ask Blake, narrowing my eyes at the freshman.
She offers a shrug. “I think he’s hot.”
I grumble under my breath. Traitor.
“Come on, Charlotte. You know he’s hot.”
“Objectively, yes.”
“Oh, fuck off,” she laughs. “Subjectively too. Beckett Dunne is gorgeous.”
Fine. She’s not wrong. He’s tall, athletic. He’s got all that tousled blond hair. Those striking gray eyes, forever glinting with mischief. The cocky smile and killer jawline.
“Don’t get sucked in by his charm,” I caution. “He seems like the kind of guy who breaks hearts everywhere he goes.”
“Eh, he’s too old for me. My dad would literally murder me if I went out with a senior. One time, he heard me telling my mom that I think Gigi’s brother Wyatt is cute, and he almost had a heart attack.”
“Does Wyatt go here?”
“No, I think he’s in Nashville now. He’s a tortured musician.” She sighs. “Speaking of hot.”
Ugh, that does sound hot.
And why are we such walking clichés? Why do women always go for the brooding bad boys? I suppose it’s because we want to fix them. Tame them. But haven’t we learned our lesson after centuries of anecdotal evidence? These guys can’t be fixed. They’re walking red flags.
“So yeah, no seniors for me. Or hockey players.” She pauses. “Not anymore.” She’s trying to hide a smile as she takes another sip.
“Not anymore?” I prompt.
“I lost my virginity to one,” she confesses. “Last year.”
Ha. Knew it. “Was it good?”
“Shockingly good.”
“Lucky. My first time sucked,” I admit. “I was wound up so tight, terrified that my parents were going to come home early from their anniversary spa weekend. I couldn’t relax, so I was just lying there, every muscle in my body tense, and the gentler he tried to be, the more stressed I became, until finally I blurted out, just get it over with already! ”
Blake bursts out laughing. “Stop. You didn’t.”
“I totally did. But I didn’t mean get the sex over with. I just meant, get the penetration out of the way—”
She’s shaking with laughter now.
“—break the hymen, and let’s move on to the part that’s supposed to feel good.”
“Did it? I mean, did it at least feel good after the hymen part?” She’s still giggling.
“No. It was awful all around. The condom broke, and he only brought one.”
“You didn’t buy your own condoms just in case?”
“Oh, I did, but…”
“What?”
I bite my lip to suppress my humor. “They were too big for him.”
That gets me another howl. “What? How ?”
“I bought the wrong kind,” I explain. I can’t stop my own giggle now. “So basically, when I was twelve, my older sister was dating this guy in high school, and I found a box of Super Magnums inside her nightstand drawer when I was snooping around—”
“ Super Magnums?”
“Yeah, they’re twice the size of regular Magnums. Ava caught me snooping, and we ended up having a whole birds-and-bees talk, including how a woman should always have agency over her own birth control and keep her own box of condoms on hand. I asked why she bought that brand, and Ava said those were the most comfortable.” I snort. “I thought she meant more comfortable for her . I didn’t realize she meant more comfortable for his ginormous penis. So the day my parents left for their trip, I went to the drugstore and bought a box of Super Magnums. When the condom he brought broke, I gave him one of mine, and I swear to God, this thing was hanging off his penis like a loose plastic bag.”
Blake collapses on the tabletop, shuddering with laughter. “I can’t . I’m gonna pee my pants.”
“Okay, I gotta hear this punch line,” says a male voice.
I freeze in my seat when I realize it’s Isaac Grant.
What is he doing here?
The one and only time we hung out was in a clandestine parking lot. Like some sort of hostage exchange, if the hostages are bodily fluids. He knows better than to talk to me in public.
Only…he’s not looking at me.
“You left me on read,” he says in accusation.
I try very hard to keep my jaw shut. Huh? How do these two even know each other?
For a second, I feel prickle of jealousy and maybe a tiny bit insulted that he’s pretending not to know me. But when his gaze flicks toward me and he gives the most imperceptible of smiles, I realize he’s simply doing what I asked. We don’t speak in public after this was one of the rules I gave before I stuck my tongue in his mouth.
“Who’s this?” I ask Blake, playing dumb.
Now his smile fully takes hold. “I’m Isaac.”
“He plays football or something,” Blake tells me.
I clamp my teeth down on my lip. Plays football or something . This is literally the star of the team. Last season, he was voted MVP over the team’s quarterback.
Isaac narrows his eyes on her. “You wanna dance?”
“I don’t like to dance.”
“Cool. Then we can just stand there.”
“I don’t like to stand. Also”—she gestures toward me—“we’re in the middle of a conversation.”
“Come find me after your conversation?”
“Sure, I’ll text you.” With a pointed look, she waits for him to leave.
I can practically see a vein throbbing in his forehead as he stalks off.
I lean out of the booth to peek at where he’s headed. The game area, where two very large linesmen are circling one of the pool tables. They’re out of place here. Probably because this isn’t their place. Just because I don’t watch hockey doesn’t mean I’m not aware that Malone’s is the hockey bar. The bar down the street is where the football players gather, at least when they leave their houses. Those guys tend to keep their partying more discreet, while the hockey guys don’t care about being rowdy in public.
“What was that about?” I ask in amusement.
“My friend Diana introduced us at a frat party, and now he has a crush on me.”
I’ve never heard anyone sound more unenthused.
“You realize ninety-five percent of the women at this college—and probably general society—would be thrilled that Isaac Grant has a thing for them?”
“Ha! So you do know who he is?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course I do. There aren’t a lot of campus celebrities at Briar.”
Part of me is tempted to reveal I hooked up with him in his car last week, but I have a reputation to uphold. Charlotte Kingston is a respectable sorority girl whose mother is a former president. She is going to be a biomedical engineer. She has a 4.0 GPA.
She doesn’t indulge in dirty conversations before bed with two faceless hotties on an app. And she’s not going to admit to an almost one-night stand with a football player in a parking lot. Nope.
My phone chimes with a message from yet another person I’m not going to be telling Blake Logan about.
DANTE:
Are we still on for tonight?
“Sorry, I need to respond to this. Study group,” I lie as I unlock my phone.
ME:
Yeah. See you at midnight.
DANTE:
Can’t wait.
Blake’s watching me as I put the phone away.
“What?” I ask.
“Why do I get the feeling there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye?”
I lift a brow. “Doesn’t that apply to everybody?”
“I guess.” She twirls her straw around in her glass. “But I’m usually a good judge of character.”
You’re eighteen , I almost counter. But I realize how patronizing that sounds. Eighteen-year-olds can be good judges of character. Being three years older doesn’t make me wiser.
“I don’t know what to tell ya,” I say lightly. “I am exactly who I seem to be. Now let’s pick up where we left off before Isaac so rudely interrupted.”
“What were we talking about again?”
“Um… you lost your virginity to a hockey player. You have a crush on a tortured musician. Super Magnums. Oh, right, the reason we’re actually here—whether you want to declare a communications major.”
I steer us back to safety, because that’s what I’m supposed to be doing with this girl. Mentoring.
We stay at Malone’s for another hour, then grab the bill. Blake has to use the ladies’ room before we go, so I make my way to the door to wait for her outside. Halfway to the exit, I spot a familiar figure. Will, my new lab partner.
He’s the kind of guy who commands attention because of his height and build. The powerful shoulders tapering down to a lean waist. The muscles rippling beneath his blue long-sleeved shirt.
“Hey,” he says, looking pleased to see me.
“Hey.”
He leans closer so I can hear him over the music. “How did the samples look today?”
Will had hockey practice this morning, so I was tasked with going to the lab to check on our cells. We placed them in the bioreactor earlier in the week, a device that mimics the conditions that allow tissues to naturally develop, and now we’re required to periodically remove samples and examine them under the microscope to assess our cells’ overall viability on the scaffold.
“They looked really good!” I tell him. “A ton of them are attaching to the scaffold.”
“Awesome.” His expression strains. “Jesus, it’s hot in here.”
As he rolls up his sleeves, I can’t help but notice his strong hands and the veins that run along his forearms. I imagine him gripping a hockey stick and slapping a bullet at the net, his entire body rippling with sheer power, and I suddenly see the appeal of hockey.
I’m surprised to feel a tingle between my legs. It’s too bad I don’t have time to hit up my sexy Swedes, indulge in an orgasm or two while Lars or B tell me all the things they want to do to my body.
But I have somewhere even better to be tonight.