The Charlie Method (Campus Diaries #3)

Chapter Nineteen Charlotte

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHARLOTTE

Is this dumb jock bothering you?

I T ’ S W EDNESDAY MORNING, AND THERE ’ S A MINI DOUGHNUT ON MY desk. It’s small and covered in white icing sugar. A lot of icing sugar.

I look from the doughnut to the blond Australian sitting two rows below me. As if sensing my gaze boring into him, Beckett twists in his chair and flashes a smile.

“Morning, sugar puff. I brought you a sweet treat.”

I wince. “Please don’t say the words sweet treat .”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s creepy coming out of your mouth.”

“Nah. You like the things that come out of my mouth.”

He winks at me.

I glare at him.

Will warned me yesterday that he would tell Beckett I’m their match, but I was hoping Ice Boy would have the courtesy of not bringing it up.

With stiff, jerky movements, I sink down and pull out my laptop case, wishing I chose an elective that doesn’t have lectures on back-to-back days and doing my best to ignore the “sweet treat” on my desk. It’s sitting on one of those lacy, white doily papers.

It looks delicious.

“Did you know they don’t actually sell the sugar puffs anymore in the student union?” Beckett says from his row. “I asked the girl why, and she said people were complaining it was too messy to eat.”

I ignore him. Then I stare at the doughnut again, and my traitorous stomach growls. There’s no way Beckett could have heard it, but his grin widens.

“Come on, eat it,” he taunts. “You know you want to.”

An internal battle commences, one side urging me not to waste a perfectly good doughnut, the other insisting I can’t give Beckett Dunne the satisfaction.

Hunger wins.

I snatch the doughnut and shove the entire thing in my mouth. I don’t even care that I look like a toddler with icing sugar all over my face.

Beckett lets out an amazed laugh. “Wow. I thought you would take a bite, not inhale it like a horse devouring a whole apple.”

“Charlotte?”

My head swings toward the aisle, where Agatha has just stopped in her tracks. My president stares at me in disbelief.

“This isn’t Delta Pi behavior. A lady eats her food, Charlotte. She doesn’t let her food eat her.”

I hear a snicker from Beckett’s chair.

Agatha turns to him and glares.

“Sorry,” I mumble through a mouthful of doughnut. “I have bad luck with pastries. Let me see if I have a napkin.”

“Please do.”

With an annoyed huff, Agatha continues down to the front row while I dig inside my bag and find an unused tissue. As she settles in her seat, she turns around to make sure I’m wiping my mouth.

I’m shoving the tissue back in my bag when Beckett’s shadow looms over me. “Did we teleport to a girls’ finishing school or something?” he says in amusement.

I give him a quizzical look.

“ A lady eats her food, Charlotte . Why do you let her lecture you like that?” He nods toward Agatha’s turned back.

“I’m a Delta Pi,” I answer in a tight voice. “And she likes to remind us what Delta Pis are not supposed to do.”

“Like fantasize about getting railed by two guys?”

I suck in a breath. “Stop.”

“Why?” His eyes twinkle. “You seemed to enjoy it when we were chatting on the app.”

“The app isn’t real life.”

Beckett dons a thoughtful look. “So there’s this thing people do… I really don’t like it.”

“What are you babbling about?”

He keeps going as if I hadn’t spoken. “They think the internet isn’t real. That just because you’re hidden behind a screen and typing shit you’d never say to people’s faces, that means it’s not real. Thing is, the screen isn’t writing those words. You’re writing them.” He leans over my desk, his face so close to mine that a shiver runs up my spine. “You want every single thing you described in those chats, Charlotte. You want to swallow up my dick while Will fills your pussy.”

His soft-spoken, teasing words evoke an acute physical reaction. A bolt of lightning directly between my legs. A surge of heat throughout my entire body. It’s the kind of arousal that robs you of breath.

Beckett straightens with a chuckle. “It’s okay to want it.”

“I don’t.” I swallow the desperation rising in my throat. “Like I told Will, it was just a fun online thing. I was never planning on meeting you in real life.”

“Of course. A Delta Pi must never lower herself in that way,” he mocks. “A Delta Pi must maintain her air of purity at all times.” He suddenly chuckles. “Shit. I just realized something.”

“What?” I mutter.

“The initials of your sorority are DP.”

I make a choked sound. “Oh my God, Beckett. Stop.”

His lips curve into a smile. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”

“So?”

“I like it.”

The soft thud of footsteps interrupts us before an unwelcome voice joins the mix.

“Char? Is everything okay here?”

Mitch.

My ex looks tiny next to Beckett, which is absurd because five ten is by no means small. Mitch is taller than average. But at well over six feet, with his broad shoulders and muscled chest, Beckett seems huge in comparison.

“Everything’s fine,” I mutter.

“You sure?” Mitch’s suspicious gaze shifts between us. “Is this dumb jock bothering you?”

“Hey,” I say in rebuke, because that was just fucking rude.

Beckett is unruffled by the insult, laughing at my ex. “Charlotte was just explaining the concept of climate-related migration to me. On account of me being dumb and all. Thanks for clarifying, Charlotte.”

With a grin, he saunters back to his row, leaving me alone with Mitch.

“What the hell was that?” I hiss. “You were so rude.”

“The asshole was all up in your personal space,” an unrepentant Mitch retorts. “You can’t let guys slobber over you like that.”

“Why not?” I give him a smug, condescending look. “Maybe I enjoy it.”

His eyes flash. I think I hear him mutter “slut” under his breath, but I ignore the sting it elicits and watch as he turns on the heel of his sneaker and stomps toward his own row.

Fortunately, our professor arrives, putting an end to all further unwanted conversations.

But despite my best efforts to pay attention to the lecture, my gaze keeps drifting to Beckett two rows ahead. And it’s probably the dumbest thought to ever enter my head, but…

I like the way he sits.

It’s a massive turn-on, in fact. He has this way of leaning back in his chair with a casual confidence that makes my heart race. His shoulders stretch the fabric of his gray shirt just right. The way his muscles move under his skin when he shifts in his seat is almost hypnotizing.

When he turns slightly, providing a glimpse of his chiseled jawline and the hint of blond stubble that makes him look just a bit dangerous, my breath catches in my throat.

It takes even more effort to tear my gaze off him, but somehow I manage to do it.

LARS & B:

Have a drink with us, Charlie.

ME:

I told you I’m not interested.

LARS & B:

And yet you still haven’t deleted the app…

I’ve been staring at that text exchange all day. I’m pretty sure Beckett is the one who sent the invitation, since it came about five minutes after our class let out.

I want to scream.

Because he’s right.

If I weren’t interested in any of this, then I would be deleting the app. Or at the very least unmatching these boys.

So why are they still in my phone? Why am I still allowing them to message me?

Ugh.

Because it intrigues me. That’s why.

The idea of being with both of them is the very definition of temptation, but now that our harmless cyber-flirting is veering into real-life encounter territory, I feel like I’m out of my element. Even my alter ego who loves to take risks is apprehensive about pulling the trigger on this one. And if Charlie is apprehensive, then, well, that definitely speaks to how crazy this is.

As I’m walking out of my last class of the day, I type out a brief text to Dante. It’s only three thirty, so it’s a long shot he’ll be free, but I hit Send anyway.

ME:

Need to clear my head and maybe get some advice. Are you around?

DANTE:

Yeah, princess, come by. It’s dead here on weekdays.

I shoulder my bag and take off down the path, my boots clicking on the cobblestones with every step. Gosh, I adore this campus. It’s one of the oldest in the country, and everything about it, every winding path and iron bench and cavernous library, just oozes history. And wealth. I mean, Briar was clearly founded by rich people, but all Ivies are like that. You’ll never find a humble Ivy.

I’m entering the parking lot when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I suddenly realize someone’s walking behind me. Normally I’m very aware of my surroundings, especially when I’m alone, but Will and Beckett have muddled my brain and fried my instincts.

I glance at the guy who’s now matching my strides. A frown digs into my brow. Either I’m imagining it or it’s the same guy I saw at the hockey game the other night. He’s got the same distinct gap in his right eyebrow, as if there’s a scar bisecting it.

Or maybe not. Maybe he just likes to shave a line in his eyebrow. Could be something the kids are doing these days.

As I head toward my car, my peripheral vision catches him stopping in the middle of the lot. I can feel his eyes on me, and my frown deepens.

Gripping my keys between my fingers, I spin around to look at him. He’s a few years older than me. An Asian guy with jet-black hair cut short at the sides and left long on top. Average height, lanky frame. He seems completely innocuous, yet my instincts are saying stay away .

“Can I help you?” I call out.

“No, sorry. I just couldn’t remember where I parked. But I see it now.” With a polite smile, he walks past me toward a red Toyota.

Suspicion prickles my gut. He forgot where he parked? That red car stands out in this lot like a signpost. But okay. I’m not going to question why he lied. He’s getting in his car anyway. A moment later, he speeds out of the lot.

I follow suit, leaving campus with Amato Racing in my GPS. For the drive, I queue up an audiobook textbook. I hit Play, and the female narrator begins explaining one of the processes involved in designing electronic circuits for medical devices, which ties directly to my senior capstone project.

But I’m halfway to the track when I simply can’t take it anymore. My brain feels like it’s going to explode. It’s weighed down by so much information. My classes, my capstone, the thousand Method write-ups I’ve completed since finding out Will and Beckett are Lars and B.

I try to distract myself before another pressure wave can surface by blasting my go-to Mollie May playlist. I don’t care if I’m a loser for liking her. There’s a reason she’s the biggest pop star in the world and plays sold-out stadiums. Her songs are catchy.

Dante meets me at the main entrance of the track, which is totally empty despite being open for go-karts.

“You weren’t kidding about it being dead,” I remark as I follow him inside.

“I keep telling my pops it’s a waste of electricity to keep the place open when kids are in school. But the old man is stubborn.”

Dante nods toward the sole employee at the indoor ticket counter, then leads me outside again through the back doors. We end up in a hangar-like structure about a hundred yards from the main track. It’s a garage, I realize. The soft strains of country music waft out of a large external speaker. On the far end of the large space sits a black Ferrari with its hood propped open.

Dante swipes a wrench from a metal rack and wanders toward the sports car. “I’m going to keep working while we chat if you don’t mind.”

“You service these vehicles yourself? I’m surprised they let you do that. For insurance purposes.”

“Nah, this one’s mine.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I exclaim. “This car belongs to you ?”

“I mean, it’s an older model—”

“It’s a Ferrari, Dante!” My jaw is on the concrete.

“Yeah, but Pops was gonna get rid of it. Clients don’t want to drive it. And it needs a lot of work.”

“He just… gave you a Ferrari .”

“Oh, trust me, I’m never getting a salary again. I’ll pretty much be working here for free for the rest of my life but…” He shrugs. “I mean…”

“Totally worth it,” I agree. “I’m going to borrow it. You do realize that, right?”

My friend snorts. “I’m not letting you drive this car. Ever.”

“But you let me drive the other ones,” I protest.

“Because you’re a client, and clients are insured to drive the track cars. This baby’s mine now. You’re not on my insurance.”

“Then add me! I’ll pay for it myself.”

He grins. “You are such a car slut.”

“I am a car slut. And I don’t care if anyone knows.”

Dante gestures to the foldable lawn chair against the wall. “Pull up a chair. Sit.”

“I’m too antsy to sit.” I wander around the garage, my boots wearing holes in the floor. “I need advice. I’ve been chatting with these guys online—”

“Nice. I was hoping this would be a man problem. All right. Let’s dig in.” He wipes his hands on a rag, then reaches into a nearby cooler. “What’s your poison?”

“Anything nonalcoholic.”

“You’re no fun.” But he tosses me an energy drink instead.

Great. That’s the last thing I need—to chug a Power Monster AKA Adderall in liquid form. My mind’s already racing as it is. But I still crack open the tab and take a long swig.

“Okay, so these guys you’re talking to… Are they hot?”

“Next level hot,” I moan. “And they want to meet me.”

“So what’s the problem—” Dante stops, answering his own question. “Right. You don’t like dating multiple people at the same time. I remember you said that once.”

“No, that’s not the issue. They don’t want to meet separately. This isn’t two different guys. It’s like one guy, but two.”

“You totally lost me.”

“They’re like one guy because it’s one account. They’re one account.”

“For someone who’s supposed to be super intelligent, you’re not articulating this well at all.” He sputters with laughter. “What the hell are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that the two of them share an account the same way they like to share women.”

Dead silence falls over the garage.

Dante gapes at me. Then he breaks out in a delighted grin.

“You were shopping for a threesome?”

“Well, not actively. But I saw their profile and…like I said, next level hot. We matched, and we’ve been chatting for a few weeks, but now they want to meet in person.”

“Okay. Great. Do it.”

His lack of hesitation gives me pause. “Really? You think I should go and have a drink with them?”

“Why did you spend all this time chatting with them then? If you just wanted a little bit of cyber action, cool. But that’s a long time to keep talking to someone. Or someones, I guess.” He searches my face. “Do you want to have a drink with them?”

I bite my lip in dismay. “I’ve never done anything like this before, Dante.”

“First time for everything.”

“What if I meet them and don’t want to hook up?”

“Then I’m afraid to inform you, but you’ll have to lie there like a sacrificial virgin and let them run train on you.”

“What!”

He doubles over laughing. “Jesus, Charlie! If you don’t want to hook up, then you won’t hook up. No one’s forcing you to have sex with two guys. Where do they want to meet?”

“I don’t know. All they said was let’s have a drink.”

“Okay.” He thinks it over, then continues as if he’s reading from the official threesome manual. “I suggest doing it in public. Tell someone where you are—it can be me if you want. Text me their names, photos. Don’t drink anything they offer you, just in case. Suss them out, and then decide if you want to, you know, bang two dudes.”

I can’t fight my amusement. “Why are you being so casual about this?”

“Because I don’t think it’s a big deal.”

“I expected you to be more judgmental. Most people would be.”

“Screw most people. Whose opinions do you value? Truly value?” He winks. “Mine, obviously, since you drove all the way here for this chat. But who else do you care about?”

“My best friend at Delta Pi. Faith.”

“Would she ever judge you?”

“Never.”

“Then who cares? The people who matter won’t judge you, so stop judging yourself.”

My family will judge me, and they matter .

I swallow the words, along with the lump of embarrassment that lodges in my throat. The idea of my parents finding out about my weird fantasies—

But why would they ever find out? another part of me argues.

True. I’ve never spoken to my parents and siblings about my sex life. So unless one of the tiny minority of people who’ll know about this decides to tell my family, it’s unlikely they’ll ever find out.

“You know what? I’m doing it,” I declare.

I’m so firm in my conviction, I feel a surge of adrenaline from it. I chug the rest of my Power Monster, then crush the can and throw it into the trash, causing Dante to raise his eyebrows.

“You drank that way too fast,” he warns.

“Yeah. That’s why we’re going go-karting now.”

He grins. “Let’s do it.”