Chapter Twenty Will
CHAPTER TWENTY
WILL
All you have to do is ask
CHARLIE:
One drink. Tonight.
She follows up that message with a time and a place, bringing a smile to my lips. It’s Thursday, and I’m sprawled on a bench in the lobby of the environmental sciences building, waiting for Beckett so we can ride home together. Since his class lets out only forty minutes after mine, it’s no sweat to wait for him. Evidently, he’s not paying attention to said class, because his name pops up on my phone.
BECK:
Charlie’s in.
ME:
I just saw.
BECK:
I guess we’re going to Boston tonight…?
He leaves the question hanging. It seems a little ridiculous to drive more than an hour into the city proper and then another thirty minutes to the suburbs. She picked the most out-of-the-way bar humanly possible. But if Charlie is willing to make the trek just to scope us out, then I suppose we can too.
When we get home an hour later, I kick off my shoes and head for the kitchen. We don’t have to leave for a few hours, so I have plenty of time to cook dinner.
“What are you making?” Beckett calls from the hallway.
“I’m thinking stir-fry. Maybe some quinoa salad?”
“I’m totally ordering a cheeseburger at the bar.”
“Go for it. You can explain to Jensen why you’re sluggish on the ice tomorrow.”
I swear, if Beck oversaw our meals, he’d set our team nutritionist’s meal plans on fire and eat burgers for breakfast, french fries for lunch, and pizza and wings every night.
Anticipation builds in my gut with each passing minute. I shower after dinner, shave the five-o’clock shadow off my face. I throw on a striped polo and dark jeans, reconvening with Beckett downstairs to find him in similar casual attire. His shirt has the top two buttons undone. His jeans are so faded they’re practically falling apart. He pulls it off, though.
He runs a hand through his messy blond hair. “You want me to drive?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
We spend the drive to the Boston bar listening to the Bruins game on the radio. It isn’t until we’re nearing the suburbs that I turn to the passenger seat with a warning.
“Don’t push her too hard.”
Beckett glances up from his phone screen. “Who? Charlie?”
“Yeah, she’s skittish. I think this embarrasses her.”
“I know it does.” He shrugs. “But I’m gonna act the way I always act. She can take it or leave it.”
I suppose that’s fair enough. If she does end up in our bed, she’ll have to get used to the dynamic anyway. Beckett is an incessant flirt. You can’t restrain that much charisma. Most women don’t want him to. But Charlotte Kingston isn’t most women. I get the sense she feels shame over desiring two guys.
It’s a sentiment I understand well. This entire summer, I felt deep shame about…desiring the extra flavors of sex, as Diana would say. It took a while, but eventually I reached the conclusion that it’s nobody’s business but mine what I do behind closed doors. If all parties consent and are enjoying themselves, then who are we hurting? Sure, some people might judge. Think us sleazy. But there’s a reason “threesome” is a popular category on porn sites. It’s a common fantasy for people.
It just so happens I’ve made the fantasy a reality.
Charlotte chose a bar in a small strip mall for tonight’s meetup. The parking lot is packed for a Thursday night, likely because of the game. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I suppose it depends on how much attention she wants to draw.
Since I have her phone number from class, I text her to let her know we’re here. Inside, we find a typical sports bar, featuring a row of flat-screen TVs flickering with various games and walls adorned with framed jerseys and autographed memorabilia.
There’s a mix of tables and booths, and as I scan the room for Charlotte, her response pops up.
CHARLOTTE:
Corner booth near the front window. I got here five minutes ago.
I shift my head to the left and catch a glimpse of her dark hair and a flash of white. Her sweater. Man, this girl really likes to wear white. And of course she’s early. She seems like the punctual type. Or at least this version of her is. The Charlie from the app would probably make us wait for an hour before she strutted over on a pair of high-heeled boots and said sorry I’m late, boys , enjoying the idea that she’d kept us at the edge of our seats, waiting for her.
She looks up at our approach, apprehension flickering in her eyes. Her outfit is trademark Charlotte: a short white cardigan with tiny pearl buttons, paired with a black skirt.
“Hey.” I greet her with a wry smile.
I slide into the booth on her right, setting my keys and phone on the tabletop. Beckett slides in on her other side, which forces her to scoot closer to me to give him room.
“Hey,” he says easily.
“Hi.” She sounds nervous.
Looks it too. She has both hands wrapped tightly around a water glass, her fingernails leaving streaks in the condensation from the ice cubes.
“I just got water. I was waiting for you guys to get here to order,” she explains, catching my gaze.
“You good?” I ask her.
“Fine.”
Because that was convincing.
“It’s just a drink, Charlotte,” I say. “No expectations.”
That seems to mollify her. Her shoulders relax. Then tense again when the waiter appears. A short, stocky young guy with a head of unruly, blond curls.
He glances at Charlie. “Has the rest of your party arrived or are we still waiting on one more?”
“Nope, this is it,” she says. “These are my…friends from class.”
There was absolutely no reason for her to qualify that. From the corner of my eye, I see Beckett trying not to laugh. He and I order beers. Charlotte surprises me by ordering a gin and tonic.
Someone needs the liquid courage, it appears.
After the waiter leaves, Charlotte spends several seconds clearly not knowing where to look. Her gaze is a Ping-Pong ball, darting from me to Beckett to her glass to the framed Bobby Orr photo on the wall, and then the cycle begins anew.
Finally, she groans. “This is weird,” she blurts out. “This is weird and it’s uncomfortable, and I think I should go.”
I bite my lip, barely able to contain my laughter in time. “All right. No one’s keeping you here.”
I start to slide out of the booth, only to stop when she says, “No. Don’t go.”
My ass plops back down. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, but…can someone just acknowledge that it’s weird?”
“I mean, you’re making it weird,” Beckett says, grinning at her. “But it doesn’t have to be.”
“How can it not? I’m on a date with two guys. I don’t know how to be on a date with two guys.”
“It’s the same as being on a date with one guy.” He shrugs. “What would you be doing if you were on a one-guy date right now?”
“I’d probably ask you questions.” She releases another groan. “Normal questions. But the ones I want to ask right now aren’t normal at all.”
This time, I can’t stop the laugh. “Ask what you want to ask,” I urge. “I promise you we won’t be scandalized.”
“You two really don’t hook up with each other? I know you said that on the app, but…”
I figured this would come up. Girls are always asking us that. Or actively encouraging it in some cases.
I shake my head. “We don’t hook up.”
“Yet?”
“Honestly? Probably not.” I glance at Beck, then back at Charlotte. “We’ve never been chilling in the living room or something when I’ve looked over and had an overwhelming urge to bone him. I’ve only ever been with women.”
“And you?” She turns to Beckett.
“Only women,” he admits. “I’ve kissed a couple dudes, but a girl was there both times.”
“So you’re bi?” She sounds thoughtful.
“I’m not much of a label guy. My philosophy has always been do what feels good and don’t do what doesn’t feel good.”
That brings a smile to her lips. She seems to be relaxing. So of course, the waiter picks that moment to return with our drinks. At the reminder that we’re not alone and anyone could be watching us, she practically snatches her drink out of the guy’s hand and takes a big gulp.
“What about you?” Beckett waits for the waiter to leave before voicing the challenge.
“What about me?” she says.
“Have you been with women?”
“No, and I wouldn’t consider myself bi. Or even pan. I don’t think I’ve ever been attracted to a girl, outside of a friendship sense.”
“But this you’re attracted to, right?” He gestures between the three of us.
Resignation settles in her eyes. “Obviously, since I’m here. But I’ve never done this before.” She sips her drink, then sets it down with a laugh. “I always knew I was an overachiever, but this is taking it to the extreme. My first date in eight months and I choose to have it with not one but two boys.”
“When was your last serious relationship?” I ask curiously.
“We broke up this past spring. We were together about a year and a half. How about you guys?”
I field the question first. “I was with someone in sophomore year, but it was more of a friends-with-benefits arrangement,” I admit. “The last time I called someone my girlfriend was probably high school.”
“Same,” Beckett says. “Dated one girl for all of high school.”
“All four years?” she exclaims.
“Why do you look so surprised?” He seems hurt for a second but then flashes his nothing-gets-to-me smile. “It’s because I’m too hot to be in a long-term relationship, right? Someone this attractive needs to be spreading his love around.”
Charlotte snorts. “Sounds like that’s what you’ve been doing since you got to Briar. Is that why you and Ms. High School broke up? So you could sow your wild oats in college?”
I don’t think she notices the way he tenses, but I do. Beckett hates talking about Shannon. The most I ever got out of him about his ex is that she crushed his heart to dust when she cheated on him.
“Nah, that’s not the reason for the breakup.” His hard jaw belies the light response. “But it was a nice side effect. Sowing oats is fun.” Before she can press for more details, he turns it back on her. “Why did you and your ex break up?” He suddenly curses. “Shit, wait. Don’t tell me you were with that douchebag from class.”
“What douchebag?” I ask.
“This macho a-hole named Mitch. Is that why he was acting like a possessive caveman when he saw us talking?”
“Mitch is my ex,” she confirms. “And yeah, he’s a bit of a dick. Now anyway. He wasn’t this bad when we were together. He could get clingy sometimes, but he wasn’t overly controlling or possessive. The only reason we broke up is because—”
She stops. And doesn’t continue.
“Because what?” I push. “You can’t leave us hanging like that.”
Charlotte takes another sip of her gin and tonic. “We, um, had some incompatibilities.”
“Some?”
“Well, just one.” Her cheeks turn red. “A mismatch of libidos.”
Beckett’s eyes gleam. “Whose libido was the more active one?”
I could take a guess.
Her even redder face confirms it. “Me, obviously. I…like sex.”
Damned if that doesn’t make my cock stir.
“How often do you want it?” Beckett licks the corner of his mouth. Like me, he’s clearly affected by where this has gone.
“Um.” She offers an embarrassed little shrug. “At least once a day.”
“At least?” we say in unison, then exchange a grin.
“Yes.” She heaves a heavy breath. “Even if I’m on my period.” When neither Beck nor I so much as blink, she narrows those big dark eyes at us. “That doesn’t gross you out?”
He shrugs. “That’s why shower sex was invented.”
I snicker.
“It’s really warm in here, right? Are you guys warm?” Her fingers are shaky as she unbuttons her sweater. “I feel like there should be air-conditioning.”
She peels the sweater off her shoulders, revealing a black tank with thin straps. She leaves the sweater on the bench seat beside her and picks up her glass again.
Someone else might think she did that on purpose. Trying to tease us. Seduce us. But Charlotte’s nerves are palpable.
I toy with the label of my beer, running my thumb through the condensation weeping from the bottle. The same riddle that stymied me in the lab takes root again.
Who is the real Charlotte?
And since I might never get this opportunity again, I decide to go ahead and ask her.
Her forehead grooves. “What do you mean, the real me?” she says after I voice the question.
“Yeah, I’m curious about this too,” Beckett pipes up. “Because on the one hand, we’ve got Charlotte.” His posture changes, straightening to look all proper. “The very studious STEM student who can’t let her GPA dip below 3.9999 and who wears these little good-girl sweaters.” He picks up the sweater she just removed. “You wore white cashmere to a pub, sugar puff. It’s a little intense.”
She frowns.
“No, don’t misunderstand,” he says in reassurance. “That prim sorority girl thing is a huge turn-on. But that’s not who you are right now, is it? This”—he lightly runs his fingers over her bare arm—“is Charlie. Charlie’s tits are practically hanging out of her top. She chose not to wear a bra to her date—”
“This tank top is technically the bra,” she mutters. “I wasn’t planning on taking off the sweater.”
“Nah,” he says. “Charlie wears it as a top. I don’t think she cares if her nipples are practically poking through the fabric or that all Will has to do is rub his thumb over one and it’ll be harder than an icicle.”
She bites her lip at the image he painted. I can’t deny my cock twitches at the thought. I also can’t deny I’ve noticed the tight little beads straining against her tank top.
“Charlie confesses all her fantasies on an app,” Beck continues. “And Charlie drove an hour and a half from her sorority house just to meet us. You’re like a double agent. I dig it.”
He’s smiling as he takes a drink.
I search Charlotte’s expression. She seems shaken by his assessment but, at the same time, not shocked to hear it.
“People have layers,” she finally says. “Different sides they show to different people. Don’t you guys have layers?”
I think about it. “Yeah. I guess I do.”
“So how come you get to be multifaceted and it’s not strange?”
“No one is saying it’s strange. We’re saying we like it.”
“It’s hot,” Beckett says bluntly. “I like the idea of seeing you in class in your cashmere and pleats, knowing that you fantasize about having two dicks in you at the same time.”
She’s mid-sip when he says that, and his words trigger a coughing fit.
“Beck,” I warn.
“Sorry, mate. She’s just so easy to tease.”
Charlotte coughs, then clears her airways by draining the rest of her drink. “So you’re only teasing? That’s not a thing you do at the same time?”
Now it’s my turn to cough. “Are you asking us about double penetration?”
“At this point, is any topic really off the table?” She tips her head at me, then him. “Have you done that before?”
“We told you we don’t kiss and tell,” he chides.
“Fine, I’ll rephrase. Do you want to do that?”
All the blood in my body rushes south. From the way Beckett’s eyes flare with heat, I know he likes the idea too.
“Will?” she prompts. “Do you want to?”
“Sometimes,” I finally answer. “Or sometimes I might not be into it. Maybe something else will feel right. I don’t really plan sex.”
“Yeah, that seems like a Charlotte request. A sex agenda.” Beckett polishes off his beer, his lips curving around the neck of the bottle. “I don’t think Charlie cares. She would just go with the flow, wouldn’t she?”
Her hand trembles as she toys with the side of her glass. Unable to stop myself, I reach out to steady her, lacing my fingers through hers. She bites her lip.
“It’s just a drink,” I remind her, my voice soft.
“I know. That’s not… I’m not bothered anymore about being here. I’m more bothered about…”
“About what?”
She looks down at our entwined fingers. Her gaze remains lowered as she says, “I’m thinking about kissing you. Both of you.” She gives a strangled laugh. “Not at the same time, though. Because that doesn’t sound fun.”
Beckett chuckles. “Yeah. I think the only people into three-way kisses are the oiled-up couples on Fling or Forever .”
“Oh my God. Don’t tell me you watch that show.”
“No, but our friend does,” I say with a snort. “All he does is talk about that stupid show.”
“But back to this kissing thing…” Beckett says.
The air thickens with tension, crackling like static electricity right before a storm. My thumb is stroking the inside of her palm now. I hear her breath hitch when Beckett moves closer to her.
His lips quirk. “If you want to be kissed, Charlie, all you have to do is ask.”