Chapter 19 #4
“That was one time,” Gage protested. “And in our defense, we were still learning stabilizing techniques. Please, you’d be doing us a huge favor. The practice dummies don’t complain nearly as entertainingly as you do, Fenway.”
“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended,” Fenway muttered.
“Both,” everyone responded in unison.
The conversation flowed effortlessly from there, bouncing between campus gossip, class complaints, and weekend plans. I relaxed more, occasionally chiming in but mostly basking in the familiar rhythm of our group.
As the night progressed, I nestled closer to Harley, my head resting on his shoulder. When I glanced up, I caught Senna watching us with a soft smile she disguised with a sip of her drink.
“Now that we know you two are doing the horizontal tango,” Bryce said during a lull in conversation.
“Oh, no,” I groaned, not ready for whatever came next.
“I have to ask, how are you handling Harley’s colossal cock? Because I saw it when we went skinny dipping, and honey, that thing is only for pros, not virgin gays.”
I choked on my beer, coughing violently as Harley patted my back, laughing.
“Damn, you’re just throwing that out there,” Gage groaned.
“What? It’s a valid question!” Bryce defended himself. “I’m concerned for Ryker’s well-being. That’s a lot of man to handle for a first-timer. Even I’d need to take extra time to stretch, and I use dildos the size of my forearm.”
Once I could breathe again, I surprised myself by playing along. “Sorry, I’m still waiting to hear back from my health insurance company about whether I have coverage for ‘death by enthusiastic impalement’ before I try to tame the beast,” I deadpanned, earning a snort from Harley.
Jagger howled with laughter. “Look at our little Ryker, all bisexual and finally making good sex jokes.”
“Just because I don’t announce my sexual conquests to the entire campus doesn’t mean I don’t have them,” I shot back.
“Ooh, he’s got some bite now,” Bryce teased. “Harley must be rubbing off on you in more ways than one.”
“Speaking of rubbing,” Harley started, and I elbowed him in the ribs.
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I warned.
“What? I’m on my best behavior,” Harley insisted with an innocent expression.
Fenway snorted. “Sure you are.”
The conversation shifted again to Gage's family drama with his younger brother, who had dropped out of college to pursue a career as a professional gamer.
“My mom calls me in tears every day,” he lamented, raking a hand through his hair. “She thinks I can talk some sense into him because I’m the ‘responsible one,’ but he won’t listen to me either.”
“Some of those gamers make serious money,” Fenway pointed out.
“Yeah, like one in a billion,” Gage countered. “The odds aren’t great.”
As they debated the merits of professional gaming as a career, I watched Harley.
He was fully engaged in the conversation, offering his thoughts and laughing at all the right moments, while keeping that casual physical contact with me with a hand on my knee.
He made the transition from friends to something more seem so effortless.
Maybe it really was that simple. Maybe I’d been overthinking everything, as per usual.
Senna’s voice cut through my distraction. “You’re staring at your boyfriend as if he hung the moon. It’s adorable but also slightly nauseating.”
I blinked, realizing everyone was watching me with varying degrees of amusement.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous pastime,” Harley teased.
“For you, maybe,” I retorted. “Some of us use our brains for more than remembering pickup lines.”
“Ouch,” Harley pretended to be wounded. “Taken down by my own boyfriend.”
The casual way he said “boyfriend” ignited something in my chest that felt like heartburn’s more charming cousin. It was a secret I’d defend with the same ferocity as my browser history.
“You’ll survive,” I told him, patting his cheek condescendingly.
“Only if you kiss it better later,” he replied, making a kissy face that elicited a chorus of groans.
“Get a room!” Jagger called out.
“We have one,” Harley reminded him, gesturing at the apartment. “You’re all in it.”
“Speaking of which,” Fenway said, checking his watch, “it’s getting late. Some of us have eight a.m. classes tomorrow that don’t involve ogling new professors.”
“I prefer to think of it as preliminary field research,” Bryce sniffed.
As everyone gathered their things, Bryce froze mid-motion, his eyes growing wide. “Wait. What if Bennett is one of those professors who wears tweed jackets with elbow patches? That would be a dealbreaker.”
“I thought nothing could stand between you and Professor Jawline,” Senna teased.
“Fashion crimes are the exception,” Bryce declared solemnly. “I have standards.”
“Your only standards are ‘has a pulse’ and ‘older than you,’” Gage pointed out.
“You forgot being hot,” Jagger added.
“All of the above, but absolutely no elbow patches allowed,” Bryce confirmed. “It’s a very selective list.”
Gage shook his head as he shouldered his bag. “Just promise me you won’t do anything that could get you expelled next term. Or arrested.”
“I make no such promises,” Bryce replied cheerfully. “But I’ll try to keep it to misdemeanor territory.”
“That’s not reassuring at all,” I said.
“It’s the best you’re getting,” Bryce winked. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go home and plan my first-day-back-to-class ensemble. Something that says, ‘I’m a serious student who also happens to be phenomenal in bed.’”
“Does such an outfit even exist?” Fenway asked skeptically.
“Honey, everything in my closet has that vibe,” Bryce replied, blowing a kiss as he sashayed toward the door.
The others trailed after him, calling out goodbyes and see-you-laters until finally, it was only Harley and me in our suddenly quiet apartment.
Harley was the first to speak. “I’ll never stop being amazed by Bryce’s impressive confidence.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” I chuckled.
“Sometimes the line between delusion and confidence is blurry.”
I laughed. “Why are you acting like you’re any different?”
“Fair enough.” He shook his head. “Poor Professor Bennett doesn’t stand a chance against Bryce’s unique charm next term.”
“I hope he believes in a god who can help him,” I retorted, making us both crack up. “And let’s pray Bryce doesn’t end up asking us to bail him out of jail for stalking.”
“That’s cute you think I’d bail him out,” Harley laughed. “It might be more entertaining to send him a care package of prison-appropriate fashion tips instead.”
“I wonder how long it’ll be before Bryce sends a three-page slideshow presentation on ‘Operation Seduce Professor Bennett’ to the group chat?”
Harley snickered. “My money’s on before breakfast. Complete with costume changes and a contingency plan for the elbow patches scenario. Because while he claims that’s a deal breaker, we both know he’d take the jacket off and keep going.”
My phone buzzed with a notification. I glanced at it and snorted when I saw it was a message from Bryce to the group chat.
Bryce
EMERGENCY FASHION CONSULTATION REQUESTED
Here are my options for what to wear on the first day of class. Vote for which one screams “future trophy husband of a distinguished academic” the loudest.
Harley snorted as he looked at his own phone. “It’s not a slideshow, but I’m still impressed that was faster than I expected. Did he miss the part where Senna said the guy starts working during the fall term and not spring?”
“He must have, because it’s not his style to invest this much effort into a seduction months in advance.” I scrolled through his photos out of curiosity. “Should we tell him that a mesh shirt is probably not the best choice for the first day of the new term?”
Harley grinned wickedly. “Nah, let’s see how this unfolds. Personally, I’m voting for the leather pants.”
I shook my head, turning off my screen. “You’re truly awful.”
“But you adore me, anyway.” He blew me a kiss.
I did. And that felt fanfuckingtastic.