Chapter 2
And that’s what I should be doing. Walking away. Just send her a text: It’s over. Don’t contact me.
But then I think about Brittany in my bed last night, playing with my hair, telling me she was so lucky to have found me.
All while she was fucking another dude across campus.
A hot, popular football player. The humiliation burns hotter than the anger.
She made a fool of me. A complete idiot.
And as much as I want to disappear, I need her to see that she didn’t break me. That she didn’t win.
I take a deep breath and head up the stairs to the third floor. The dorm is exactly like mine: the same ugly brown carpet, the same half-dead plants lining the hallway, the same muffled sounds of video games behind closed doors.
The door swings open, and there’s Chase in a plain white t-shirt that’s pulled tight across his chest. Jesus. This dude is jacked, even more than I could see under that black hoodie he had on earlier. He gives me a short nod. “Hey, man. She just texted. She’s on her way.”
A wave of something hits me. Panic? Anger? Jealousy? This is real now. I’m standing in my girlfriend’s other boyfriend’s dorm room, about to ambush her.
He must see it on my face, because he claps a hand on my shoulder. His grip is iron. “Beer?” he asks, motioning toward the mini-fridge in the corner.
“Yeah, thanks.”
He tosses me a can. I pop it open and take a long swallow.
It’s cheap and watery, but it gives my hands something to do while I look around the room.
It’s exactly what I expected. Football posters on the wall, a giant stereo system, a pile of dirty laundry in the corner, a trash can overflowing with empty pizza boxes.
I pull the bracelet box from my pocket and set it on the coffee table next to another black box—Chase’s necklace. The matching set that started all this.
On his desk, next to his laptop, is a framed photo. Brittany, in her cheerleading uniform, her arms wrapped around Chase’s neck, smiling so wide her eyes crinkle at the corners. I’ve seen that exact smile plenty of times, aimed at me.
“You okay?” Chase asks.
“Peachy,” I say, my voice tight. I take another swig of beer, trying to wash down the sour taste in my mouth.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “We could just call her out. Both of us. Tell her we know everything, that she’s a liar, all that shit.”
“That’s the plan, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but…” He runs a hand through his hair. “That way, she still gets to be the center of attention.”
“So what, then?”
“So what if we don’t give her that?” He leans forward, a spark in his eyes. “What if instead of two pissed-off boyfriends, she walks in and finds two guys who are… getting along. Maybe a little too well. Let her wonder for a minute. Let her feel what it’s like to be on the other side of it.”
“What do you mean, getting along? Like we’re friends?”
“More than friends.”
“Best friends?” I’m not following.
Chase cracks a smile. “Jesus, man, you’re slow. I mean, acting like we fuck each other.”
I spit out a mouthful of beer. “What?”
“Think about it. She played us. We play her back. For a minute, at least. Make her think she walked into the middle of something.” He’s clearly enjoying this sudden, twisted alliance. “Imagine her face. That’s a better punishment than just yelling at her.”
It’s insane. It’s juvenile. It’s also… kind of brilliant. A small, bitter laugh escapes my lips. “You’re a sick fuck, you know that?”
“We’re on the same team now, man. She made us look like chumps. This is our chance to flip the script.” He stands up and walks over to me. Then he stops right in front of me, close enough that I can smell his cologne, something warm and woodsy. “You in?”
I look up into his eyes. They’re dark and serious, and for a second, I lose the thread of everything. Brittany, the cheating, the three-hundred-dollar bracelet on the coffee table. All of it drops away. There’s only this big guy standing inches from me, asking if I want to put on a little theater.
“Yeah,” I hear myself say. “Let’s do it.”
Chase flashes a wolfish grin. “Nice. Let’s get you in position, then. Take off your clothes.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
He chuckles. “No worries. Just down to your underwear. If she’s going to believe this, we have to look the part. Come on.”
He pulls his own t-shirt over his head, and I’m greeted by what can only be described as a wall of muscle. His pecs are like two solid plates, and an eight-pack is carved into his stomach. I feel a sudden, sharp pang of inadequacy. I’m in decent shape myself, but this guy is on another level.
I realize I’m staring when I catch the smirk on Chase’s face.
“Don’t be shy,” he says.
Right. I pull my sweater off, then my jeans. I fold them neatly and set them on his desk chair, trying to ignore the fact that my boxers have little cartoon reindeer on them.
“Festive.” Chase gestures to them.
“It was a gift.”
“Right.” He’s still got that grin. Then he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his gray sweatpants, and before I can look away, he shoves them down. The boxers underneath are black and stretched tight over a huge bulge, the fabric doing its best to contain him.
Jesus Christ. Is this guy topping me in every single department? The eyes, the body, the confidence, and now… this.
I’m suddenly acutely aware that I’m alone in a dorm room, in my reindeer boxers, with a nearly naked football player who apparently packs a cannon.
“Okay,” I say, my throat a little dry. “Now what?”
“We get comfortable,” Chase says. He hops onto the bed and leans back against a stack of pillows. Then he holds the sheets open and pats the space next to him. “C’mon. Get in.”
“We’re… we’re getting in the bed?”
“Gotta sell it, man.” He winks.
This is officially the strangest thing I have ever done.
My legs feel stiff as I climb into the bed, keeping a respectful distance, which isn’t much, given it’s a twin-sized dorm mattress.
The sheets are crumpled and smell of dried sweat and that same woodsy cologne.
My skin prickles. I’m lying in the bed where my girlfriend had this big, ripped football player on top of her.
The image flashes in my mind: Brittany’s long blonde hair spread out across Chase’s pillowcase, her back arching, his hands on her hips, that big dick of his somewhere deep inside—
I shake my head to clear it. That’s a road I can’t go down right now.
Warmth rolls off Chase’s body. He’s so close. I can see a thin white scar on his bicep, another along his ribcage. Football injuries, probably. He catches me looking again, and I snap my eyes up to a water stain on the ceiling.
“So how are we supposed to—”
But before I can finish, we hear it. The click of heels in the hallway. They’re coming closer, a quick, confident clip that I recognize immediately.
“Shit, that’s her,” Chase says. “Quick, get under the sheets.”
“What?”
“Under the covers. Make it look like you’re in the middle of blowing me.”
“Blowing—”
“You can grab me if you need to, I don’t care.”
My brain locks up. The heels are right outside. There’s no time to think.
I scramble under the comforter, positioning myself at an angle, my head near his waist. This is so far outside my comfort zone I can’t even see it anymore. I’m in a completely different universe.
My heart pounds in my throat, and I have no idea what to do with my hands.
I set one on his thigh, the muscle solid as granite under my palm.
The other lands on… oh god… the big bulge in his boxers.
Never in my life did I think I’d have another guy’s dick in my hand, even through fabric.
It feels like a warm, pulsing, cloth-wrapped python.
There’s a twitch under my fingers and a sharp intake of breath from him above the covers.
“Sorry,” I whisper, starting to move my hand.
“No, keep it there,” he hisses back. “Sell it.”
Chase’s hand slides to the back of my head, and for a second, I think he’s going to push my face all the way into his crotch. Instead, he rests it there, his fingers tangling in my hair. He has to feel the frantic pulse at my temples.
I can’t see a damn thing, which is probably for the best.
But I hear everything.
Chase’s breathing.
The rattle of keys in the lock.
The soft click as the door opens.
And then… Brittany’s voice.