19. Posey
Posey
My phone is linked to the buzzer downstairs, and when a notification pops up on my home screen, I go to the door to check the security camera.
One of the things we liked most about this building, besides its proximity to campus, is its advanced security measures.
No one gets into the building without being caught on camera at least once.
Before I let Brent into the foyer, I take a minute to gaze at him in the monitor.
When I think about it too much, it’s unreal he’s my fake boyfriend.
That the guy I was drooling over a week ago is outside my apartment building.
Destiny is on the couch, and a mix of male and female basketball players are sprawled across our furniture and on pillows on the floor. Tonight’s NBA game is on commercial break, and each of them are shouting opinions about the plays or players as though it’s possible to drown each other out.
“Are you going to let him in or just gaze adoringly at the monitor?” Destiny’s attention is glued to the TV as the game returns from commercial, but she thinks she’s nailed me.
“There’s nothing adoring about my gaze.” I hit the button to let him in, and a burst of annoyance zings through me.
There might be a weird gratitude lodged in the vicinity of my heart, but it’s normal to be grateful when good things happen.
Amazing sex shouldn’t be dismissed. I’ve had a lot of sub-par sexual experiences, so to have a partner who is already so tuned into me is a gift.
I’m in awe that his prowess isn’t only in the pool but also in the bedroom.
Something happens on the TV, and the room bursts to life with groans, shouts, and expletives. It’s so loud, I would have missed the knock on the door if I wasn’t already standing next to it. When I swing it back, Brent peers around me.
“Party on a Tuesday?”
“Party every day, Faulkner,” Destiny says from the couch.
“Sounds like you picked the right roommates,” he says, and with his hands braced on the door frame, he kisses my temple. “We partying or...?”
He smells like chlorine, which I never would have considered a turn-on before. “I’m partying in my room alone,” I say. “Too much jock energy out here.” I step aside to let him enter with a bag in his hand. “You packed a bag?”
He glances at me over his shoulder as he heads toward the hallway where the bedrooms are located. “I’m moving in. Fake boyfriend has become fake roommate. Jock energy all over your bedroom.”
I shove him in the back, and he turns to loop his arm around my shoulders, drawing me into his side. He plants another kiss on top of my head.
“That’s not funny,” I say. “I’ll break out in commitment hives.”
He holds my arm while he examines my pale skin. “Not even one.” With raised eyebrows he peers down the hall. “Which room?”
I direct him into the middle bedroom, and he whistles. “What?” I ask.
“Great use of space,” he says.
As a challenge, I took the smallest bedroom, and my double bed is raised off the floor high enough for me to get my desk under it. The walls are neutral, but I incorporated dashes of color in the bedding, accessories, and pictures on the wall.
“Kind of beachy,” he says as he gazes around.
All right. He’s got me. My pops of color tend toward an ocean vibe. “Stop psychoanalyzing me.”
He drops his bag by the door. “How was your afternoon?” Without asking for permission, he steps up my wooden boxes and climbs into my bed.
I shut my laptop, and I follow him. He’s sprawled out, and I’ll have no choice but to cuddle next to him if I want to lie down. Instead of seizing the opportunity, I stare at him with crossed arms. “I don’t normally have men in my bed.”
He props himself onto one elbow. “No? Where do all these non-romantic trysts happen then?”
“Somewhere else.” I crawl across the bed to squeeze in beside him.
“Your day?” he asks again.
“Uneventful. Apart from the lattes and orgasms, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Your day?” I ask. Sleeping and then swim practice is what he told me earlier when I left his apartment. But he arrived at mine later than I expected. Not that I was watching the clock or anything.
“Eventful. I was offered a threesome.”
“Val offered you a threesome, did she? Where’d she find you?” I turn on my side to mirror his pose.
“How’d you know it was Val?”
“The threesome offer is the Hail Mary of sexual plays. It’s the last resort.
” Any of my girlfriends who have offered to either participate in one or organize one didn’t do it because they wanted to.
They did it to please someone else. Even if Brent doesn’t have a fantasy of two women at the same time, Val rolled the dice.
“Have you ever?”
I hold his gaze and consider lying. “Once.” Another encounter I’m not keen to repeat.
Chris, who was two years older than me, got me really drunk and talked me into it when we were at a house party to ‘spice things up.’ We were sixteen, and I was way too eager to please.
“My personal opinion is that it’s not an experience designed to bring two people closer together.
” In fact, along with my conversation with Julia, it was the final piece in the breakup puzzle.
Everything about my relationship with Chris stunted my growth, and I won’t make that mistake again either.
“Makes sense,” he says, and he traces a pattern on the duvet between us.
“But ruins your fantasy,” I tease.
He makes a slow perusal of my stretched-out figure. “No, my fantasy is still firmly intact.” When our gazes connect, a delicious electricity zips between us, and he slides his hand into my hair to draw me into a kiss. I scooch closer to him, and he rotates so he partially pins me under him.
“You taste like beer,” I murmur. “Were you drinking without me?”
He grins against my lips. “I went to a teammate’s place for a beer.”
I draw back, and I trace the line of his chiseled jaw with my finger.
With our synced schedules, it’s easy to see how straightforward his life is, or how he tries to keep it.
A lot of his time is devoted to training on land or in the water or going to class.
When that’s not happening, he has his meal prep laid out in his calendar.
That discovery sent me down a nutrition rabbit hole to figure out how many calories he was consuming a day.
“Look at you breaking from routine,” I say.
“All over the place. People will start talking.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“Wasn’t there long enough to be sure. Might have. Val saw Jess’s post somewhere about me being there, and she crashed the party.”
“Ugh. Val and her threesomes.” I bunch my hand into his T-shirt. “Trying to find some balance in your life, and she offers to tip the scales.”
A hint of a smile tugs at the edges of his lips. “The good news is that I might have realized the value of socializing with my teammates.” He collapses onto his back, and he drags me with him.
I curl into his side. “Oh yeah? Tell me about it.”
He relays a story about Ethan and Jessica, and I listen while I play with the hem of his shirt. When he seems baffled by their strange relationship, I give him the inner workings of a playboy like Ethan and a certified good girl like Jessica.
“Why can’t people just be straightforward about what they want?” he asks.
“Like you and Val? How’d that work out?”
“Touché, Jensen. Touché.” He shoves his palm under his head and tugs me tighter into his side again with his free arm. “You okay if I crash here tonight? I sent Val home in an Uber, but knowing her, she’s literally camped outside my apartment door.”
An exaggeration, I’m sure, but since he wasn’t a bed hog in Bermuda, I could probably share a bed with him again.
“Also, your place is closer to the pool, so I won’t have to get up at the asshole of dawn.”
“Just the butt crack?”
“Those few inches make a big difference.”
“Precious, precious inches,” I tease.
“Want to see what else can be measured in inches?”
I kiss his neck, and I slide my hand down the front of his pants. “I’d rather get a feel for them instead.”
And just like that, he’s on his way to making all my orgasm dreams come true.
The next morning, Brent creeps out of my apartment and promises a latte after his practice. Instead of going back to sleep, I go into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Nadiya has an early class, and she’s making herself breakfast.
“You let him stay over?” She smears peanut butter on her toast.
“Our apartment is closer to the pool.” I grab a glass and fill it with water.
“Val posted a shit ton of photos of Bermuda. She even had Brent in one of them. From a distance, but still. She’s giving her followers the impression they’re still together. She even reposted Brent’s teammate’s video of him going for a drink with them last night.”
My blood runs cold and then hot. Since I met Brent last Thursday night, I haven’t checked Val’s accounts or his at all. Having the real thing is much better than soaking in something that was never real.
“He broke up with her,” I say. “Whatever Val posts or says isn’t his responsibility.”
“Just be careful,” Nadiya says. “This has ugly and messy written all over it.”
“A couple weeks,” I say. “At some point, Val will understand she’s not getting him back.
” Though last night makes me wonder if it’ll take more than a couple weeks to accomplish that feat.
There are a few other sexual favors she could dangle in front of him, but I’m open to almost anything, so she doesn’t have an advantage there.
“Then we shake hands and go our separate ways after a lot of lattes and a massive number of orgasms.”
She takes a bite of her toast and eyes me. “I hope she gives up before she decides to come after you.”
“There is nothing she can say or do to me that some other jealous girlfriend hasn’t done before.”
“Sure. Maybe. But those other girlfriends, ex or otherwise, didn’t have the platform Val has. She’s made a literal living from people believing she and Brent are hashtag couples goals. I’ll be watching your back, but you need to be keeping tabs too.”
“I follow her, so I’ll see anything coming. It won’t happen, though. It won’t. She’ll see their relationship is a lost cause. Brent said he’s never put up this much of a fight before about getting back together.”
Nadiya chuckles and shakes her head. “Na?ve. If that’s true, that’ll make her desperate. No one wants a desperate Val. That girl already has a mean streak, from what I’ve heard.”
The mean streak is definitely correct, but even hers wasn’t the worst I’ve seen. “I’m not worried.”