Chapter 2
Penis!!!
That’s the only thought I have.
Just penis.
My life flashes before my eyes as the largest, most aggressively uninhibited dick I’ve ever seen whips toward my face like it’s auditioning to be the male lead in my next theater production. I don’t even have time to react.
Thwack!
Right across my cheek.
Yep. I just got bitch-slapped by a penis.
As the flaccid phallus moves away, the guy attached to it latches onto my shoulder for balance, catapulting both of us into the campus water fountain.
I have no recourse. No way of getting out of this.
Splash!
Before I know it, I'm in the slimy, green water, questioning what life choices brought me here.
Reading a book? Meeting a friend on campus? Neither of these things should have brought me to a potentially life-threatening fountain incident.
I push myself out of the water, sucking in air as the weight of my dress drags me down.
I take deep, panting breaths, all the while trying to avoid eye contact with the biggest dick I’ve ever seen that’s currently bobbing in the waves like a fish.
Who am I kidding? That thing is more like an eel. I mean, it’s got a curve. A presence. A personality.
This can’t be happening, can it?
“Shit,” the guy grunts beside me, and I hear splashing, frantic movement. Then more splashing.
More naked men come barreling toward me. Dozens of them. Men with gloves, hockey sticks, and skates—come charging toward the fountain.
Hockey. Of fucking course it had to be hockey.
I came to Covey U over St. Michael's because my sister Noelle told me it was a football school. I didn't think I'd have to deal with her crowd here. I mutter obscenities to myself as I push my wet hair out of my face.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” says the man who dick-slapped me earlier, his voice deep and genuine and… way too close.
I don’t dare look up. I can’t risk another dick-to-face collision.
A cold chill runs across my chest, and that's when I realize my nipples are on full display.
Is this the world's ‘fuck you’ to me for daring not to wear a bra today?
I cross my arms over my small chest, hoping there are so many dicks flying around that no one will notice my unintentional campus dress code violation.
“I won!” the Neanderthal on top of the fountain says, pumping his fists in the air, completely unbothered that his dick is flying free. Thankfully, the granite horse is covering it, so that's one less cock I have to look at.
He cackles and points at the one who pushed me into the water. “Let's fucking go! I beat Mr. Stanley Cup.”
Neanderthal Two, AKA eel dick, grumbles under his breath before standing and holding his hand out to me.
Seriously?
He wants to help me now.
I ignore the guy and keep my eyes down while awkwardly crab-crawling through the water in search of my book. When I find it floating—sad and bloated—near the fountain’s edge, I want to cry.
My favorite book.
Inconceivable.
“Please, let me help you,” the persistent naked man offers, his voice right behind me now.
“Help? I do not think that word means what you think it means.”
He moves forward, making it impossible to ignore his tree-trunk thighs and abs for days. Thank goodness his Bauer is strategically placed just inches away from my emotionally unstable face.
“What the hell is even going on?” I ask, wringing out my dress as though that’ll do anything besides make me look more pathetic. Water drips from my fingertips. My shoes squish when I shift my weight, and as much as I like being the center of attention on stage, I don’t like this.
“It's the annual hockey fun run. Surprised you haven't heard of it. It's a pretty big deal across campus.”
“Let's not talk about big things right now, Neanderthal Two, and no, I haven't heard of it.
I was just minding my own business, finishing a chapter of my book before meeting my roommate for coffee after her gym session.
I didn't think I'd have to worry about a dick-to-face collision while sitting on the fountain edge.”
“Neanderthal?”
“You play hockey. It's a fair assumption.” That makes him smile, his dimple popping. It infuriates me.
“I’m so sorry, Laura,” the guy says softly as more naked men sprint past, slipping and sliding through the water like overgrown toddlers. “Let me buy you a new book. And a dress. Whatever you need.”
“It was a special edition,” I mutter, glaring at the waterlogged novel clutched in my hands. “So add import fees to that.”
Then something clicks.
“Wait a minute. How do you know my name?”
His smile flattens before he lets out a hesitant laugh, and I hate how much I like looking at him.
He's not hot, or cute… he's beautiful. His jaw is chiseled, his eyes are bright, and he’s got the kind of face that you remember.
You know, the type that ruins standards for every other person out there?
He shifts awkwardly, lifting the hand not protecting his junk to scratch the back of his neck. “Uh… we're in the same class. English Lit 101.”
“Oh.”
I've never seen this man in my life before.
His face falls, and if he hadn't slapped me in the face with his dick earlier, I might feel sorry for him.
Cameras are flashing, and I have no doubt someone is recording this.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh.”
Red flag.
My instincts kick in, and I take a slow step back, not wanting to antagonize the guy.
His face contorts, and he laughs at himself. “I’m brutally fucking this up, aren’t I?”
I take another subtle step away from this man, because he’s starting to sound a little unhinged and desperate.
“Um.”
He throws his hand up and steps toward me. I obviously move back. “Look, I’m not trying to be creepy,” he says, voice quieter now. “I just… I saw you in class and wanted to meet you.”
“Laura?” my roommate Lyss calls out, skidding to a stop when she sees me. Her eyes scan my soaked body, and I’m jealous. She looks perfect. Blonde, perfectly braided hair with a pretty pink paisley dress. How I wish I looked so well-put-together. “What’s going on? You’re soaking wet.”
“Oh, am I?” I deadpan, holding the book closer to my chest.
From beside me, the guy, still tragically glove-clad, gestures toward the cluster of half-naked chaos. “Uh, my friend Dash has towels,” he says to Lyss. “He’s over there somewhere.”
Lyss looks between the two of us. “Okay… yeah. Cool. Towels. I’ll be right back,” she says, giving me a “what the actual hell” look before jogging toward the sea of athletic butts.
I stare at him, lips parting slightly. He’s so earnest that it takes me a second to process.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Are you really going to pretend you don’t know who this stud muffin is?” Neanderthal One butts in, wading through the water with a towel around his waist and a crown on his head.
“Multimillionaire father, contract with the Toronto Tridents already lined up. Oh, and guest appearances on the top-rated reality show in the country.” He wraps his arm around the other guy, pulling him into his side.
“Tell me, Scotty, do you think it’s cute when people pretend they have no idea who you are? ”
Scotty? I’ve never heard that name in my life, but as I study the guy’s face, I try to think if there’s anything remotely recognizable about him.
There isn’t.
“Okay, so I met a really nice guy named Dash. He apologized profusely and offered you his dorm to change. Not that you have anything to change into, but he gave me a couple of towels and a granola bar. He also said he’d get you tickets for the next hockey game if you wanted them.”
“Oh, would you look at Dash? Out here skating the assist like he’s trying to steal my spot on the right wing.” Neanderthal One snorts before I get a word in. “It's cute. But let’s be real, he’s more of a human traffic cone than a playmaker.”
“I’m not sure what any of that means,” I say, too exhausted to be polite, and it’s only eight a.m. “But I think I’ve met my daily quota of naked men.”
Neanderthal Two just grins like we’re old friends. “You sure? Scotty’s got at least one more assist left in him. Maybe two if you play your cards right.”
I don’t even reply to that one. I just look over at Scotty—who, unlike his not-so-charming teammate, seems a lot less sure of himself now.
When Lyss wraps the towel over my shoulders, I clutch onto it, like it’s the only thing holding my sanity together. She grabs my hips and gently guides me toward the edge of the fountain.
“Come on,” Lyss says. “Let’s get you out of the water and less wet.”
“Bold of either of you to assume anyone gets less wet when I’m around.”
“Erik!” Scotty yells, glaring at his friend. Ah, so he has a name. I’ll remember it when I try to avoid him.
As I step out of the fountain, I tug the towel tighter around me, feeling water drip down my legs, all the while thinking about how many people saw my nipples on display today.
“Come on,” Lyss says, already taking my elbow gently and steering me toward the dorms. “Let’s leave the exhibitionists to their… rituals.”
We start walking, and I don’t look back, or forward, for that matter. I keep my gaze glued to the ground, too embarrassed to make eye contact with anyone.
“You know that was Scotty Hendricks, right?” Lyss says, keeping her voice low. “Like… the Scotty Hendricks.”
I shake my head. “He said his name. Means nothing to me.” She side-eyes me. “Hockey royalty. Reality TV star. Very famous abs.”
“I don't watch hockey or reality TV.”
Still wrapped in the towel, soaked to the bone, and squeaking like a rubber duck with every step I take, I thank the universe that we live five minutes from campus—and that it's a Saturday, so there are fewer people to witness my shame. I squelch the entire way home, avoiding eye contact with everyone, knowing the minute they see me, I’ll be known as the girl who showed her nipples off on campus, or worse, the girl who got dick-slapped by some random hockey player.
Exactly how I wanted to make a name for myself here.
By the time we make it through our front door and into the kitchen, I glance at the clock.
“Shit!”
“What's wrong?” Lyss asks as I pull my phone out of my dress, pissed that it's not working. “Rice!” she says. “I'll stick it in rice for you.”
She runs to the pantry and grabs a box.
“That's not important right now. I need to call my boss.”
“Here,” she says before tossing her phone my way. “Use this.”
I quickly call my boss, knowing her number by heart. “Claire! Hi! Hello! I’m so sorry, I’m going to be five minutes late.”
“Five minutes?” Claire says, unimpressed. “Laura, unless you've been hit by a bus, I need to know that you are going to be here. Otherwise, I need to call someone—”
I don't let her finish that sentence.
“No, please don’t call anyone else. You know what? Pretend this call didn’t happen. I’ll be there on time. I’m already on my way.”
I can't afford to lose this gig. She's paying me two hundred and fifty dollars to pretend to be Princess Blanca for two hours. It's the best gig I'm going to get.
“Okay,” she says, and I hear the disbelief in her voice, but I ignore it. I just hang up.
“I'll drive you,” Lyss offers as she places my phone in a bag of rice.
I nod, thanking her as I hurry to my room where I peel off my wet clothes and change into my costume, which just so happens to be a giant, blue, sparkling ball gown.
Grabbing the tiara and my makeup bag, I head straight to the car where Lyss is already waiting with the engine running.
“Thank you. Thank you,” I say breathlessly as I shut the door.
Lyss drives as I apply my makeup and fix my hair. Miraculously, we arrive at the venue with five minutes to spare, which means I won’t get fired today.
“Thank you!” I call to Lyss as I run up the steps toward the venue in my nearly broken glass slippers. When I’m through the entrance and at the party hall, I take a deep breath, centering myself.
I am Princess Blanca. I am running from an Ice Troll, and my best friend is a fox named Mr. Nibbles.
With one more deep breath, I push open the doors, raise my hands into the air, and launch into full Princess Mode.
“Hi, everyone!” I chirp in my highest, most sparkly voice. “Has anyone seen my pet snow fox, Nibbles?”
I lift my gloved hand to my forehead, scanning the crowd of children, who scream and giggle, before dramatically glancing at my wrist, where there is absolutely no watch, and gasping.
“Oh, you know what? I think he’s taking his afternoon nap! I guess it’ll just be me hanging out with you all today. Is that okay?”
A chorus of five-year-olds answers me with high-pitched cheers.
I’ve done it.
But then I spot it.
In the back of the room. Inflating slowly. Towering higher and higher by the second.
A dinosaur bounce house.
Every child’s party entertainer’s nightmare.
Five-year-olds, sugar, balloons, and a giant T-Rex they can physically launch themselves into?
This is going to be a long two hours.