Chad
“Listen up, brothers!” I shout over the full backyard of Sigmas gathered before me.
Everyone from pledges to executives are gathered here today.
For history in the making. “We have trained, and trained hard. We have spent our entire college lives preparing for this one moment. We spent one entire day yesterday putting our blood, sweat, and tears into getting everyone on campus down here. Are we going to give them what they want?”
There are some half hearted cheers.
“What the fuck was that?” Robbie asks. “My boy said: we gonna give them what they want? What’s say you?”
A full cheer goes up this time, and I clap Robbie on his shoulder.
“How are we looking out there?” I ask, nodding toward the front of the house.
“Barricades are up and our adoring fans await.”
“Brandon signed off?”
“Sure did. My man is ready.”
It still throws me that those two are together. Not because I didn’t know they were queer–which I didn’t–but because they’re like whiskey and OJ. Robbie wants reckless fun, Brandon just wants one day where he doesn’t have to outline why all of Robbie’s ideas are dumb.
Except for this one.
I’m still proud of the event Robbie and I came up with. Kinda tragic this is the first year of what will hopefully be an annual Sigma Beta Psi Dick-athlon, and it’s also our last year of school. If I could go back and kick my pledge butt into launching this then, I would.
“We’re about to leave a legacy behind, Dooms,” Robbie says. He’s not wrong there. This event has the makings of one that will stick.
All my brothers are in their gym clothes, ready to race, but Robbie is …
Robbie. He's wearing the shortest, tightest, ball-hugging neon green shorts, matching sweatbands at his wrists and around his forehead, and a gym towel slung around the shoulders of his cutoff woman’s gym shirt.
His socks meet his knees and his shoes are so scuffed up and filthy they look like they need one of those hazardous waste disposal kits.
Unfortunately, Brandon is dressed the same.
With Bailey out there watching, there was no way in hell I was showing up looking like a goober. I took way too much time picking out a T-shirt and workout shorts for what’s going to be ridiculous fun with my friends.
The music starts up from out the front, and I catch cheering as well, which sets my love of attention to high. Zeke and Brandon pop back out of the house to join us just as the opening thumps of Eye of the Tiger start.
“Charles and Bailey have the megaphone,” Zeke says. “You lot ready?”
Robbie and I bounce our chests together. “We got this!”
It probably helps that as the ones to organize today’s event, we have the advantage of knowing exactly what is coming. The pair of us also thrive off of this kind of random, competitive fun.
The winner of the Sigma Beta Psi Dick-athlon, first of its name, will go down in our charter’s history books. Robbie already won Master of Mayhem, I can’t let him win this too.
Zeke, being an Olympic-hopeful, would be a threat if he actually, you know, partied, and Brandon would be more of a threat if I didn’t think he’d spend the entire time risk managing the race.
As one, our competing brothers head into the house and when the chorus kicks in, we stream into Greek Row, arms raised, ready to play hard and party harder. It’s sunny and warm, there are people lining all ends of the street around where we’ve set up the obstacle course on the road.
And it’s one hell of a track.
We’re doing five heats of ten, then the winning ten will face off at the end.
For most of my brothers, it’s their first time seeing what we’re up against.
The music fades off to Charles and Zeke arguing, while Bailey tries not to laugh. My heart does a little stutter at the sight of him, and I wonder if I’ll ever get used to how attracted I am to him. Those sweet freckles, his messy curls, the haughty jut to his chin.
He rolls his pretty eyes and takes the mic from Charles. “I’ll read it,” he says, plucking away the paper that Charles was trying to give back to Zeke.
“Welcome to the first Sigma Beta Psi dick-athlon.” Bailey smirks my way, clearly knowing I came up with the name, and I’m proud when he doesn’t even hesitate. Then his eyes slip to the tasks.
I watch, trying to hold in my laugh, as he skims ahead and then his what the fuck gaze clashes with mine.
“Before I read the rest, I want to make it known that Sigma boys have the maturity-level of a toddler and somehow I’m dating one of those dickheads. So as far as I’m concerned, I deserve to be reading out what I’m about to say next.”
Charles shifts awkwardly beside him. Hey, maybe if the guy got laid now and then, he wouldn’t be such a stickler and would have been able to read out a few stupid rules as well.
“The rules are simple. Every brother competing will be taking part in ten events, similar to a decathlon.” Bailey snorts.
“While not actually being similar at all. Like, at all.” He keeps reading.
“The backbone of every good Sigma brother is knowing how to party and pull.” Bailey sighs.
“I deserve this. I deserve this,” he mutters.
Charles takes back the paper and the megaphone. “Let’s just get this over with. The event consists of ten stages to test strength, wit, fortitude …” He throws a quick look Zeke’s way before shaking his head. “First up is the one hundred meter sprint–”
“That’s not what it says, Charlie.”
Charles glares at Zeke.
“Say it. Go on … read the rules properly.”
If looks could kill Zeke would be dead by now.
“The course is themed like a night out to test what it means to be a Sigma brother. First is the one hundred meter party dash, followed by handstand beer bong to start the night out with a buzz. It’ll be followed by long jump to …
urg jump into the fun, which will go straight into a hula hoop dance-off.
You have to turn ten times to the right, while hula hooping and singing the national anthem before moving on to the balance beam.
This is to test a Sigma’s ability to walk the line between fun and done. ”
As Charles continues to read out the obstacles, the way the enthusiasm is draining from his voice is sucking the life out of our idea. We put a lot of thought into an event that would be fun, symbolic, and athletic, and I’m not going to let Mr. Parameters kill the mood.
I jump back onto the front porch and relieve him of the megaphone.
“Now that most of you are asleep, I’m going to go through the second half of the course again.
First up, we’ve got hookup hurdles. Getting laid isn’t an easy task, and you’ve got to be able to stay on your feet.
Then once you’ve gotten through that successfully, we’ve got beer pong, a staple of college life, water balloon shot-put-out.
Hey? Heyyy?” I point at where Miles is laughing.
“You know what I mean. Then there’s a high jump because my brothers have to know how to high tail it out of there, and we’ll wrap the whole thing up with a sprint to the end of the street.
Let’s get this shit show on the road, my hoes and bros. ”
I slap Bailey’s ass then hand Charles back the megaphone. “Think you can keep up with the rest?”
He glares, cheeks going as red as his hair. “I’ve got it. Thanks.”
I go to join my brothers, when Bailey grabs a fistful of my shirt. “Hey. Kiss for luck.”
My gut swoops and my grin spreads wide before I bring our mouths together.
I’m going to marry this man, I swear.
Bailey
There isn’t a single part of me that’s surprised by the dick-athlon. If I had to present someone with the brainchild of Robbie and Chad, this would be it.
No matter how exasperated I pretend to be with his overexcited puppy dog nature, it’s just one of the things that’s made me fall head over heels in love with him. No one does life the way Chad does.
I cross my arms over the banister of Sigma house’s porch, ready to watch the first event. Charles calls out the starting names and after counting down from three, he sets off the blow-horn.
Ten reckless frat boys throw themselves down Greek Row, attempting to be the first to the other end.
I watch as Rooster–future Sigma president–takes three turns to get up into his handstand, while Miles shows off and does it one-handed.
One of their pledges, Raymond, gets to the hula hoops first, but after spinning ten times, he veers off to the side, stumbles and plants face-first into the gravel on the side of the street.
Miles makes it to the end first and throws his hands up.
Robbie and Brandon duke it out in the next race and I laugh as they’re neck and neck to the first line, until Brandon jumps onto Robbie’s back. The big man staggers to a stop right before the line and Brandon beats him over it.
Chad’s up in the third race, and he makes it look easy. He’s over the finish line before his brothers have even finished their high jump, and then Zeke loses out in the fourth, and most of their sophomore brothers compete in the fifth.
The racing takes longer than I would have thought, but it makes sense considering it doesn’t end until all ten brothers make it to the end.
In Raymond’s case, Miles has to go back and help, and in the last round, one of the sophomores misses so much at beer pong, that he ends up throwing the beer back up and onto the street.
Ahhh the stench of puke in the mornings …
Once Brandon supervises the clean up, the final race lines up.
I’m nervous for Chad. I know he’ll be fine if he doesn’t win, but this dick-athlon is his baby. It’s the first one, and I know how much he wants his name written up in some hypothetical or literal record book.
“The charity pot ended up at three thousand and seventy-four dollars,” Charles reads.
“These guys have each picked a charity and whoever wins will get to donate the whole amount.” He starts reading out the charities Chad’s brothers have chosen and while this is silly and ridiculous and I can’t believe I’m about to watch my boyfriend go through all that stupidity again, I think it’s amazing that one of these charities is going to be three thousand dollars richer by the end of the day, all because Chad and Robbie had the kind of idea people will show up for.
“Chad Doomsen picked the National Breast Cancer Foundation, Miles Olsen picked …”
Wait. I glance over Charles’s shoulder, checking that I heard him right. My heart has picked up a notch and sure enough, there on the paper is the NBCF.
I seek Chad out in line and when my eyes meet his, he blows me a kiss.
Ridiculous.
Fratty.
Immature.
The life of the party.
I call him all these things and more, but the one thing that my boyfriend is down to his bones, is an absolute fucking sweetheart.
He’s doing this for my mom.
I cup my hands around my mouth and shout, “You got this, Herman!”
Chad face-palms, but I figure if he gets to embarrass me, I can return the favor sometimes.
They line up as Charles counts them down, I pull out my phone to film, then the air horn goes and they’re off.
Chad and Miles are side by side as they sprint toward the keg stand.
Chad’s been practicing for this moment all this college life, and I notice Miles doesn’t bother showing off this round.
Chad finishes up a millisecond before him, but after the long jump that Chad nearly botches, they make it to the hula hoops at the same time.
I never thought that seeing ten tipsy frat boys, attempting to swivel their hips and turn in a circle while singing the anthem would be something I needed in my life, but I’m so fucking glad I’ll be able to replay it over and over whenever I need a boost.
They sail down the balance beams and Chad pulls ahead when Miles slips a foot off and has to start again.
Their other brothers aren’t far behind, and Chad’s in the lead by two hurdles by the time he makes the beer pong table.
He doesn’t miss, but neither does Miles and then it’s just an all-out scramble as they get through the water balloon shot-put-out, the high jump, and then break into a sprint for the end.
People are screaming at them, my voice is hoarse and I’m sure all the jumping I’m doing isn’t helping the camera angle.
They’re so close.
Going so fast.
I might even beg the universe for Miles to trip–just a little, not get hurt or anything–when they barrel across the finish line. I have no idea who made it first from here and my heart is beating in my ears as I wait for the others to cross the finish line and one of them to be announced winner.
Robbie waves his pom poms dramatically and bellows loud enough for the whole street to hear, “The winner. And biggest dick of the dick-athlon. Miles fucking Olsen!”
I press end on my videoing and Chad is a much better loser than me because he hauls Miles into a congratulatory hug. As far as Chad’s concerned, he had fun, so he’s already winning.
It’s not a bad way to see the world.
Charles disappears at some point, and I wait for people to finish fawning all over Chad and Miles before I approach them.
“I was really hoping you’d trip,” I tell Miles.
He cracks up laughing. “Love you too, Bailey.”
Chad wraps me up in his arms from behind as Miles leaves.
“You’re sweaty. And smell like beer,” I point out, making no attempt to move away.
“That's what you get for dating an athlete.”
I turn and wrap my arms around his neck. “You picked breast cancer.”
He shrugs. “Some really cool lady I know had it.”
“You are so fucking incredible.”
“Come on, Princess, like I’d choose anything else.”
I press my lips to his, lingering longer than the last time. Just wanting to be close and show him how much he means to me. It’s such a little thing, but it says a lot about him as a person. “Thank you.”
He lifts me clean off the ground and kisses me again. “Now … I might have come second, but I won my first race. Surely that deserves some kind of reward.”
“You did work really hard out there,” I concede. “You’re at least owed a massage.”
“Oooh, I like the sound of that.”
“Then we’ll see where that leads.”
“I like the sound of that even more.”
He sets me back on my feet, and it blows me away that we’ve only been together six months but I already feel forever about him.
Chad just fits. And what’s more, I want him to.
I love having him in my life. I don’t know what I did to deserve a guy like him, but I’ll do anything I can to hold onto him.
“Chad?”
“Yeah?”
My lips twitch. “You’re frat as fuck. You know that, right?”
He rests a big hand over his heart. “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”