11. Harper
11
HARPER
I wake with my hand in my underwear. My fingers press to my clit, my hips shift and roll. I let out an unholy moan and twist onto my stomach, unable to fight the urge to bring myself to orgasm. It’s instinct, and it doesn’t take me long to tip over the edge.
I groan into my pillow, mouth open, the fabric smothering the noise.
The sensation drifts away, and I sag.
Can’t say I’ve had that happen too many times.
The air mattress held up surprisingly well overnight. Once my muscles aren’t jelly, I fling myself off and into a standing position. My toes hit my shorts, and I pause.
I went to sleep with them on. I always do.
Jeez. Was I so horny I pushed them off?
My face heats, and I quickly put them back on. I grab my phone and scan it, and a chill runs through me. I never opened the text from the unknown number last night, and it still stares at me from my lock screen.
I blocked Max’s number after graduation, half convinced I’d never see him again. It didn’t matter that he didn’t leave. I was leaving. My friends back home knew to keep their mouths shut, and everyone else didn’t matter.
Running into him at the game was a worst-case-scenario situation I had never even prepared for. Of course, the number that texted me is totally different from the one I still have blocked. Did he get a new one so he could contact me again?
A new text comes in, but this one is welcome.
Royal
House is yours. Doors are locked. We’ll be back on the bus after the game… should get in pretty late.
Don’t suck tonight
I smile and drop the phone back to the bed, refusing to think any more about Max Keegan. Even if he knows I now attend Framingham State, he doesn’t know where I live. He can wander campus, but I’m not there.
I’m safe.
And an empty house means I can gather my clothes, towel, and toiletries and walk to the bathroom in the hallway in my sleep stuff. No worrying about running into my brother’s teammates and them getting the wrong idea.
I have curves. I’m not going to lie about that. I know what it feels like to have a guy make eye contact, then his gaze just… drops to my chest.
They’re not subtle.
It’s already awkward, knowing Royal probably didn’t give Lucas and Connor, the last roommate, a choice on the matter. Lucas didn’t seem put out. I have yet to come face-to-face with Connor, beyond passing him on my way out the door.
Then, of course, there’s Camden Church.
No need to guess how he feels about me being here.
Arms full, I nudge the bathroom door shut and set my stuff down on the counter. As far as bathrooms go, this one could definitely be better. Or worse.
I flick on the switch for the light and the fan, and frown when something flutters on the mirror.
There’s a folded piece of paper taped to it.
I lock the door and gently pull it off. If it’s not for me, then I can just put it back. But there is an H scrawled on the front…
Who’s leaving me notes?
I unfold it and scan the handwriting, and my stomach flips.
Thanks for the content, Harper. The WatchMe subscription I started in your name is already going viral. You moving in is the best thing to happen to my bank account. Minus the NHL contract, obviously.
—C
What?
I reread it, but it’s not comprehending. WatchMe is a site for people to post erotic stuff. Pictures, videos, that sort of thing. Sex.
C is very obviously Camden. But he wouldn’t…
I scramble back to my room and grab my phone. I go to the website and search my full name, and my stomach drops when I get a hit.
My face.
My name.
A bio I most certainly did not write about how I’m adventurous and like trying exotic stuff. Excuse me? Bile rises up my throat, and I swallow sharply. I scroll down.
There’s a public photo posted.
I can’t look at it.
I have to. Don’t want to, but…
It’s like a train wreck. Or a car crash you pass on the highway. An ugly one, with glass on the road and maybe a burning engine. Pieces of the cars littered all over the asphalt. It leaves you questioning how it happened, if the people are okay—and knowing, deep down, they’re probably not.
So even though I should close out of it, I look closer.
My anger comes swift and hot. It’s not of me in my dorm or crashing in Royal’s bed the night of that party—or even in Camden’s room when he fucked my mouth. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had a camera set up with the previous girl, then left it running when I interrupted.
Nope. This is a whole new level.
This was last night . The near-empty room, the air mattress— me , sleeping, my underwear kind of sucked into my ass crack a bit, revealing my cheeks.
I tilt my head and zoom in. There’s a decent number of details in the low light…
Okay, no, stop.
I cannot think he got a quality shot. I like photography—always messed around with a camera when I was in high school, then signed up for a class at FSU—and have been studying how to improve my craft.
Not that I’ve ever entered into the realm of what could be classified as boudoir. Maybe. My interest lies more in portraits. Faces. Especially the unaware ones.
I suppose this qualifies. Is that why something flutters in my chest, and not entirely in a bad way?
Because seriously, did he edit that? On what program?
Oh my God. What is wrong with me?!
He posted that without my permission. He opened a whole account under my name without my permission .
I click on the caption, and the nausea returns.
Had a late-night visitor… don’t worry, we caught it on camera. ;) Premiering only for subscribers tonight at 10 p.m.!
There are four hundred likes.
Four hundred people saw that post. The photo.
I fall to my knees in front of the toilet. My stomach cramps, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I throw up whatever was left in my stomach.
This is too much.
Too far.
And the worst part? He’s gone. It’ll be done and posted by the time he gets back from the game, and I can’t do anything except watch it happen.
Olivia and I sit on her bed in her St. James University dorm room. I’m wrapped in layers of blankets, around my back and up to the top of my head like a hood to shield me. A bowl of popcorn sits in my lap, and only one hand is unswathed to make the journey from the kernels to my mouth.
The Breakfast Club plays on her laptop, but I don’t think either of us are watching it.
Instead, we’re focused on my phone.
I made a dummy account out of sheer desperation—regrettably paying four dollars to subscribe to my own page—and now we wait for the notification of a new post.
Ten o’clock approaches slowly, as if time knows what we’re waiting for and is dragging its heels. Every minute feels like five.
This morning, I brushed my teeth again to erase the taste of stomach bile, showered, and practically sprinted out of the empty house. I called for a ride, and it took me to St. James University, where I wandered until I found Olivia’s dorm.
The mood to shop at the mall or local thrift stores never appeared. Instead, I burst into tears as soon as Olivia opened her door, and she decided we were hunkering down on her campus all day.
I used her laptop to order a set of hangers, which will be delivered in two days. If I survive that long. We went to the library, hung out in the student center, and then made our way back to her room, where we now anxiously await ten o’clock.
The best thing that could’ve happened for the two of us was Olivia scoring a single room.
No nasty, sex-having roommate to kick her out.
Cynthia caused all this in the first place. She could’ve—why wasn’t she screwing her boyfriend in his room? No, of course it was ours. If I had just stayed in the common room, waited it out, we wouldn’t be in this mess.
By we , I mean me.
I wouldn’t be in this mess.
“I’m going to be sick,” I announce.
Olivia hops off the bed and grabs her trash can. She pulls out the liner and thrusts it at me. “No puking on my bed.”
I take it, gripping the lip hard. “This is going to be the worst thing ever.”
She grimaces. “Maybe no one will see it?”
I glare at her. I don’t know if he boosted that public post or what , but it has more than two thousand likes. Two thousand people have seen my ass .
“Maybe no one we know will see it,” she amends.
I release the trash can and bury my face in my hands. “Oh, this is the worst thing in the freaking world. Can you just kill me now?”
“I’d be too lonely without you.” She puts her arm around my shoulders. “It’ll be okay. No matter what happens.”
My phone dings with an incoming notification, and I suck in a fast breath. We both go still.
When I don’t move, Olivia asks, “Do you want me to…?”
“No.” I clear my throat and lift my head. “No, um, I’ll do it.”
“I’ll give you a minute.” She slips off the bed and snags her ID, and a second later, the door closes with a click behind her.
Okay.
My hands tremble, but I reach for the phone. Type in my password, then open the app. There’s a new post from—from me. From Camden. I take a breath, then another. Just the video—no caption, no tags. Nothing else except for that little lock icon on the top right, indicating it’s a private post for subscribers.
I press play.
It’s at a different angle than the photo posted before, but I’d guess it was the same night. It’s like the whole thing is staged. The bed in the empty room, the swath of light that cuts across my legs.
For a long moment, nothing happens. Then the screen goes fuzzy, like a glitch, and someone— Camden —is on top of me.
I’m still asleep.
I didn’t wake up.
Horror and, worse, something deeper, floods through me. Something that feels a lot like arousal.
A voice in the back of my head whispers, Why do you like that?
Why am I not more pissed he broke into my room and fucked me while I slept?
I watch the whole thing. Never once does the video show either of our faces. He stays above it, never pressing his weight down into my body. He stills, then the video glitches again. It shows me, alone, curling onto my side away from the camera.
The screen goes black.
I shut off my phone and stare at the wall, willing my heart to calm down.
Turned on? Maybe.
But he shared it—he’s making money off of this.
Whatever anger I lacked while watching the video compounds as I consider the implications of how I just watched it. I paid four fucking dollars to watch my own sex tape.
That’s my money.
I’m still stewing when Olivia returns a few minutes later. She peeks in, and when she sees what can only be my rage face, she enters fully. I focus on her and blow out a long, slow breath.
“I’m going to kill him,” I say quietly.
Olivia’s lips twitch. “Just tell me where to meet you with the shovels.”