Chapter 3
TRYING TO CLAIM THE GRAND PRIZE
Andie
The next morning, the Century College cafeteria is a dry run for Hell: fluorescent lighting, scorched coffee smell, the drip-drip-drip of some eternal air handler, and the wall-to-wall chorus of hungover voices.
I walk in with a bruise on my neck (hickey, actually), a fresh ache in my asshole, and the tentative steps of a girl who’s limping from deep, yet satisfying anal sex.
It takes thirty seconds to spot the girls.
They’re at the northeast window table, three golden heads gleaming in the morning sun, like a toothpaste commercial.
Stella sits with her back ramrod-straight, spooning Chobani into her mouth in demure little swipes.
Kayleigh sprawls on two chairs, leggings painted to her calves, eating a breakfast burrito like it’s payback for a war crime.
Mary Kate, in a pink cable-knit sweater, sips her latte and scrolls her phone, hair tucked behind one ear like she’s auditioning for a Target ad.
I limp over, tray in hand, my own breakfast untouched and only for show. My stomach is still doing flips from last night, and my brain can barely keep up with the present. I slide into the empty chair at the table’s edge.
“Hey bitches,” I say, voice only a little raspy.
Kayleigh grins. “Someone’s walking like she got hit by a freight train.”
Stella drops her spoon, eyes wide. “Did you stay out all night?”
Mary Kate gives me the side-eye, not unkindly. “Did you even sleep? You look rough, girlfriend. No offense.”
I place my phone on the table, screen-down, and fold my hands like I’m about to pray. “Ladies,” I say, channeling my inner Bond villain, “I have an announcement.”
Stella leans forward, eyes wide. “Did you—?”
Kayleigh interrupts, shrill: “Did you get laid?”
Mary Kate claps a hand to her mouth, gasping. “Oh my god. Andie. Did you win?”
I tap my nails against the table, savoring the build. “Well,” I purr, “I’m prepared to claim victory, but there are some extenuating circumstances.”
Kayleigh’s burrito freezes midair. “Spill. All of it. Now.”
Stella’s eyes bug out. “Wait. Who was it? Was it Jake Namors? Please say it wasn’t my hot T.A. because I was going to try and bag him—”
I flip my phone over, unlock it, and thumb to the single photo I managed to snap last night.
The picture is nothing but a hand and a cock—no face, no clues—just the monster shaft itself, glistening with what can only be described as a gorgeous mix of bodily fluids, the head thick and swollen, a pearly trail beading along the underside.
“Ladies,” I say, “please admire the single greatest achievement of my life.”
Stella lets out a high whine and covers her face. Kayleigh is speechless, which is new; she just gapes, then lets out a breathy, “No. Fucking. Way.” Mary Kate leans in, then recoils, blushing so hard her ears turn magenta.
Kayleigh’s voice comes back online. “I feel like that’s against the Geneva Convention because it’s so big. It’s a missile. No, it’s a warhead.”
I cackle. “Right? The thing is, it looks even bigger in person. Like I was scared for my literal health.”
Mary Kate peers closer, whispering: “Did it even fit?”
Stella, peeking between her fingers, finally manages, “Oh my god, how long did it take him to work it inside you? Hours, right?”
Kayleigh: “Wait, whose is it?”
I shrug like it’s no big deal. “Never got a name. Never saw a face. He was just there. I ran into him outside the Faculty Club at 11 p.m. last night. Literally, because he has a chest like a wall, and I thought I broke my nose at first.”
Mary Kate chews her lip. “Oh my god, you hooked up with a stranger? Like is that safe?”
“He was wearing an expensive suit,” I say gamely, “so I don’t think he was some random homeless person. But you guys, he was so fucking hot. Like, mind-erasingly hot. The whole thing was so fast, I barely had time to process.”
Kayleigh: “I need every single detail. Did he at least buy you dinner first?”
I shake my head, grinning. “Nope. I was walking, he was lurking. Next thing I knew, I was up against the wall. He just took control.”
Stella pauses delicately: “Was it consensual?”
“God, yes,” I say, my face heating. “I wanted it so bad. Like, I didn’t even know I wanted it until he touched me. My whole body just completely flipped and I was moaning for it like a whore.”
Kayleigh: “I’m so jealous I could cry.”
Mary Kate shakes her head, still stumped: “Wait, so you let a rando raw-dog you behind the Faculty Club?”
“Well actually,” I say with a queenly expression, “it wasn’t my pussy. He put that monster cock in my ass. Yes ladies, we had anal sex. My anal cherry is now officially popped.”
There’s a hush. Even the table next to us, full of football guys, goes weirdly quiet. My friends look at me, blinking, trying to process.
Stella: “Wait. Did you say—?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes. He took me in the ass, okay? My rear end. And you know what? It was incredible. It felt soooo good, and that’s the reason why I can barely even sit today. I still feel so stretched back there.”
Kayleigh, after a stunned beat, shouts: “I fucking knew you’d be first, you dirty bitch!”
Mary Kate starts to laugh, then stops. “But does anal count for the bet?” she whispers. “I mean, I thought it was only pussy sex that counts.”
The group goes quiet again, the full gravity of the contest’s bylaws looming over the table like a Greek chorus.
Kayleigh snorts. “Are we going by Catholic school rules or actual human rules here?”
Stella, ever the rule stickler: “I mean, the whole point was to lose your virginity. Technically…”
Mary Kate: “Technically, your hymen’s still intact.”
Kayleigh: “But her butt isn’t!”
I cough, trying to look nonchalant. “Trust me, it’s not.”
Stella: “So you’re still a technical virgin, then?”
I reach for my coffee, swallow, and shrug. “I guess? But I’m definitely a winner in the ‘go big or go home’ category.”
Kayleigh: “Did it hurt?”
I think about it for a second, searching for the right word. “It was intense. Like, at first it hurt and it felt really strange, and then it was just crazy. I kind of liked the pain. It felt so forbidden.”
Mary Kate: “Did you use lube or something?”
I stifle a laugh. “He used spit. And he fingered me too in my butthole, so he made sure I was stretched out. Well, as stretched out as a man’s fingers can make you.”
Kayleigh gasps. “That’s so crazy.”
Stella moans: “I can’t believe you got your anal cherry popped before your regular cherry.”
I grin. “Honestly? Me neither. I always thought girls who adore anal were, like, a porn myth. But it happened. And I am here to tell you: it’s definitely worth it.”
Kayleigh giggles mischievously. “Who are you and what have you done with our sweet Andie?”
I take a bow, as much as you can while sitting. “Guess I leveled up.”
Mary Kate, suddenly solemn: “So since you still have your hymen, we’re still on, right? We agree that this doesn’t count for the contest? You’re still going to try for the real thing, right? Like, the original plan?”
I look at her, at all of them—these girls who have cheered and cajoled and sometimes tormented me, but have never once let me off easy. “Okay fine, the anal won’t count,” I say, and I mean it. “I still want to win. I just want it to be epic, you know?”
Kayleigh smirks: “I give it two weeks before you find a new man.”
Stella giggles, and even Mary Kate smiles. The mood is light again, the contest alive and well.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket, and for the first time since last night, my hands stop shaking. The ache in my ass is a reminder—proof, in its way. I don’t know if I’ll ever see my mystery man again, but the memory will keep me warm for a long time.
The bell over the cafeteria door rings, and through the window, I spot Jake Namors, king of the campus, sauntering by with his buddies.
He looks straight at our table, gives a little nod, then turns away.
He’s godawful handsome with that chestnut hair and flashing blue eyes, dressed in a green varsity jacket that highlights his broad shoulders.
He looms above his friends, his strides easy and confident.
I watch him, curious. For a second, I wonder what it would be like with Jake—if the rumors are true, then he’s a god in bed.
But for now, I just sip my coffee, basking in the new, raw, wicked version of myself, and wait for the next chance to rewrite the rules.
Our post-brunch exodus is a slow-motion stampede, each of us clutching bags, books, and coffee cups, buzzing from the fallout of my “anal adventure.” Kayleigh can’t stop humming the word “buttslut” under her breath, while Stella keeps asking for more details about the mystery man’s hands—was he rough, or gentle, or both?
Mary Kate, for her part, is already texting updates to her mysterious “date,” whom she’s hoping to win the contest with.
We’re halfway to the double doors when someone shouts across the cafeteria: “Andie!”
The syllables ricochet off the cinderblock walls, bounce around inside my skull. I know that voice: it’s Jake Namors, Big Man on Campus, heartthrob, hockey god, and most-wanted MVP by the ladies on campus.
He’s holding court at the corner table, surrounded by half the starting lineup. Jake’s got a jawline you could sharpen knives on, hair that’s always artfully messy, and the kind of shoulders that look like a brick. His smile, aimed directly at me, is all slow confidence and practiced mischief.
Kayleigh’s elbow is in my ribs immediately. “Go, bitch,” she hisses, not even subtle.
I want to say no. I want to say I’m immune, that last night’s encounter rewired my DNA and made me impervious to these dumb college games, but the truth is, I don’t feel like I have a choice.
Everyone will think I’m strange if I don’t respond to Jake Namors.
As a result, my feet are already moving.
I cross the floor, aware of every eye that follows—Jake’s friends, the bored cafeteria staff, half the girls from my chem class.
He stands as I approach, unfolding to his full six four like a transformer. “Hey,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “You running somewhere, Goldilocks?”
I smile, hoping it looks real. “Just escaping before the lunch mob.”
His blue eyes flick to my lips, then back. “Heard you’re a runner,” he says, and I know he’s referencing the 5k charity race I bailed on two months ago. I didn’t think he remembered.
I want to say something clever, but my brain is two beats behind. “Maybe I just like the chase,” I reply, softer than I intend.
Jake grins, a wolf baring its teeth. “Gotta watch out for the wolves, then.”
We stand there, looking at each other. I feel stupid, to be honest. I’m expecting him to come in with some dumb line, but instead he just looks at me, really looks, and says, “You look different today. Something new about you.”
My cheeks go warm. “Maybe I changed my hair?” I joke, tucking a strand behind my ear.
Jake shakes his head. “No, not that. You just seem more dangerous.” He says it like it’s a compliment, but also a challenge as his blue eyes squint.
The girls are watching from the safety of the vending machines. Kayleigh is pretending not to stare. Mary Kate is full-on waving, her hand flapping like a signal flag.
Jake leans closer, his arm grazing my shoulder. The smell of him—clean sweat, Axe body spray, a hint of lingering cigarette smoke—makes me lean back just so subtly. “Can I get your number?” he says, all at once. “In case I need to call for backup next time.”
I don’t want to do this. I really don’t want to give my number to this oaf of a boy who thinks he’s god’s gift to women.
But in a wooden voice, I recite my digits, a little stunned by how normal this feels.
He enters it into his phone with one thumb, then looks back at me, cocky and unhurried.
“Maybe I’ll take you somewhere less cafeteria-chic next time. ”
I laugh, but it’s reflex, not real. “Sure. Let me know if you can keep up.”
He puts his hand on my upper arm, and it’s supposed to be chivalrous or whatever, but his thumb lands high enough to brush the curve of my breast, just for a second. It’s subtle, but I notice. He notices that I notice, and grins wider.
My skin goes cold, then hot. Not with desire, though—I realize it’s disgust. I pull my arm back, polite, and give him a half-wave. “See you around, Jake.”
He winks. “Count on it.”
I walk away, pretending I don’t feel every pair of eyes in the room. The girls are waiting, already whispering and snickering.
Kayleigh is first: “Did he ask for your number?”
Stella is second: “Did he touch your boob?”
Mary Kate is third: “Was it electric?”
I shrug, playing it cool. “He’s just a guy, you guys. And no, he didn’t touch my boob, it’s just the angle.”
But as we spill back into the hallway, chattering and pretending to be shocked at my own audacity, I realize something fundamental has shifted.
Jake Namors is the same as ever—beautiful, hungry, preening.
But compared to the man who bent me over a wall and made me see God in a patch of dead grass, Jake is a puppy.
A kid in a borrowed suit. All bark, no bite.
The realization is sharp enough to sting. The old me would have been thrilled, would have spent all week replaying every word Jake said. Now, I just want more of the real thing. The thing with teeth that makes me forget my own name while gaping my asshole with his huge, veiny cock.
The girls drag me through the quad, still buzzing. The sky is the color of skim milk, and my phone vibrates with a new text: “Can’t wait to see you again, Goldilocks. -J”
I smile, but my mind’s already gone. Gone to the alley, the wall, the night that turned me inside out.
And I know, with the sick thrill of certainty, that I’m going to win this contest. But I’m not going to do it by playing the usual game.
I’m going to rewrite the rules. And this time, it’s going to hurt so good that I cry.