I don’t normally ‘do’ frat parties, but all my friends have recently landed boyfriends and were embarking on a “quadruple date” tonight. They offered to hook me up with some guy, but I had no interest in being the fifth wheel.
“I’m glad you could come tonight,” Tennyson says. You’d think, with his dashing good looks and family money, everything would come easy to the guy, but he has the confidence of a meek mouse. Shitty parenting, maybe? Hard to know.
“Yeah, thanks for the invite.” I feign excitement, glancing around the room. My attention settles on the couple on the sofa, still going at it. His hand is up her shirt now and she’s grinding on what I’m pretty sure is a massive hard-on.
I catch Tenn staring at my lips. He glances away and takes a drink of his liquid courage. The guy had no qualms stalking me in Econ every week this semester, but the second he has me to himself at a party, he’s a shaking poodle.
I finish the last of my tepid drink and rise from the love seat we’re sharing.
“Getting another?” he asks.
“No.” I take him by his sweaty hand. “Where’s your room?”
His green eyes widen, and in this moment I’m certain he has no idea how hot he is. Maybe his teenage years were sheltered. I’m guessing he went to an all-boys school because he’s got absolutely no game.
He leads me up a wooden staircase and down a drafty hall until we come to a room. The sign on the door says TENNYSON HEARST AND FOSTER BIRCHFIELD.
“My roommate went home for the weekend,” he says, unlocking the knob before leading me inside. He closes the door and flips a switch. Party lights glow from the ceiling. The scent of old things … leather, wooden furniture … mix with new things like expensive clothes and electronics and cologne, creating a dizzying cocktail of sensory overload as he licks his lips and cups my face and presses his lanky body against me.
I slept with a random guy the first week of school, and someone else last month. It helps to fill the void, even if it’s temporary.
Tennyson’s kisses are too wet and he fumbles in his rush to strip down and locate a condom from some wooden box on his dresser, but within minutes we’re tumbling into his extra-long bed, straddling, kissing, tasting, touching, and finally—connected …
But the moment doesn’t last long.
Five minutes is all.
When it’s over, I roll to the spot next to him, our bodies filling the entirety of the narrow twin mattress.
That was … underwhelming.
He turns to me and even in the dim light I spot his proud, satisfied grin.
“We should do this more often,” he says.
“Yeah,” I lie.
“Maybe we could hang out sometime?” He almost stutters. “I could take you to dinner? We could catch a movie?”
Just as I suspected, Tenn’s been crushing on me since the beginning of the school year. It’s sweet. And I’m flattered. But I’m not interested. And not because he’s unpracticed in the sack. If I was into him, if we became a thing, we could explore what we like and what we don’t like and figure out a way to make sex mutually satisfying.
But I don’t have the time or energy.
“I’ve got a full load and I’m in, like, five different clubs,” I say.
He lies back, head on his pillow, quietly wallowing in this rejection. But it’d be cruel to tell him yes when I have no intention of following through.
Only an asshole would lead someone on.
I climb out of his bed and locate my clothes strewn about his room. My bra hangs from the back of his chair. My jeans are crumpled in a heap at the door along with my sneakers. My sweater is somehow under the bed and my panties are MIA.
A minute later, I’m dressed and Tennyson hasn’t moved from the bed, lying there with his limp cock and the look of defeat covering his handsome face.
“See you Monday?” I offer a smile on my way out.
The entire walk back to my dorm, all I can picture is his disappointed expression; all I can hear is his silence. Going forward, I vow to always be upfront about this sort of thing—what I can offer—my body—and what I can’t—my heart.
That way nobody gets hurt.
Forty-Two
Trey
Present
We lock eyes in the bathroom mirror Thursday night with toothbrushes in our mouths. Standing side by side, we actually look like a couple—a real couple.
Minus the emotional aspect and any lovey-dovey words of affirmation, we’re getting good at this. We sleep in the same bed. We fuck like rabbits. We have coffee in the morning and dinner at night. And now we’re getting ready for bed together.
I rinse my mouth and place my toothbrush in the cup between the faucets. “I win.”