“So what, then?”
“So what if we don’t give her that?” He leans forward, a spark in his eyes. “What if instead of two pissed-off boyfriends, she walks in and finds two guys who are… getting along. Maybe a little too well. Let her wonder for a minute. Let her feel what it’s like to be on the other side of it.”
“What do you mean, getting along? Like we’re friends?”
“More than friends.”
“Best friends?” I’m not following.
Chase cracks a smile. “Jesus, man, you’re slow. I mean, acting like we fuck each other.”
I spit out a mouthful of beer. “What?”
“Think about it. She played us. We play her back. For a minute, at least. Make her think she walked into the middle of something.” He’s clearly enjoying this sudden, twisted alliance. “Imagine her face. That’s a better punishment than just yelling at her.”
It’s insane. It’s juvenile. It’s also… kind of brilliant. A small, bitter laugh escapes my lips. “You’re a sick fuck, you know that?”
“We’re on the same team now, man. She made us look like chumps. This is our chance to flip the script.” He stands up and walks over to me. Then he stops right in front of me, close enough that I can smell his cologne, something warm and woodsy. “You in?”
I look up into his eyes. They’re dark and serious, and for a second, I lose the thread of everything. Brittany, the cheating, the three-hundred-dollar bracelet on the coffee table. All of it drops away. There’s only this big guy standing inches from me, asking if I want to put on a little theater.
“Yeah,” I hear myself say. “Let’s do it.”
Chase flashes a wolfish grin. “Nice. Let’s get you in position, then. Take off your clothes.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
He chuckles. “No worries. Just down to your underwear. If she’s going to believe this, we have to look the part. Come on.”
He pulls his own t-shirt over his head, and I’m greeted by what can only be described as a wall of muscle. His pecs are like two solid plates, and an eight-pack is carved into his stomach. I feel a sudden, sharp pang of inadequacy. I’m in decent shape myself, but this guy is on another level.
I realize I’m staring when I catch the smirk on Chase’s face.
“Don’t be shy,” he says.
Right. I pull my sweater off, then my jeans. I fold them neatly and set them on his desk chair, trying to ignore the fact that my boxers have little cartoon reindeer on them.
“Festive.” Chase gestures to them.
“It was a gift.”
“Right.” He’s still got that grin. Then he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his gray sweatpants, and before I can look away, he shoves them down. The boxers underneath are black and stretched tight over a huge bulge, the fabric doing its best to contain him.
Jesus Christ.Is this guy topping me in every single department? The eyes, the body, the confidence, and now…this.
I’m suddenly acutely aware that I’m alone in a dorm room, in my reindeer boxers, with a nearly naked football player who apparently packs a cannon.
“Okay,” I say, my throat a little dry. “Now what?”
“We get comfortable,” Chase says. He hops onto the bed and leans back against a stack of pillows. Then he holds the sheets open and pats the space next to him. “C’mon. Get in.”
“We’re… we’re getting in the bed?”
“Gotta sell it, man.” He winks.
This is officially the strangest thing I have ever done. My legs feel stiff as I climb into the bed, keeping a respectful distance, which isn’t much, given it’s a twin-sized dorm mattress. The sheets are crumpled and smell of dried sweat and that same woodsy cologne. My skin prickles. I’m lying in the bed where my girlfriend had this big, ripped football player on top of her. The image flashes in my mind: Brittany’s long blonde hair spread out across Chase’s pillowcase, her back arching, his hands on her hips, that big dick of his somewhere deep inside?—
I shake my head to clear it. That’s a road I can’t go down right now.
