Chase’s hand moves from my knee to my thigh, his thumb tracing slow circles through the thin cotton of my boxers. Before I can process it, he leans in, slides an arm around my waist, and presses his lips to mine.
4
His mouth is on mine.
That’s the only coherent thought I can form. Chase’s mouth is on mine, his lips soft and warm, and he tastes like cheap beer and spearmint gum. This wasn’t part of the plan; this wasn’t in the script. We were supposed to act, notact.
I’m too stunned to react at first. I sit there like a statue, my hands on the mattress, his arm around my waist, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips. I feel the rough stubble around his mouth, and it’s nothing like kissing Brittany’s cherry-chapstick-slick lips.
But at the same time, it’s kind of… nice. The warmth of him, the solid muscle of his arm holding me. The way his other hand is on my jaw, tilting my head to the side. His tongue slips inside, and I finally respond, opening my mouth to him, my body moving on instinct. I kiss him back. I kiss him like I mean it. Putting my hand on his chest, I feel the steady thump of his heartbeat against my palm.
He’s putting on a show, a good one, for an audience of one, and my job is to be his co-star. So I play my part, deepening the kiss, letting out a little noise in the back of my throat. I pour allthe anger and hurt and humiliation I’ve been feeling for the past few hours into this kiss, into Chase’s mouth. I pour it all out.
Chase makes a surprised little sound against my lips, like he wasn’t expecting me to be quite so convincing. His hand slides from my jaw into my hair, gripping tight enough to make my scalp tingle. The other arm pulls me closer until I’m practically in his lap, our chests pressed together.
This is weird. This is so fucking weird. Getting mouth-fucked by a football player on a twin-sized dorm bed as my ex-girlfriend watches. But a tiny, traitorous part of my brain whispers that it isn’t bad. It isn’t bad at all. There’s a low thrum in my gut, a warmth spreading through my veins, a tightening in my reindeer boxers.
But that’s to be expected, right? Natural biological response to stimulus. That’s all it is. It has nothing to do with the fact that Chase is a really good kisser, or that the hard muscle of his thigh is pressed against my own. I’m playing a role, that’s all. A role that apparently involves getting a semi.Method acting.
When we finally pull apart, my lips are tingling, and my head is spinning. We’re both breathing heavily. Chase’s eyes are dark, the brown almost swallowed by his pupils. He’s looking at me with an expression I can’t decipher. It’s not the confident smirk from earlier or the cold fury from when Brittany walked in. It’s something else. Then he blinks, and it’s gone.
“Are you guys done?” Brittany’s annoyed voice cuts through the fog. “Because this little performance isn’t convincing anyone.” She has her arms crossed over her chest, her face a mask of disgust. “It’s pathetic, actually.”
Chase turns to face her, keeping one arm wrapped possessively around my waist. “What’s pathetic is the way you’ve been playing us for months.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insists. “You’re delusional if you think I was ever into him.”
The casual cruelty of her words makes me flinch. After everything—all our late-night talks, our inside jokes, the way she’d curl up against me on the couch, the way she’d moan my name with her nails digging into my back—how can she stand there and look at me like I’m a piece of gum stuck to her shoe? Like I imagined the whole thing. Like she didn’t fuck me in my bed just last night.
I feel Chase’s arm tighten around me. “Well, if you weren’t into him,” he says, “I guess it won’t bother you that I am.”
“Chase, seriously, enough. I get it. You’re pissed. But stop. You’re making a fool of yourself.” She tries a different tactic, her voice softening, her face crumpling into a sad little frown. “We’re good together, baby. You know we are.” She takes a step toward the bed, her hand reaching out to him. “Let’s just talk about this. Alone.”
She’s good. She’s really fucking good. This girl should be in the movies: the wounded expression, the gentle plea, the promise of a private reconciliation. I can see how she pulled this off for so long. She’s a master manipulator.
But Chase ignores her outstretched hand. “We’re done, Britt.”
“Babe, come on. You’re not into guys. We’ve been together for months. I think I’d know if my boyfriend was gay.”
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, you’re really committing to this, aren’t you?” She checks her phone like this whole situation is boring her. “Fine. Play your little revenge game with Finn. But just so you know, I already told everyone we’re going to the Delta Kappa Phi Winter Formal on Friday. I bought my dress and everything.”
Chase tenses. “So?”
“So I’m not changing my plans just because you’re throwing a tantrum. I’ll see you there on Friday. Unless you want to show upwith… your new boyfriend.” She throws her head back and lets out a high-pitched, grating laugh. “Actually, that might be fun.”
“Maybe Iwillbring him.”
She narrows her eyes. “Right. You’re going to show up to the formal with a guy? In front of all your teammates. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Watch me.”
“I will. Friday night. Seven o’clock. Wear the blue tie, it matches my dress.” She straightens up, adjusting her ponytail. “Oh, and Finn? Hope you enjoyed the taste of my man. Don’t call me again.”
With a final, dismissive sniff, she turns on her heel and marches out of the room, slamming the door behind her so hard a poster of a half-naked woman falls off the wall. The only thing left of her is the scent of her floral perfume.
Neither of us moves. Chase still has his arm around my waist, and I can feel the rise and fall of his chest. He doesn’t take his eyes off the door.
