“You’re—”
“I know,” Wagner says, cutting me off. “I know I’m not good enough for her. Who would be? But I’m going to show up every day and be the best partner and husband I can be. And I know we’re young. People are going to tell us we’ve got all the time in the world and that there’s no need to rush. But if I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that time isn’t guaranteed. I know Bridgette’s it for me. There’ll never be anyone else, so why wait?”
“Can I talk now?” I ask, wiping my hands on a paper napkin. “Because I was going to say that you’re a lucky fucker. Bridgette’s the best person I know and for some reason she loves the hell out of you. We’ve had our differences, yeah, but you make my sister happier than I’ve ever seen her. You’ve got my blessing whether you’re asking for it or not.”
For a second, I think I’ve stunned Wagner into silence, but then his face breaks out into a genuine smile, one that’s sure as shit never been aimed at me before.
“Holy shit, Mickey,” Wagner says, unable to hold back his laugh. “You’re gonna be my brother-in-law.”
I can’t help it. I bust up laughing, too, because even a year ago, that would have been unthinkable. But now, it makes perfect sense. My sister’s gonna get married. It’s a bit of a mindfuck, to be honest. I’m happy for Bridgette, and hell, I’m even happy for Wagner. They’ve found each other, they’re good to each other, and they’re making a life together.
Sounds like a pretty sweet fucking deal to me.
By the time Wagner and I leave Wolfie’s, my head is spinning, and I didn’t even drink a drop of alcohol. Everything I said to the guy was true. I’m thrilled for him and for my sister. But some selfish part of me just keeps thinking about how this is one more change. One more person moving on. And here I am, with no place to go.
It’s a short walk back to the hockey house, and I jogged for most of it because there's a ton of energy inside me, and I’ve got to let it out. I’m restless. I can feel the blood rushing through my veins. I need a good workout. Or a half-marathon. Okay, what I really need is to fuck. I need to sweat. I need to pound my body into the damn mattress. I need to lick and suck until my jaw is sore. I need to pump my hips a hundred fucking times until I’m so damn spent I can’t see straight.
I’m standing on the corner, jogging in place while I wait for the light to turn.The hockey house is fifty yards in front of me, but I could hang a left and circle back toward campus. In a matter of minutes, I’d be in the middle of Jock Block. It’s a Wednesday night, but that doesn’t mean everyone’s studying or sleeping. Hell, no. There are at least half a dozen parties in full swing. The girls of Psi Delt like to party at the LAX house, and they also like me. It would be so easy to turn around and lose myself in a hot sorority girl—or three—for the next few hours.
But when the WALK signal flashes ahead of me, I run straight ahead—toward my house, toward my bed, and toward Viv.
At least, I figure she’s there already. Maybe I’ll get lucky and have time to grab a quick shower. All I need is about three minutes with my right hand, and I’ll be all set.
Well, maybe not all set, but I’ll be good enough to make it through another night of smothering my dick with a pillow while Viv cozies up next to me like I’m her favorite stuffy.
As I dash up the stairs, I give a half-hearted wave to the freshmen. They’re sprawled out on the couches, watching some show they’re all obsessed with. I can’t think of the name of it. All I can think about is the sweet fucking relief I’m going to feel when I paint the tile wall of my shower. And yeah, I probably sound deranged, but I’m going out of my mind.
It’s all good, though. I’ll just hop in the shower real quick, before Viv gets here.
Except, when I get to the landing, I can see that my door is already open. And the light is already on.
Taking a step inside, I see Viv perched on my couch. That’s nothing new.
But she’s got her top off.
Her lace-covered tits are on full display, and that’s not all.
She’s fucking touching them.
Cupping them.
Squeezing them.
“Fuck…” the word escapes my mouth before I can stop it.
7
Viv
At Mickey’s muttered curse, I turn my head.
“This isn’t what it looks like, I promise,” I say. I watch as my friend swallows visibly. Dammit. I have the world’s worst timing. “I swear,” I continue, “I’m not sitting on your couch feeling myself up. I mean, I am, but there’s a good reason for it. I was just wondering if my boobs are still as sensitive as they used to be, you know? My doctor said I could lose some sensation after the implants, but I wasn’t sure how much, and that might be a good thing because I used to be really, really sensitive. My nipples especially. Anyway, I was waiting for you and then I got to wondering, so I decided to find out.”
“Yeah?” Mick asks, his voice cracking ever-so-slightly before he clears his throat.
“Yep. But I still can’t tell. Touching myself isn’t the same.” I say, staring down at my newly-acquired cleavage.
“Well, do they feel good when, uh, other people touch them?” The question makes his face turn as red as his hair.
