by Fields, MJ
I feel my nipples pebble and yank my arm free of his grip.
“You always smelled like vanilla and kind of like home. I know you, Blue, Miller, Mila, no matter what name you want to go by, I know you.” He opens the door, but before he slides out, he looks at my eyes then down my body. “I am a man of my word I promised you a dance. Even though shit went bad, I’m still breathing and it’s still gonna happen. Stop fighting and accept it.” He gets out of my truck then looks back at me. “You look incredible, but then again, you always did.”
The door is closed, and I try to inhale, only to realize my lungs are already full.
* * *
“Are you mad at me?” Is the first thing Lindsey asks when I walk back into our room after a shower.
“Not at all,” I say, flipping my head forward and letting the towel wrapped around my head fall loose.
“Okay. Good. ’Cause I really want to talk about what happened tonight.”
I look up at her from under the towel and start drying my hair. “I’d rather not.”
“Not about Max; it’s Boone.”
“Lindsey, he’s—”
“Sexy. Hot. Knows how to sex a girl up. All of the above?”
“Whore-ish.”
“Experienced.” She smiles. “If I’m gonna get back on the saddle, I’d prefer to ride someone wild like a stallion and not a painted pony standing on a pedestal, turning in slow, mind-numbing circles. I want reckless and untamable. I want to leave here in two years not wondering if being overly cautious caused me to miss out on the best moments of my life. Moments I can look back on when I’m lying next to a Chet or Chip, a man my parents deem perfectly adequate for me, so that I can call up the times when someone fucked me stupid and broke my heart. Then I won’t look at Chet or Chip and get angry at myself because I never lived, and I never will.”
“What happens if Chet or Chip can fuck your brains out and love you the way you deserve to be loved? And what the hell has gotten …” I stop and shake my head. “That fucker got under your skin.”
“No,” she squeaks.
“He said that shit to you. Those are not Lindsey type things to say. That asshole said all that to you.”
She flops back on her bed and sighs. “He calls me Freckles.”
“And Max calls you Red, so what? Chet or Chip may call you much classier things, like …” I scratch my head. “I don’t know, sexy?”
“Pfft.” She rolls to her side, props her head up on her hand, and says, “Neither Chet nor Chip would ever say those things. They’ll be home by six, expecting dinner on the table, and asleep by nine. Sex will be scheduled for Friday evenings, and possibly Saturday, if he doesn’t get home from the country club too late, because Chet or Chip would never miss their bedtime.”
“With a wife as hot as you waiting for him, lying next to him, he couldn’t control himself.”
“Yes, he would, because Chet and Chip bang their secretaries and give their wives five minutes and three kids.”
I stand up and toss the towel over my desk chair, and I see her eyes glossed over. Then I walk over and sit next to her. “Why are you getting upset?”
She throws her arms around me and sniffs. “My dad is Chet, and my brother is Chip, and I hate men like them, and I’m going to have to just deal with it.”
“Oh, Linds, I’m so sorry.” I hug her tightly.
“And you can’t scoop his balls out with a rusty spoon or even a silver one to feed them to his ass. I want him to fuck me like he said he wanted to. Okay?”
What the hell do you say to that?
“Okay.”
My One Regret
Max
“Mila fucking Miller, man,” I sigh.
Amias chuckles. “You called dibs on that as a freshman.”
“At first it was her ass. Then more than that. Still has something about her that I just can’t shake. Her eyes are soulful, her voice gritty and deep, none of that fake high-pitched shit, or batting her eyelashes at me. She’s got thick as fuck hair and smells like the kitchen when Mom’s on a baking kick, and that little fucking heart on the back of her neck. I spanked it to the thought of her ass in the air, hand wrapped around that black hair, tonguing that heart, plowing into her from behind. She’s still hot as hell, but now, the titty fairy came, and I’m double fucked.”
“Maxie, the fuck is wrong with you?” Amias laughs at me.
“Shit’s not funny. She hates me, man.”
“Not one chick has ever hated you.”
I sit up in my twin-sized, hard ass bed. “A million dirty notes passed in English class when we were bored with some classic readings and decided to sex-up some scenes. She was at a surf party, and I was fucked up. One night thing, excellent ass, and got her to agree to go with me to our winter formal. Then I stood her up.”
“You stood her up?” He stops, and I know his wheels are turning. “That was—”
“Yeah, let’s not go there.” I laugh.
“You have talked about exactly two women for more than five minutes since I can remember. So, we go there, and we make a plan.”
“There’s always that other one, am I right?” I jab.
“That’s sick shit, man,” he grumbles.
“Couldn’t be helped.”
“Max, that shit’s not normal.”
“She has the most perfect ass, too,” I say, keeping my tone completely fucking even when all I want to do is laugh.
“My mom is off limits, fuckstick.”
“Such a fine, fine—”
“You called for a reason,” Amias cuts me off. “You want my help, or you want me to come down there and kick your ass?”
“Straight-up called to vent, ballbag.” I laugh. “And what advice would you give me? Get her knocked up?”
“Damn right, I would. Worked out perfectly for me.”
“Pretty sure I got this handled.”
“Your hand shoved down your pants, isn’t it?”
I look down. “Between my shorts and boxers. We’re still in PG-13 rating mode.”
“You need to stop that shit,” he snaps.
“I have a great dick. Plus, it’s perfectly normal for a man to give appreciation to his body. And self-love is huge these days.”
“Speaking of your dick, how’s that healing?”
I pull my shorts up a bit and look down. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
“So, you gonna ever tell me who fixed your fuck-up?”
I chuckle. “Fuck no.”
“You gonna tell me what would possess you to pierce your own dick?”
“Chicks cut their hair by themselves when they go through shit. I was going through some shit. About six and a half inches in diameter.”
“Jesus Christ, Max.”
“I knew, compared to you assholes, I was big, but I didn’t think I was that much bigger than the average Joe.”
“You asshole.” He laughs. “All right, different subject, shit hurts just thinking about it.”
“You have questions, youngling; I have answers.”
“I don’t need to know details about how you almost fucked up your dick. I wanna know who fixed that mess.”
“Wasn’t a mess,” I sigh.
The bathroom door opens and Boone walks out, bare-assed.
“You need a towel, man?” I ask.
“Overheard you talking about dicks like most people talk about kicks while I was flossing.” He waves his hand in front of himself. “Didn’t think a dick would offend you, and I like to air dry.”
Amias chuckles. “That your new roomie?”
“Yeah.” I pull my hand out of my shorts, sit up, and hit the FaceTime app. Then I flip the camera. “Say hello to Beau Boone.”
“You fucking asshole,” Amias snarls.
“What’s up, man?” Boone chuckles then his jaw drops as he scrambles to his bed and grabs a towel. “The fuck, Max? That’s Amias fucking Steel.”
“Wrong middle name but same guy.”
“He’s seen a dick, Boone. Chill.” I flip the camera. “Boone plays football for JU.”
“Cool. You looking to go pro, man?”
I look over at Boone, who pulls on shorts and answers, “I play for a D2 school. Not likely.”
“I played in high school; it is possible, man,” Amias says. “Keep on playing the best game you got in you every fucking day, even if it’s not a game that matters.”
“Will do.”
“When we’re back playing at home, bring him to the stadium.” Amias nods. “Max, sort your shit. And, Boone, do not let this fucker talk you into piercing your dick.”
I throw my head back and laugh as Amias waves at the camera. “Night, man.”
As soon as I hit end, Boone looks me up and down and says, “You pierced your own dick?”
I nod.
“This is gonna sound totally fucking gay, man, and I don’t smoke dick, but I need to see this shit.”
I am totally amused by this. Maybe too amused, but fuck it. Him feeling uncomfortable right now is payback for my mom seeing him getting ridden earlier today.
“I’m a three-date kind of guy, Boone.”
He points at me. “Do not make me feel any more fucked up about this than I already do.”
I lie back and link my hands behind my head. “You pimped me out tonight for fifty bucks, and now you’re asking to see my dick? Next thing I know, you’ll be trying to convince me to take just the ti—”
“I’m from fucking South Carolina, man. Where I come from, we don’t do shit like put earrings, or any other fucking thing, through our dicks.”
“You won’t get a second date if you make me feel like a freak, Boone.” I roll to my side, back to him. “I’m going to sleep.”
“Seriously, man?” he huffs. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Night, roomie.”
“Fuck you.”
After a few seconds, he hits his light. A minute later, he says, “Just a heads-up, Mila’s not gonna cave to your charm or whatever. She’s untouchable.”
“Is that so?” I yawn.
“Got a guy back at home or some shit. She and Lindsey work parties on Fridays and Saturdays. She heads home on Sunday and doesn’t take classes on Mondays. As your roomie and not your competition, you wanna win the beave contest, you’re knocking on the wrong dam, if you know what I’m saying.”
Not sure why he knows so much about Mila, but I’m hoping for his sake that it’s because he’s interested in her roommate. “And what about Red?”
“Those two are inseparable.”
“And you know this why?”
“Small campus,” he says shortly.
“Not because you have a thing for Mila?”
“That a question or a request?”
“Depends on your response.”
He laughs. “Was about to ask what you thought you had that everyone before you didn’t, but I’m pretty damn sure I walked in on that conversation earlier.”
“Butt-ass naked.” I snicker.
“Told you I like to air dry. And yeah, that shit was shocking as hell. I needed some answers.”
“Night, man.”
“So, you hot for Mila or …?”
“I’m gonna be her friend.” Maybe get some forgiveness and see if she’s the same girl she used to be.
“Interesting route to take.”
“Maybe you should try that with Lindsey.”
“Fuck no. Rich girls like that just want a good fucking so that, when they get married to some trust fund asshole, they don’t have regrets.” He stops. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
“Cool. So, as I was saying, girls like Lindsey like the thought of guys like me. They can live it up at college then flick the bean thinking about guys like me after her betrothed gives her a stack of Benjamins, four to five inches, and ten minutes twice a week.”
“And what’s a guy like you?” I ask.
“Guys who take the fall for a buck, for a fucking shitbag who needs a squeaky clean record to get a job at Daddy’s firm after eight years of college.”
“Guessing there’s a story behind that.” I yawn again.
“Always is, man. Goodnight.”
“Hey, Boone?”
“Yeah?”
“Two dates, and that story, I’ll send you a dick pic.” I laugh.
“Fuck you, man,” he grumbles.
* * *
“I’m sorry, Max. The only English class we can fit you into is Creative Writing.”
“Gotta be something else, Ms. Thurston.” I give her that smile.
She blushes. “It may not be possible to get your requirements in and get Mondays off.”
“There’s gotta be a way.”
After a couple minutes, she looks up from her computer screen. “We have one more spot in the Monday evening class. It’s from six to nine.”
“Can’t I take two English classes next semester?”
“All our English courses are very intense. As your advisor, I would have to say no. Not your first semester, anyway.”
“College credits I took in high school transferred, so technically I came in as a junior.” I shrug.
“Maybe next semester. But it would be insane to do that to yourself.” I start to respond, but she holds her hand up, stopping me. “I think an evening glass on Monday will still give you the long weekend you seem to want.”
Knowing I’m not going to win, I concede. “Yeah, sure. Okay.”
She strokes a few keys before sitting back. “Then we are all set. A copy of your syllabus has been sent to your email.”
“Thank you, Ms. Thurston.”
Walking away, I think, What the fuck are you doing?
* * *
When I walk into my room, Boone grumbles, “How the hell did I get stuck with a morning person?”
“Better question: why the hell are you not living at Baller?” I flop down on my bed.
“Long story.” He scrubs his hand over his face.
“We got all day to get to know each other before our second date.”
“It is too damn early for this shit, Steel.” He pushes up off the bed. “Gotta piss.”
“Just asking because there’s a party there tonight, and if you’re not cool with going, I get that.”
“Always cool with going to a party,” he calls out from the tiny-ass bathroom.
“You and your team good?”
He peeks out and pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth. “Yeah, why?”
“I was at the bookstore today and saw some wall mural. You’re the quarterback?”
He nods.
“You haven’t said shit about it, so just curious, you know.”
He leans back in the bathroom and spits. “No big deal. Just fucked up, and then I got put on academic probation. They made me move back on campus.”
“Just for the semester?”
“That’s undecided.” He snickers then pops his head back out. “You planning on staying in the dorms?”
“I’ll see where the road takes me. For now, it’s good.”
“Same, man, same.” He walks out of the bathroom. “I’m gonna hit the gym.”
“Perfect.”
“You wanna come?” he asks.
I slide off the bed and nod. “Yeah, man, I do.”
Worked Up
Mila
“It’s too early for this,” Lindsey grumbles from behind me as I sit at the reception desk at the fitness center, my official campus job.
I look behind me and over the railing as she’s wiping off one of the benches that one of the jocks just sweated all over then walked away from without disinfecting it and wiping it down. “No one else wanted early mornings.”
“We make so much more with our side hustle,” she grumbles.
“Usually how it works.”
When she looks past me and her eyes widen, I turn around, and there stands Boone and Max freaking Steel, with a nights’ worth of scruff, in gray sweatpants and a pale
pink tank top cut so we can all see his man nips.
Fuck my life.
“Morning, Blue.” He smiles. “Did you miss me?”
“Like I would a hangover.” I reach my hand out, take Boone’s student ID, and swipe it.
“Guess I’m gonna have to figure out a way to change that, yeah?” He winks.
I hand Boone back his ID, and he walks past as I take Max’s, swipe it, and then hand it back. “Enjoy.”
“You, too,” he says.
I huff, “Enjoy work, oh, okay.”
He looks back over his shoulder. “I was talking about the show.”
“Could you be any more conceited?”
He looks down at my chest, licks his lips, and smirks. “You’re making me feel as if I got it like that.”
I know damn well I’m nipping.
Freaking Max factor.
“Get over yourself. It’s cold in here.”
Dimple popping and chuckling, he walks away, leaving me pissed at myself for getting turned on by an asshat like him.
Most of my life, I hated mirrors. Two years ago, that changed. I saw myself through someone else’s eyes and worked harder than ever before to get healthy. Since then, I have forced myself to love mirrors, and when I look in them, I force myself to find one thing every day that I love about myself. Right now, I’m back to hating them, because … he’s beautiful, carved from whatever God the Steel family has on payroll up in heaven when each are created. Sexy, and I know firsthand that, as a boy, he has moves, though now he’s clearly all man. Strong, the kind of strong that could lift a car off you if ever need be.
I lift my eyes to his face, at the dimples behind the scruff, and he’s looking right at me, doing squats.
“Should we tell him it’s better to get his heart rate up by doing some cardio first, or do you think he did some between the sheets kind of cardio this morning to get ahead on the beave contest?” Lindsey asks.
“I think we should pretend he doesn’t exist.”
* * *
I love that Lindsey is psyched about working parties with me. Not so psyched that she booked tonight. My plan was to head back home after work today since I am not scheduled at the gym until Tuesday morning, but it’s not like I can just tell her that.
