The Rules (Moving the Chains)

by Kata Čuić

  Eyes wide, she nods again, so I keep going.

  “You’re setting yourself up to be the constant loser in this game. You say you know what you want, but you don’t prove it. You don’t show it. If you want a relationship, then a guy like Adam is a safe bet.”

  “You can’t say anything about what you saw,” she hisses. “He could lose everything.”

  “That’s his problem,” I scoff. I already filed an anonymous tip to the Safe to Say hotline. “And yours. What you show the world is that you’re a good girl who wants a safe bet like Adam. You claim your parents are clinging to a dying way of life, but you are, too. If you want out, then get out. If you want sex for pleasure’s sake, then take it. You can’t have it both ways.”

  “You make it sound so easy.” She rubs her forehead.

  “It is that easy,” I insist. “And that hard. For someone like you.”

  Her eyes snap open in an instant. That fire-breathing heat sparks to life in her black gaze. “Someone like me?”

  “Yeah.” I lean back in my chair and relax.

  She’s ready. She’s here to learn, and I’m willing to teach. It’s the least I can do after all I’ve seen. After all I’ve learned the hard way.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” she whispers.

  “You know exactly what I mean. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have said everything is wrong with you.” It pisses me off she even has a reason to recognize that. It pisses me off we’re all caught up in this game. It shouldn’t—after all this time—but it does.

  “I knew it,” she murmurs, her gaze dropping to the desk for only a second before she fixes her black eyes on me. They’re not so scary now. “I knew you were more than you seemed.”

  That’s not a lesson I’m willing to teach. Self-preservation or some shit as Mike would say. “I’m going to ask you again. What do you want?”

  She folds her hands like she’s praying to me.

  I’m not totally against that.

  “Alex? Will you please take my virginity?”

  “No,” I tell her as I push back my chair and stand. I’m not even going to fuck with Mike by asking him why I’m so sure about this when I’m not sure about much in my life except football. “That’s not what you need. I’ll help you figure out what you do need though.”

  It’s weird how such an ice queen can be so fiery. I feel the heat in her words even as I shiver.

  “If you’re not going to get an easy orgasm out of this, then what’s in it for you?” she seethes.

  Absolution? Revenge? Understanding? A do-over?

  Who the hell knows?

  It doesn’t matter. At least she already understands the framework, even if she doesn’t know all the rules yet.

  “You’re going to do all my assignments for me until you graduate,” I decide on a whim. If I’m going to teach her how to play on a level field, then I have to lead by example. I can’t hold all the power in this arrangement. She has to feel like she’s contributing somehow, too. I check the calendar that’s highlighted on my phone. “My roommates will be gone for a few hours tomorrow. Meet me in the courtyard of Boreman South at 6pm. Don’t be late.”

  Amira doesn’t know it yet, but she’s as submissive as she is dominant. Maybe that’s her whole problem. She doesn’t know how to cede control.

  There are pink throw pillows on the bottom bunk bed. They are trimmed in lace and ribbon. I blink at them. The room is also way cleaner than I expected. There are no piles of smelly laundry, no half-empty boxes of pizza growing mold. Not that I’ve been in any male dorm rooms since my freshman year, but this is not what I imagined the lair of football players would look like. Healthy, quick snacks including a bunch of bananas, a small bowl of apples, and several boxes of granola bars line the shelf above the mini-fridge and microwave.

  “Is this really your room?”

  Alex stands guard against the closed door like he knows I’m already considering bolting out of it. “Yes.”

  I point at the pink pillows. “Care to explain those?”

  A slightly evil grin spreads across his lips. “Wanna help me make them disappear?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  He shrugs in response.

  “I thought you said you had roommates? As in plural?”

  This is not a quad or even a suite. Alex’s dorm room is a standard double. There’s no way the university assigned him a female roommate, but there’s also no denying a woman’s presence here. In addition to the decorative pillows, several makeup products are scattered across one of the desks. One small bottle in particular advertises that it’s heavy duty makeup that also covers scars. Beside the desk rests a pink shower caddy with bottles of facial products, body lotions and sprays.

  “Is your roommate transgender?” I blurt then wince. I don’t mean to offend, but it’s the only rational explanation for what I’m seeing.

  Alex’s laughter fills the room, crowding the small space with his already larger-than-life presence. He actually wipes away a tear. “I’ve asked myself that same thing so many times. He might be a sensitive chickenshit, but he’s a straight white male. You know him.”

  “I do?” I don’t know anything about Alex’s personal life. Intentionally. I’m not sure I want to learn more even now.

  “Yeah.” Alex pushes off the door, then strides to the bed, muttering to himself as he pulls the pretty pillows from their perch only to throw them in one of the closets. “He’s the starting quarterback for the Miners.”

  “Oh.” I do know him. Sort of. Everyone on campus knows who Rob Falls is, whether they’re football fans or not. I’ve overheard numerous girls complaining about his devotion to a woman whose name no one seems to know. “These are his girlfriend’s things then. That’s what you meant by roommates? That doesn’t seem very fair to you.”

  I try to imagine what it must be like with all three of them in the room. Alex, alone in his top bunk; Rob and his girlfriend cuddled up below. It’s a strange image because I don’t generally think of Alex as ever being alone. Women are constantly draped over his arms when I see him walking across campus. Sometimes two or more deep.

  “We’re not here to talk about my friends or my current living arrangements,” he says, snapping me out of my odd thoughts. He reaches behind him, then pulls his t-shirt off in one graceful swooping motion.

  My mouth goes dry. Alarm bells ding in my head, but I can’t tear my gaze away. My eyes lick across his broad planes and deep valleys, counting two, four, six… There are eight ripples in this washboard. Sweet mother of mercy, this man is stacked. Stupidly so.

  He knows it, too. He’s the type to use it to his advantage. As he’s doing now. He smirks as he slowly unties the drawstring of his sweatpants.

  “W-what are you doing?” I stutter. My skin burns as though it’s engulfed in flames. I’ve never seen a V this deep before. Not in real life. I wasn’t certain they existed. Photoshop could never mimic what I’m seeing. “I thought you said you wouldn’t help me with my virginity problem?”

  “I’m going to help you learn how to play the game,” he says calmly, raising an eyebrow as he pushes his pants down. They pool at his feet. The only thing covering the rest of him from my greedy gaze are black boxer briefs that mold to every dip and bulge. That bulge is sizeable. “Step one—conditioning. I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you’ve never been in the presence of a naked man before.”

  I shake my head and swallow my tongue. My lungs cannot possibly keep up with the rapid pace of my heart.

  “You’re not going to touch me, and I’m not going to touch you,” he instructs as he reveals more of himself, inch by painstaking inch. He’s glorious. Smooth, taut skin, a dusting of black hair across his chest, and another that begins below his navel and snakes down on a path to the area below his waist.

  “Wait.” I replay his words. “I am not allowed to touch it?”

  This is so unfair. I almost, almost stamp my foot. What is the point of this exercise
if there will be no touching?

  He bites his lip. That would be so sexy if not for the shaking of his massively toned body. He’s laughing at me.

  “I am glad this is so amusing for you.” My cheeks burn with more embarrassment than lust.

  Alex licks his lips, then sucks in a sharp breath. “Say it. Tell me what you want to touch.”

  I gesture in the vicinity of the appendage between his legs. It’s not even hard, but it’s still impressive. No wonder women cling to him. “Your…penis.”

  He shakes again, but not a sound leaves him. “Try again. Use less clinical words.”

  I fold my arms over my chest to pull myself together. Then, I call his bluff. “If I use words you approve of, will I get a reward?”

  He smiles yet says nothing.

  There it is—a gentleness around his usually sharp grin, a glimmer of something deeper in his startlingly blue eyes. I’ve only been tutoring him for a few months, but I’ve seen tiny glimpses of a very different man than what Alex Fossoway chooses to show the world. And why shouldn’t he hide behind his masculine beauty? He’s every woman’s fantasy in the flesh—tall, muscular, devastatingly handsome with his fair skin, blue eyes, and black hair. The cocky attitude is a con, not a bonus. That part of him is far more familiar and drives me absolutely nuts. A shock of his black hair falls over his forehead, and he stands before me without any shame or hesitation. Completely exposed.

  Except, he’s not. This is only visual.

  If I didn’t suspect after all our time together that he’s more than just a pretty face and hot body, I never would have birthed the idea in my brain to ask him for help, let alone ever admitted I need it aloud. To him.

  “Adam said he would teach me, too,” I muse as I continue to drink up the sight in front of me. “You already know how that turned out.”

  Alex shakes his head and takes a single step toward me. “Adam had a vested interest. He wasn’t going to teach you shit.”

  I glance at his face. “You do not have a vested interest?”

  “I am very interested in not having to do homework for the next two years,” he admits. “There are better ways I could spend my time.”

  The first line is a lie. I don’t know how I know, but I do. The second line is also a lie, but of a different sort.

  “Such as giving me lessons in seduction?” I lick my parched lips. “I hate to break the news to you, but if there is to be no touching in my education, then this is also a waste of your time.”

  He steps forward again. Once, twice, three times until we’re nearly flush against each other. His gaze is clear and steady on mine. “It’s not.”

  Every time he reveals a glimpse of the truth he hides behind, it only makes me want to peel apart his layers until I get to the center. I’ve always been the curious type. Perhaps because I was forced into the position of being an outsider looking in for most of my life. I learned how to quietly study people far before I ever decided to pursue a career in psychology.

  “So, you admit you have a vested interest beyond cheating your way to a passing GPA?” I push.

  Show me another layer, Alex.

  I’ve been studying him all along. Far before asking for his permission to do so. He may very well be the most interesting person I’ve ever met. I never expected such complexity from a man who looks the way he does. I hate that my first impression of him was so very wrong. I won’t be satisfied until he proves me right. Or until I discover why everything I think I know is a lie.

  “Even spoiled little pricks can be charitable,” he finally says. Hides.

  I break his rules. Test his reaction. I step forward until we are, indeed, touching. Just the barest brush of our chests with every breath. “You are saying I am not a vested interest. I am your charity project. That is disappointing.”

  He opens his mouth—his bright, blue eyes wide. Guilty yet not at all.

  I test the rigidity of his perceived limits when I place my hand over his mouth. “You are not the type to grant charity. You are setting all the rules. I have rules of my own if I am to accept your tutelage.”

  He blinks. A silent acquiescence. His manhood twitches against my center.

  I shudder through the effect of basic biology and push through to the higher level I’m desperate for.

  Power as Alex called it. He’s not wrong. I fear I am addicted to that intangible element that has been so elusive all my life. I get it any way that I can.

  “If your lessons are successful,” I whisper against his chin, “then, you will tell me your real reasons for being so…charitable by helping me without any physical reward for yourself.”

  I drop my hand and step back, transfixed by the way his chest rises and falls rapidly.

  “I’m not so sure you need my help at all,” he grumbles. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing. All right.” He rolls his shoulders and points at the lower bunk. “If all you need is a push, then I can fucking do that. Get on the bed.”

  I glance between him and the bed. “That is your friends’ sacred space. I can’t lie on that.”

  He rolls his eyes. Right before diving onto the mattress. “I was wrong. You need my help after all.” He pats the comforter beside him. “It’s just a bed, Brain. You’re reading way too much into it.”

  “Untrue,” I argue. I sense that I’ve come far too close to cracking him open, much to his discomfort. “That is where your friends share their love. They would not want others intruding on that.”

  “You don’t know shit about my friends,” he spits. Then, he closes his eyes and inhales so deeply, his shoulders rise with the effort. His eyes open again. They’re a distant, cold tundra that freezes my lust. “Get over here, and let’s do this before I change my mind.”

  I hug my arms across my chest to ward off the chill. “I have one more condition before I agree to accept your help.”

  He makes a rolling gesture with his hand.

  I have to backtrack before I bury everything I’ve uncovered so far. This condition is more for his comfort than for mine. “No one can know about this. It will ruin the validity of my study if anyone knows we’ve been intimately involved.”

  “Simple solution for you,” he says coolly. “We’re not going to be intimately involved.”

  “You are naked on a bed and inviting me to join you,” I point out.

  “You need to learn control if you want to achieve your goal,” he retorts, cocking his head as if daring me to argue further.

  Because he seems to need it, I give in. I climb onto the bed beside him. “Men are indecipherable. How are women possibly supposed to understand what the male gender truly wants? I was always taught that because I am breathing and have a vagina, I am desired by any man. This has proven to be false information many times.”

  Alex barks out a laugh. Our interaction returns to baseline. “You’ve clearly never heard of necrophilia.”

  Perhaps not, but I can decipher the root words and their meaning easily enough. “That is an exception, not a rule.”

  “That’s the whole point of these exercises,” he reminds me while tapping my nose. “You need to learn the rules. I think you might actually know them already, but you’re psyching yourself out for whatever reason.”

  “Perhaps because I am a psych major,” I tease.

  Teasing is not a foreign concept to me, but it is an entirely new behavior to engage in with Alex. This realization causes me to put more distance between us on the bed.

  He fumbles around behind him for something on his desk that abuts the beds. “Ah, here it is.”

  The television flickers to life with the press of the remote.

  “We are going to watch TV? This is your idea of a lesson?” I protest.

  He places the remote between us then crosses his arms behind his head, propping himself against the wall. “Conditioning, remember?”

  “Why do I need conditioning, again?”

  He glances at me out of the corner of his eyes. “You’v
e never been around a naked guy before. You’re thirsty as fuck, but most guys—one-night stand candidates—aren’t into that.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but he holds a hand up to stop me.

  “Yes, I know it sounds counterintuitive. Ever heard the cliché of guys preferring women who aren’t into them? Stereotypes exist for a reason. This one is true, and it’s the reason why most relationships don’t last long. Once the allure of working for something is gone, most guys get bored and move onto the next prey. You need to learn how to play hard to get. Unless you’ve changed your mind. If you want a short-term relationship, there are plenty of equally thirsty virgin men on campus for you to choose from.”

  Whether he realizes it or not, Alex’s explanation has just given me some clearer parameters about the personal framework within which he operates.

  I hate that I say this, but in the interest of achieving multiple goals, I do. “They are the nerds. The glasses-wearing, pocket-protector packing, Hentai-watching geeks who have unrealistic expectations of an actual female form.”

  Alex’s entire body ripples with boisterous laughter.

  “You can’t get laid, but you know what Hentai is?” He rolls onto his side to face me, his eyes glittering with excitement. “Oh, please. Please. I’m begging you. Explain this to me.”

  “I’m not unfamiliar with sex and all its attributes. I simply have been unable to achieve it for myself.” Embarrassment engulfs me.

  Alex lies through his teeth on a regular basis, but I do, too. I know what it would take. I simply have been lying to myself, hoping I wouldn’t have to utilize the clichéd glow up to achieve what I want.

  That softness reappears in his expression. “What’s your favorite way to get off?”

  His question shocks me. It shouldn’t though. Not really.

  Alex hides behind his brutal honesty. He covers a deep understanding of the human condition with shocking words.