Beer Goggles Anthology

by Anthology

  “But, Joel—”

  “You have to have known I’ve crushed on you since the day you moved in. I’ve done my best to just be your friend like you’ve wanted, until that night you let me have you. Now that I’ve had a taste…”

  “What about your date with Cara?”

  “What about her?

  “I heard her. You brought her home.”

  “It isn’t what you think. I took her out like you wanted. Maybe I was trying to prove something to both of us. I took her to a place in Georgetown near our apartment. After, she wanted to walk off all the alcohol she’d consumed. The whole time, all I could think about was you. Which is why when she said she needed a restroom, I realized where I’d been heading—to you. After she did her thing, I called her a cab and sent her home. Nothing happened, I swear.”

  And I believe him.

  “Not even a kiss goodnight?” I clarify.

  He shakes his head. “I paid the driver in advance and had her call me to make sure she got there.”

  His smile tells me he remembers how I felt about that, based on my recent date with Paul. And that’s the thing—he gets me.

  The waiter leaves with our orders. Though Joel and I have shared many meals together, he doesn’t order for me.

  “Corey wants me back,” I blurt out.

  “And what do you want?”

  “Time,” I say. “I told him I needed time.”

  “How long?”

  His question mirrors my ex’s. “A year, maybe more or less.”

  “Good. That gives me enough time.”

  “For what?” I lift my glass, ready to swallow the entire amount.

  “For me to prove to you that I’m in love with you, and I’m the best man for you.”

  I do drink it all without taking a breath. A warmth spreads through my limbs as I fight for calm and reason. Surely he can’t love me, and even if he does, how do I know what I feel for him is real when my only comparison is Corey?

  “I need to date other people.” Running off at the mouth, I hope I’m not making the biggest mistake of my life.

  Our dinner arrives, and he waits until the waiter is gone before he speaks.

  “That’s cool. Like I said before, I get it. You can go ahead and date, but no one else gets in your bed but me.” My jaw drops. “The idea of another man touching you makes me want to murder him.”

  “But what if I want to sleep with someone else?” I ask, not even sure of my own question.

  “Then you’ll have your answer, and I’ll let you go.”

  The idea makes me want to commit mental suicide. So what am I doing?

  “There is just one thing I want you to do first,” I say.

  After dinner, we end up in front of a locked door that he proceeds to unlock.

  “You have keys?”

  His baby blues land on me with amusement. “Yes, that happens when you’re part owner.”

  I remember him telling me that before. We slip inside the parlor, and he locks the door behind us. We navigate the front by the moonlight flowing from the window. To one side of the large room, he flips a switch on a lamp that only illuminates the area around us. He sits on a small round seat with wheels and rests his arms on his knees and his chin on his fist.

  “Show me.”

  This man has seen me at my worst, and hopefully at my best tonight. Still, I feel self-conscious as I play with the hem of my dress for a second.

  “Don’t judge. I was drunk.” I pause, rethinking my plan.

  He chuckles. “I like you drunk. That’s how I got to see you naked.”

  Yes, he’s seen all my curves on top of curves. So I push up the fabric slowly, wondering how he could find me sexy with thighs that touch when I’m standing and hips that jut out a little too far.

  “Jesus,” he whispers when my thong is revealed. “Your ass is perfect.”

  “But you can’t see my ass right now.”

  He stares at me with a drunken grin, though he hasn’t had that much to drink. I’m the one trying not to fall as I stand upright.

  “My imagination is good enough, as I’ve seen that ass,” he says reverently like he remembers it fondly.

  Not knowing how to answer, I reveal the tattoo I’d gotten on my birthday.

  His reaction is to howl in laughter. I move to stand before him. His hands instantly grip my thighs, and he stops chuckling.

  “Playing with fire, aren’t you?” I shrug, enjoying the power to gain his utter attention. “Well, I can fix this.” His hands take over, holding up my dress, rubbing a finger over the tattoo. “Since it’s inked in red, I can easily fill it in and cover up the words sperm bank.”

  There is amusement in his voice, but it had gone husky and dark.

  “What about the arrow?”

  It points to my vagina. Damn Ella.

  “I can fix it. Do you trust me?”

  Joel is an artist. His apartment should be a gallery. He’s talented and sees beauty in ordinary things, making works of art that are museum worthy. He draws, paints, and even sculpts. But his passion lies in drawing with pencil and ink.

  He gets me in the chair and tilts it back until I’m flat. He unwraps a sanitized needle before he scoots over. Getting his tools ready, he explains what he’s about to do. His breath fans over the lace that covers my center, and I squirm.

  “You’re going to have to keep still.”

  “I want—”

  He licks his lips. “I want it too. And I will.” He easily breaks the thin strap on my thong. “You won’t be needing this. When I’m done, I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.”

  That does nothing to keep me still. His hand moves to my center. I’m so fucking wet, his finger slips easily inside of me.

  “Is this what you need?”

  I nod, as incoherent words leave my mouth. It doesn’t take long. I’ve been on the edge since I first saw him at the restaurant. When he presses the heel of his palm on my nub, I explode. And when I come down, I’m boneless while riding the last of my tipsiness as he works on my tattoo.

  As he works, overruling the slight pain is my mind replaying what he said over and over again. He’s in love with me, but he’s going to let me date other people. That seems crazy. Then again, maybe that’s what twenty-somethings do nowadays. Can I watch him date other people?

  My eyes blink open in panic.

  “I’m done,” he says.

  I’d given him carte blanche. He angles a mirror, and I see he’s made the old tattoo into a heart. The dreaded words are gone, and the arrow pierces it. A new word is inked in black, and immediately I get its meaning. It’s almost empowering because it signifies that I own my sexuality and can make my own decisions.

  But then he growls, “Mine,” and the ink takes on new meaning.

  I don’t have time to think before he’s kissing me, covering my body with his. We wiggle out of our clothes, and he turns off the lamp. The chair is off to the side and hidden partially by a half wall. Someone would have to press their face to the glass to see us. Then again, with it so dark, clouds having muted the moonlight, they still might not be able to see us.

  Instead, I throw caution to the wind and go with his next words.

  “That’s my end game, you know?” he declares.

  “What?” Though I part of me hopes I know his answer.

  “To make you mine.”

  Epilogue

  My sister bangs on the bathroom door.

  “Just a minute,” I call out with more strength than I feel.

  “You have to get out of there. Your boyfriend will be here any minute.”

  Amelia has invited Joel over for dinner. It will be the first time he’s officially meeting my family. Ella and Rog are on their way over as well.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I call out.

  I’ve stuck to my guns, and I’m trying to explore my options. Joel is being a good sport about it so far. He hates it, but says he owes it to me since he’s dated more people th
an I ever have. I’ve even gone to see Madame Zelda, just to make sure I’m doing the right thing, not that I’m a total believer in her yet.

  “Your fuck buddy, whatever. Cover your bits. I’m coming in.” She barges in the small room.

  Her eyes widen when she finds the state I’m in.

  “How long has this been going on?” she hurriedly asks.

  “I don’t know. All day, yesterday…”

  “Give me a minute.”

  She darts out the room with me calling after her, but she doesn’t answer me, only comes back in with a box.

  “You have these lying around.”

  She shrugs.

  “Darren and I are trying for another one.” My eyes surely pop out of their sockets. My sister has three rugrats already. “Just pee on the stick, and let’s see what it says.”

  I do, forcing my sister to turn around, and pray I don’t vomit again on the stick before I’m done.

  My sister, who I want to slug, finds it amusing to hum the Jeopardy! final question theme while we wait.

  “So?” she asks, assuming enough time has passed.

  I glance down and close my eyes for a second. “I’m pregnant.”

  >>>>>TO BE CONTINUED<<<<<

  About the Author

  Terri E. Laine, USA Today bestselling author, left a lucrative career as a CPA to pursue her love for writing. Outside of her roles as a wife and mother of three, she’s always been a dreamer and as such became an avid reader at a young age.

  Many years later, she got a crazy idea to write a novel and set out to try to publish it. With over a dozen titles published under various pen names, the rest is history. Her journey has been a blessing, and a dream realized. You can find more about her books at www.terrielaine.com.

  Shenanigans

  By USA Today Bestselling Author

  Chelsea Camaron

  Chapter One

  Mundane

  Aryn

  Bastard. Asshole. Dickhead. With every thump of the bass in his music blaring I only think of more names to call him.

  Why doesn’t he understand some of us care about meeting deadlines?

  Professor Gates doesn’t allow anyone to be late. It’s either on time or fail. News happens every second of every day, if we have an editor expecting work from us, it hasn’t been given to anyone else, so delay is not an option. He considers this our training for the real world of journalism.

  Real world training or not, I’m in college to get an education. My parents are spending too much money for me to slip up and waste a single second of this opportunity. I will be the first Cole in my family to have a college degree. I have one year to go and it’s done. With my degree in hand, I will go out into the real world.

  And I won’t let Schade Britton or the likes of him hold me back on even a single assignment.

  Standing from my tiny desk space, I toss clothes around my small dorm room trying to find my headphones. Dammit, Aryn, I scold myself. I keep promising to get organized, to clean up once and for all and keep it that way. It just never seems to happen. Now I need my headphones like I need to breathe and can’t find them.

  Clank. Clank. Clank. The steady sound of metal moving against metal assaults my ears.

  I should have taken the open bed at the house when I had the opportunity. Pi Delta Chi! The sorority house doesn’t get openings often, and when they had the last one, I let my fellow sister and one of my best friends, Rachel take the spot because her dorm-mate was a freak. And I mean that in the nicest of ways possible.

  Plus, my other bestie Monica, swears living in the dorm is our opportunity to have the full college experience. Sometimes—like now—I want to tell her where she can take her college experience and shove it.

  Clank. Clank. Clank. The noise keeps coming as he continues his repetitions.

  Great, he’s working out and jamming. The Parkour Professional, as he calls himself, is working out in his own room since it’s pouring rain outside. Go figure. I don’t even know how he managed to get that kind of equipment in the room, but I don’t care either.

  He moved in at the beginning of the year saying he lost some bet with his fraternity brother. I don’t care what brought him here, I just wish he would find his way back out.

  I mean really, Parkour…can one call that a profession?

  Personally, free-running and making my own obstacles doesn’t seem like it could be a profession, but somehow Schade Britton makes it his. Traveling for competitions and believe it or not getting paid when he wins.

  Why he even goes to classes is beyond me, but then again, one can assume he’s smart enough to know he will need his education for when his body gives out.

  Then again, I swear the man is one of those lucky bastards who are good at everything. Intelligence, he has it by the boatloads. We had biology together last year, and he casually strolled in and out without a care in the world. On the outside, it was like he wasn’t into the class at all. Except when grades and projects came out he was always scoring at the top of the class.

  Looks, he’s got women falling at his feet. I hear those noises too when they scream out his name. Schade Britton has it all.

  I just can’t help but wonder if he even has an ounce of consideration for anyone else.

  He’s everything I detest and deep inside everything I crave. Taut muscles cut throughout his body, long brown hair that he wears back in a man bun, and turquoise eyes that should be made into a contact lens color. He skates by in life. In classes here at the college, he does exactly what’s asked of him and nothing more. It’s like he does everything naturally. He was born to be a winner or something.

  He’s loud, he’s cocky, and he’s sexy as sin.

  Schade

  Trapped.

  The weather is keeping me caged. Ever since I can remember I love being outdoors. Hiking, fishing, or just sitting in the damn grass. If I could live in a tent or spend nights sleeping in a damn hammock, I’d be happy.

  Being confined is a death sentence for me.

  I lost a bet to Charlie and it kept me at the dorms instead of the frat house. It really doesn’t matter. I try to spend as much time outdoors as possible. I have one quarter left here and I’m back to the house with the brothers.

  The rooms are bigger and the beds too. A twin bed with my six feet, three-inch frame doesn’t sleep well. Plus, I like my fraternity brothers.

  Allen, my roommate sucks. I spend more hours working out just to keep from punching the fucker. He constantly brings home chicks, and the sick fuck has them call out my name as he gets them off just to keep me up. I’ve learned to just leave and crash in my car than deal with the head games he plays.

  Honestly, I simply need to stop betting with my brothers. Every single time, it seems, I draw the short straw, or lose.

  The most recent one was a game a beer pong. I’m the fucking champion and the one time I bet on myself I lost.

  And I lost big.

  I have to fill in for Theo on his blind date. It’s a thing we have set up in the fraternity. A totally fake dating profile on three online sites. We use the same name, same biography, and we each have to take a turn on a date. Theo’s turn was next. Now, I have to go, pretend to be him, and then still do my own time. Two dates that could be epic or could be absolute hell.

  As if being on one date isn’t punishment enough.

  I continue to lift weights knowing if the RA gets wind of my equipment in here, I’m sure to be kicked out.

  I’ll check in tonight and find out my fate.

  Chapter Two

  Experiences

  Aryn

  “Bottoms up, buttercup!” Monica squeals beside me as we take the shots.

  “I thought it was suck it up, buttercup?” I slur and then grab the lemon wedge to suck.

  “Fuck if I know, we got this shit out of order or maybe in order,” she laughs loudly. “Lick it, suck it, slam it. Not lick it, slam it, suck it…or wait, is that right?”

  I have no c
lue. The room is already spinning before we ever take this shot. I’ve lost count and the buzz is too strong for me to even attempt to sort it out.

  “I don’t think I’m supposed to be drunk before I meet my date.” I explain pushing away the shot Monica has lined up in front of me.

  She’s my other best friend and closest sorority sister. Monica and I came to college together from our small town high-school looking for a bigger pond to explore, so to speak.

  Back home, it was like big fish in a small pond. We are popular and well-liked, but day in and day out everything is the same.

  Here, at school, we’re the small fish in the big pond. Sure, people know us but not everyone. We’re still well-liked but there is so much to do, the days are never the same.

  Monica and I are completely different and yet, so similar. She has blonde hair with purple tips to my dark locks with red tips. She has gorgeous green eyes to my hazel. Monica calls herself the ivory to my ebony because we look so opposite but are so much alike like the keys on the piano, so very different but both having the same goals in making music.

  Monica and I both aspire to see the world. We want to succeed.

  Our story and history is not the typical way to make friends. We have been inseparable since freshman year of high-school when I had a crush on her then boyfriend so she nailed me in PE class with a softball to the head. I rushed over ready to pull her hair out only for her to smile at me and say never-mind.

  I still wanted to kick her ass, but I was getting dizzy and the lump forming on my forehead really started getting the best of me. Rather than us both get suspended for fighting, we talked it out and became friends.

  No boyfriend, no friend, hell, not even family could tear us apart now. Which is why we’re together tonight with Rachel.

  Monica met Rachel playing softball for our college. They both have partial scholarships. Of course with Monica and I being inseparable, she made friends with Rachel so did I. We’re the three amigos.