by Sarina Bowen
“There’s no budget for two more parties,” I point out. “And budgets matter. That’s kind of the point.”
Yup, I sound just like a tight-ass.
“Not to mention that winter break starts in four days,” Judd says. “Are we done here yet? Keaton made a mistake. He’s sorry. Would you really want to exclude the probable winner from the race on a technicality?”
As a matter of fact I would. But everyone is staring at me. They all want a hot dog and a view of the TV screen. I’m in the way of it.
“You know what?” I decide in a hurry. “Let’s just say that candidate Keaton ought to go read the rules of the fraternity he’s so keen to run. But it’s true that the Dance-off isn’t the most important measure of a man.”
“Right.” Owen nods. “We have dick measurements for that.”
“So I’m going to let it slide,” I say, as if the whole thing is up to me. “Keaton made an honest mistake.”
Reed blinks. “Okay, man. That’s the easiest solution.”
I put my hands in my pockets and shrug. “Now let’s watch some hockey.”
Most of the brothers turn toward the TV room again, where it’s going to be standing-room only until the grill is hot and the dogs are ready. I’m ready to follow them, when Keaton stops me.
“Bailey…” He clears his throat, like it might actually kill him to speak to me. “Look, I’m sorry.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, giving him nothing. “What’s a few thousand dollars to you, right? Oops. Great party, though.”
He flinches. “Yours was, uh, pretty great, too.”
“Thanks, man. But I already knew that.”
“You don’t have to be a dick, Bailey, I’m trying to apologize.”
“I’m not a dick if I let your sorry ass stay in the race,” I hiss. “Let’s not forget what really happened here. You fucked up and I let you off the hook. The end.” At that, I push past him and go.
So Generous
Keaton
It’s Christmas day, and I am quite literally in paradise. I’m sitting on a lounge chair beside the private pool at the villa my parents rented for our vacation in Costa Rica. The sun’s almost fully set, but the sky still has a pinkish, orangey tint to it, and the blue pool tiles seem to sparkle in the golden light. A balmy breeze ruffles my hair and warms my face, and the mango and pineapple cocktail I’m drinking is the perfect after-dinner treat.
So why do I feel so blue?
Oh, right. Because my family makes me want to tear out my hair. During dinner, my mom kept starting sentences with: “This summer, when you’re living at home…”
But I won’t be home if I can help it. And since I dread discussing this, I still haven’t told them about my application for the trip to Chile. What’s the point, unless I’m accepted?
But then my dad said, “Congratulations on your finance internship. You should get the paperwork just after vacation.”
“I didn’t even apply yet,” I’d replied, like the dummy that I am.
And Dad just waved a hand, like it didn’t matter.
“I didn’t turn in the résumé.”
“I turned it in for you,” was his reply.
That’s when I turned the same shade of red as my lobster shorts. “You...what? You faked my résumé?” My voice had gotten all high and crazy. It’s a good thing I’m too young to have a spontaneous aneurysm.
“Nothing on it is fake,” he’d said in a smug tone that made me want to slug him. “My assistant did a nice job of it. All facts, no filler. And it’s just a formality, anyway. You think the HR department would ever turn you down?”
“I know they won’t,” I’d snapped. “But that isn’t the point, and you know it! I don’t want my daddy writing my résumé. Or his secretary.”
“You watch your tone,” my mother had chided. Because of course she would back him up. “Some people would kill for all the advantages you have.”
That’s when I had to leave the room. And I still haven’t told that arrogant, meddling asshole about my summer plans. It’s my big lie of omission that I want to do something to further science.
So I’m sitting out here alone. Seething. On Christmas. I need to talk to someone who understands me. And that person is Annika.
Besides, we need to plan her upcoming birthday celebration. That’s my omission number two. In fact, I saw Annika at her parents’ place right before we left to fly down here. The visit to the Hamptons wasn’t just an excuse to collect my trusty lobster shorts. It’s also when I’d planned to finally show her SinnerThree’s profile, and tell her that I’d found a potential partner. I thought we could take a photo together and send it to him.
Fun, right?
But at the last minute I realized I had a problem. That she might scroll through our app texts. Our very lengthy texts.
All my communication with Sinner was supposed to be groundwork. But as I scrolled (and scrolled, and scrolled) through hours of conversation and sexting, I saw it with new eyes.
What does cheating look like? Because I think it might look like this—sexy talk and shared confidences. Late-night chats and jokes.
I’m not a cheater. I sure don’t want to be, anyway. And since her birthday is only a week and a half away, the point will soon be moot.
So I didn’t show her the app. Instead, I waited until now. I open up Kink and take screenshots of Sinner’s profile, and of our earliest conversations. Then I hit send.
Now I’m just sitting here, waiting for her to call or reply. I absently watch a tiny lizard scaling the wall toward the thatched roof of our villa. It disappears into a small crevice, and I’m jealous for a moment, because I’d love to disappear right now. Being in close quarters with my parents can be so suffocating. Sometimes I really wish I wasn’t an only child. It’d be nice to have a sibling or two to act as a buffer whenever the folks get on my nerves.
My phone chimes, and I pick it up fast. But it’s not Annika. It’s my frat brother Munsen. Dude, thanks. I will make good use of it.
Hmm. The message doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but rando texts from my friends are pretty common.
But then I get another thank you, just a moment later. Beer money! You guys are the best.
Beer money?
My phone rings, and this time it is Annika. “Hey!” I say brightly.
“This is interesting, Keat,” she says, but her tone is cautious. “What do you know about this guy, besides his abs?”
“He’s a part-time Darby student. Undergrad, I think.”
“There are part-time students at Darby?”
“Uh…” This detail had never jumped out at me before. But I don’t think I can name another part-timer, come to think of it. “Apparently?”
She does not sound convinced. “What else do you know about him?”
“He’s played with couples before. He likes the thrill.”
“Do you know his real name?”
“Not yet. Because that stuff is quid pro quo, and I wasn’t going to give your name to a stranger.”
“Okay, good. But what if he’s dangerous?”
“Annika.” My tone is gentle. “I thought you wanted to do this.”
“I do,” she says quickly. “But I thought we would pick someone more… Verifiable. Apps make me nervous.”
I chuckle uneasily, because it’s not like her hesitation is crazy. “The whole thing is an adventure,” I admit. “Do you really think I’d let anything happen to you?”
“No, of course not. But we could ask someone we know.”
“Really? I’m not in the habit of asking my buddies to get naked with me. What if they’re disgusted? Then I have to avoid them until graduation. No—longer. There we’ll be at the ten-year reunion, drinking our first beer of the weekend, and I’ll see him across the way. And his eyes will go all squinty. There’s the pervert who wanted to see my dick.”
She bursts into nervous giggles. “Okay, point taken. But I could’ve done the asking. It’s less weird
coming from me.”
I suppose that’s true. “Did you ask anyone?”
“No,” she admits. “I wasn’t sure we’d go through with it.”
“Really?” Annika doubts me? “But I said I would, and so I did. At least the set-up, anyway. It’s been very educational. He asked me a lot of questions we haven’t considered. Like who gets to touch who. He says we have to figure that stuff out ahead of time.”
She gets very quiet for a minute. “How do we decide?”
“Well, that’s kind of up to you. You never really articulated what you wanted out of this experience. And it’s coming up soon. So tell me what you want to happen.”
“Um, I guess…” She laughs nervously again. “I want the feeling of being overwhelmed with passion. Like, double the touching. Double the desire.”
I can work with that. “So you’re on board with letting him touch you?”
“Of course. But are you going to let him touch you, too?”
“Um.” Again I kick myself for not having this conversation in person. I need to see her face. “I don’t have a problem with it. Do you think he should?”
I don’t know how much time it takes her to answer, but it feels like a year. “Yeah. I think he should. And I think you should touch him, too.”
“Does that—” My voice actually cracks. “—turn you on?”
“Um. Yes. It does.” She pauses. “But does it turn you on?”
You’d think I would have expected this question and prepared an answer. But honestly it stops me in my tracks. “I…” Jesus. “I guess we’re going to find out.”
Yep, I took the coward’s way out.
She clears her throat. “So, you think this guy sounds normal? Like he’s just some laidback student who sometimes likes to mash with two other people at once?”
“Yeah, I do. Exactly.”
“Okay. But I don’t want him to learn our names until we meet him. Just in case someone is catfishing you.”
“Well…” I guess I’m not quite so paranoid. “What about photos of faces?”
“No,” she says emphatically. “I think we set the whole thing up. And if he shows, great. And if not, we haven’t lost anything.”
I grin. “And if he shows and he’s butt-ugly?”
“Then we have a drink out of politeness, and then pretend to chicken out, apologize profusely, and get the hell out of there.”
A laugh slips out. “Out of where? Where should this happen?”
“We need a hotel room, of course.”
“Of course,” I agree, although she’s way ahead of me as always. “I’ll book a suite with a hot tub.”
“And if the whole thing is a disaster, we’ll get drunk on champagne and laugh about it in the hot tub.”
“I knew you were special,” I say, and she laughs.
So this could have gone worse.
After we hang up, I’m feeling pretty good about it for a couple of minutes. But then I check my texts, and there’s a fresh pile of thank-you’s there. One of them is from Tanner.
Dude, really? It’s generous, but… Really?
My stomach drops. Why am I getting all these thank you texts? I have to ask.
When his answer arrives, it’s even worse than I would have guessed.
Your dad sent everyone a $50 gift card for the Darby Brew Pub. Kinda glad you didn’t know about it. Because it’s kind of an asskisser thing to do.
What the fuck?
Please tell me you’re joking. Are you sure it’s from us?
A minute later I get a screenshot of Tanner’s email. Your gift card is waiting, courtesy of Keaton Hayworth Jr.
I let out a loud groan. So much for paradise.
I jump off my lounger and stomp inside the villa, where my parents are side-by-side, drinking coffee and reading their respective books. “You sent everyone gift cards?” I accuse my father. “Bribing them? What were you thinking?”
“It wasn’t a bribe,” he replies, chuckling. “It was a holiday gift.”
“Bullshit.”
“Language,” my mother chastises.
“Sorry, Mom. But that’s total BS, Dad. You’re seriously trying to buy a fraternity house election? Like it matters?”
“Keaton.” He looks up at me over his reading glasses. “I did a generous thing, and you’re bent out of shape over it? The presidency will look great on your résumé.”
My goddamn fucking shittastic résumé! “It’s disingenuous!” I shout. “It’s probably against the rules! And I already broke the same damn rules accidentally.”
He blinks. “You didn’t mention that before.”
“Yeah, because it’s so much fun to look stupid in front of you!” I thunder. “You’re always so generous with your opinions when I make a mistake.”
Dad makes a face like he’s tasting something bitter. “Calm yourself. It’s not against the rules if an alumni gives every active member the same gift. If you did the giving, then maybe I would understand the argument, but...”
Anger crackles through me like electricity snapping out of a damaged wire. “You should have asked me. This isn’t your election. It doesn’t have a thing to do with you.” Except it does, and we both know it. I would never have run in the first place if he didn’t want me to. “I look like an asshole now.”
Dad shrugs. “So what? Assholes win. You know you’re the best man for the job. Don’t make this more complicated than it has to be.”
I spin around and stalk back outside before I say something I’ll regret. I’m stuck here with him for seven more days. And that’s about six more than I can stand.
Unfuckingbelievable
Luke
Unfuckingbelievable. Fifty dollars at the Darby Brew Pub? If I received one of these, then so did every sitting member of Alpha Delt. Who does that?
Keaton is a giant, epic dickface.
I roll over on my bed and groan. I shouldn’t spend it, right? If I spend it, that’s taking money from the enemy. Well, not money. Thick, juicy burgers and the kind of beer I can’t really afford.
“Fuck you, Keaton Hayworth the third!” I yell at the ceiling.
Luckily, nobody else is here to witness this moment of crazy. I’m the only member of Alpha Delt with no place better to be on Christmas.
Earlier I did swing by my former home, where I had the good fortune to find my mom home alone. I let her feed me a piece of pumpkin pie while I handed over the money she’d asked to “borrow.”
“This is your Christmas gift,” I said as I passed her the bills.
“Lukey! You know I’d pay you back!”
I know nothing of the sort. “Merry Christmas, Ma.” Honestly it’s a gift to myself to avoid the disappointment when she doesn’t pay me back.
Her Christmas gift to me is a winter hat with the Patriots logo on it. I’ve never been interested in football, but that’s my mom for you.
Before I left, I’d put a sealed envelope on Joe’s pillow with the hundred bucks he asked me for. Then I texted him a photo of it, because I don’t really trust my mother not to take it.
Seriously, who needs family? They’re exhausting.
The whole thing took maybe an hour, including travel time. Now I’m rattling around in my empty fraternity house, feeling like a lonely loser. Since all the stores are closed, I did some provisioning yesterday. I have food, and downstairs I get the seventy-inch TV all to myself.
When this place is full of frat boys, I usually wish they’d all shut up. But God it’s so quiet right now that the silence is pressing in on my eardrums.
I pick up my phone and unlock it, wondering if LobsterShorts is around. What are the odds?
Good, as it turns out. There’s a new message from him.
LobsterShorts: I fucking hate holidays and what is really the goddamn point?
I laugh out loud.
SinnerThree: Preach, brother! It took me way too long to realize that Christmas is a fucking crock. I finally got it when I was thirteen. Not only did
I finally realize that nobody was ever going to surprise me with a decent present, togetherness makes people crazy. Mom and Grandma used to get drunk and scream at each other.
LobsterShorts: Ouch. I think I’m going to be the screaming drunk tonight. My family is really good at presents. But they suck at boundaries.
SinnerThree: But hey, presents!
LobsterShorts: Eh. I’m too old to be bought with the latest gaming console. The gift I want is respect. My father is such an asshole. I thought we’d be fighting about my summer plans but I haven’t even told him about those yet and we’re already killing each other. What’s your dream gift?
Now there’s something I don’t ever bother asking myself.
SinnerThree: A winning lottery ticket. I don’t mean it in a flip way. I just want to stop stressing about money. Making rent every month is always a trial. I’m always down to ramen and cans of beans at some point during the month.
Then I read that over and wonder what the hell I’m doing.
SinnerThree: It’s like woe is me day right now. Tell me something funny about animals.
LobsterShorts: Let’s see. Rats laugh when you tickle them.
SinnerThree: No way!
LobsterShorts: Hummingbirds eat twice their weight in food every day. Although, so do I.
SinnerThree: Well, you are a growing boy.
LobsterShorts: In more ways than one ;)
He follows that up with, As in, I’m growing right now…
And then—oh fuck yeah—an image appears in the chat thread. He’s growing, all right. The hard cock in the pic makes me salivate. It’s been months since I’ve gotten laid. Not for lack of interest, but lack of time. Work, school, and the Dance-off have eaten into any time I might’ve spent finding sex. And teasing LobsterShorts over the app has only made it worse. I might explode from all my pent-up frustrations.
In the photo, his thumb rests right beneath the mushroom head of his cock, as if he’d snapped the photo while stroking that sensitive spot. My body responds to the erotic sight, cock rising beneath my sweatpants. Then I notice the waistband of the trunks he’d pushed down in order to expose himself, and I’m laughing even as I slide my hands beneath my waistband.
