Top Secret

by Sarina Bowen

  Bracing myself, I open the door.

  So Many Uglies

  Luke

  After tapping on the door to room 409, I don’t quite know what to do with my hands. This moment—when you’re standing outside, waiting to meet your hookup for the first time…it’s the most nerve-wracking part.

  There are voices inside. A man’s and a woman’s. So I must be in the right place. But I’ve never been to this hotel. I never even gave it a sideways glance. It’s the kind of place rich folks stay on parents’ weekend.

  Honestly, it would never occur to me to get a hotel room just for shiggles. Who does that?

  I hear someone coming toward the door, and I suck in my stomach. Don’t judge—it’s a reflex for someone who’s used to being on stage without a shirt. I’m just pasting a friendly smile on my face when the door opens, and—

  What the…?

  Are you fucking kidding me?

  “Hayworth?” I bark. “What are you... I was just…” My brain is quickly backpedalling. I must be at the wrong door. My hand is already closing around my phone so I can check my facts.

  But then I look at his face, and I know there hasn’t been a mix-up. His ears are suddenly red, and his mouth is opening and closing like a fish’s. Quickly, he steps out into the hall and closes the door behind him.

  “You’re shitting me,” Keaton Hayworth III hisses. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “I don’t know,” I snarl. “Is it? You tell me.”

  “Did you catfish me, Bailey?” He looks suddenly furious.

  “No!” I howl. “But now that you mention it, is that your game?”

  “No!” he snaps. Then he looks up and down the hall. “And keep your voice down.”

  “Why? Are you slumming right now?” I’m too full of nervous energy to behave like a rational human. I take a step closer.

  He looks down. Our chests are almost touching. “Back off, would you?”

  “Why? Aren’t you going to invite me in?” I don’t really see this going anywhere, but I’m going to make him say it. “This was all your idea. Did you chicken out?”

  His face goes a shade redder. “There’s been a change of plans.”

  “I’ll bet.” I’m about three inches from his face, and I can see both anger and frustration rolling off him. “Good thing I canceled a shift at work for your little fantasy.”

  He blinks, and I see sweat beading at his hairline. It’s just starting to actually sink in that Keaton is LobsterShorts. He’s the guy who hates Christmas and knows which animals masturbate?

  He made me laugh, and then I made him come? If heads blowing off were a real thing, mine would be detonating right now.

  But then he opens up his big mouth and reminds me how it really is between us. “If you leave now, maybe you can get your shift back.”

  I roll my eyes, because that’s such a Keaton Hayworth III thing to say. I’ll bet he’s never held down a job in his life. “Maybe. But the boss will still be annoyed. And I’ll still be late…” I realize there’s no point in explaining it.

  “Sorry,” he says stiffly.

  I take a step back. And then another one. “Yeah? You’re sorry that I’m someone you already dislike, huh? Better luck with your next match on the app, then.”

  Spinning around, I walk toward the elevators.

  “That’s not what happened!” he calls after me.

  But I don’t bother waiting to hear what excuses he’d give.

  “I don’t understand,” Lance says several hours later. He shakes his blond head in confusion. “Why did you agree to bone your frat brother if you don’t like him?”

  “I didn’t agree to bone my frat brother! I—” I drop my face in my hands and try to gather my composure.

  You’d think that four hours after the big shock, I’d have found a way to compose myself, right? But nope. I’m still shook. The second the bouncers locked the club’s doors, I collapsed on the nearest barstool and started pouring the tequila.

  Most of the other staff left for the night, but a few of my fellow dancers stuck around to keep me company. Brock and George haven’t stopped laughing since I told them what went down at the hotel earlier, but Lance still doesn’t get it.

  “It was an anonymous hookup, Lance,” I grumble into my palms. “We’ve been chatting on Kink and we were meeting for the first time tonight.”

  “You and the frat guy and his girlfriend,” Lance says.

  “Yes.” I raise my head and swipe the tequila bottle out of George’s beefy hand. We stopped using shot glasses about an hour ago. It’s almost three in the morning, we’re half-naked, still covered in oil, and discussing the fact that I almost fucked my nemesis tonight—these are drink-straight-from-the-bottle times.

  “So you went to meet them and it turned out you know them in real life.”

  “Yes.”

  He slants his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “What don’t you understand!” I sputter.

  “Did y’all exchange pics?”

  I nod. “No faces, though.”

  “No faces!” he cries in disbelief. “Why not?”

  “I’m with Lance on this one,” Brock pipes up from behind the counter. All the bartenders went home for the night, so he’s usurped their domain. At the moment, he’s twirling a stainless steel shaker as if he’s Tom Cruise from Cocktail. His bare chest glistens in the neon lighting of the beer signs behind him. “Why on earth would you meet a potential hookup without seeing their faces? Did you want to get murdered tonight?”

  “His girl didn’t feel comfortable showing their faces,” I mutter. And now I know why. Annika Schiffer is the heiress to a home-furnishings fortune that’s worth billions—her father is like the American version of whoever owns IKEA. Of course she doesn’t want her face plastered on some app dedicated to kinky sex.

  Christ. Who would’ve thought. Annika Schiffer’s into threesomes?

  And so is Keaton.

  I resist the urge to bury my head in my hands again. Keaton is LobsterShorts. This entire time, I’ve been sexting with my goddamn frat brother. Worse, the frat brother who’s running against me in the presidential election. The frat brother I can’t stand.

  It’s too hard to reconcile. Because I can stand LobsterShorts. I fucking like LobsterShorts. How the hell are they the same person?

  “What if they were both ugly?” George demands. “Do you know how many ugly people are on those apps?”

  “So many uglies,” Lance says solemnly. “It’s an epidemic.”

  I take another quick swig from the tequila bottle. “He assured me they weren’t.”

  George blinks innocently. “Oh, what a relief! The random pervert on Kink assured you that he and his two-dick-craving old lady weren’t ugly.”

  Brock snorts. “For real, bro. All ugly people are gonna claim they aren’t ugly.”

  “I just had a feeling they were hot, okay?” I say irritably. Oh wow. I’m a grumpy drunk tonight. I don’t think I’ve ever been cranky while drunk. Usually I’m a fucking blast.

  That’s probably my cue to leave.

  I heave my drunken body off the barstool. “I’m gonna take off, boys. The room’s starting to spin a little.” When my feet meet the ground, my body sways slightly. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

  “Any time,” George says, and even though my vision is slightly hazy, I don’t miss the sympathy in his gaze. “I’m sorry you had a shit night, dude.”

  “What are you gonna do when you get home?” Lance asks curiously. “I mean, you gonna talk to him?”

  “Tonight? No way, it’s the middle of the fucking night.” Though even if it was the middle of the day, I still can’t envision myself talking to Keaton about this.

  Nope. This shall not be discussed ever again. If he brings it up, I might just pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about. Fake some amnesia.

  Outside the club, I heave myself into the backseat of an Uber. I hate spending the money, but I’
m feeling too wobbly for the bus. I’ve never vomited while using public transportation before, and I don’t intend to start now.

  But by the time the driver pulls up in front of the Alpha Delt house, my stomach isn’t lurching anymore. In fact, my composure finally seems to have returned, and I feel a lot more centered—and sober—as I drag my tired ass through the front door.

  Upstairs, the first thing I do is take a quick shower. As my soapy hands scrub the lingering oil off my chest, I try to process what happened tonight, objectively. I mean…it’s kinda funny if you think about it. What are the odds that the couple I wanted to hook up with was Keaton and Annika? So fucking random, right?

  And is it really a big deal? Despite demanding to know if Hayworth was catfishing me, I don’t actually believe he was doing that. I think this clusterfuck is just a huge coincidence.

  We’re in college. People experiment when they’re in college. Keaton and Annika were looking to spice up their sex life with a third party, and I happened to be the third party they recruited. None of us knew each other’s identities. It was just plain bad luck.

  No, it’s not a big deal unless we make it one, I decide as I step out of the shower. I snatch a towel from the rack and wrap it around my waist. Then I swipe my hand over the steam-covered mirror and study my blurry reflection. I look tired.

  It’s been a long night.

  I pad barefoot back to my room. Just as I’m swinging the door closed, it pushes open, nearly knocking me on my ass.

  My hand grabs for my towel before the terrycloth can slide off my hips. “What the fuck!” I growl as Keaton muscles his way into my room.

  “You’re asking me what the fuck?” he growls back. “Where the hell have you been? It’s three in the morning! I’ve been waiting up for hours.”

  I stare at him. “You’re mad that I’m home late? Who are you, my grandma?”

  “Look,” he snaps as he shuts the door. I notice he makes sure it’s latched before raising his voice. “Why were you at the hotel tonight, Bailey? No bullshit. Why the hell were you there?”

  “Because you invited me,” I retort through clenched teeth.

  “I didn’t invite you. I invited SinnerThree.” Anger ripples through his expression. “Why were you pretending to be someone else on the app?”

  My jaw falls open. “Are you joking? I wasn’t pretending shit, Hayworth. SinnerThree is my handle. I use Kink all the time.”

  He gives a stubborn shake of the head. “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you fuck guys.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Why? Because I never sat you down and said, ‘Hey Keaton, I’m bi’? Why would I ever do that? We’re not friends.”

  “So you’re saying you are bi.”

  I can’t tell if it’s an accusation. Either way, it makes me roll my eyes. “Yes, I am. Got a problem with that?” I answer my own question before he can. “Wait, of course you don’t, because apparently you are too.”

  Keaton freezes.

  Which makes me realize that he was swaying on his feet before. I study his handsome face, and notice his cheeks are flushed and his hazel eyes aren’t entirely focused. He’s been drinking, too.

  “I’m not bisexual,” he finally mutters.

  “Pan? Gay?”

  “Not that, either,” he says stiffly.

  I laugh again. Low, humorless. “Uh-huh. So why did you invite another dude into bed with you and Annika?”

  “Don’t say her name,” he orders.

  “Why not? Is she here?” I nod toward the door. “She hiding in your room?”

  “I took her home.”

  “Shame. She must be bummed she didn’t get her fantasy.” I tip my head in challenge. “Or was it yours?”

  His lips curl in anger. “Fuck you. I was being honest about everything. She wanted a threesome for her birthday. And then she backed out at the last minute. Which is a fucking godsend, because if she saw you walking into that hotel room, she would’ve freaked.”

  “Great. Awesome. So it worked out for everyone involved. Bullet fucking dodged.” I’m still holding my towel to my side. “Can you please leave now?”

  “No.” He scrapes both hands over his dark-blond head. “Not until we straighten this out.”

  “Straighten what out?” I say wearily. “It was a dumb coincidence. I didn’t set you up, you didn’t set me up. I’m bisexual, you’re bicurious. Whatever. It’s done.”

  “Done?” he echoes, and there’s a note of desperation in his voice now. “Do you realize how fucking embarrassed I am? To find out I’ve been talking to you this entire time?”

  I’m not even insulted, because I feel the same way. “Join the club, asshole. I’m not thrilled, either.” I told this guy shit I’ve never told anyone before. My relationship with my family? My money troubles? Yeah. Talk about embarrassing.

  “If you even think about telling anyone about this, I will kick your fucking ass,” Keaton warns. He takes a step forward, and although his legs appear steadier, his breathing is short, labored. “I mean it, Bailey. All the shit we talked about? All the stuff w-we…we did. Nobody ever finds out about that, you hear me?”

  “What?” I say mockingly. “You’re scared what Judd will think if he knows you fantasize about sucking cock?”

  Keaton’s jaw tightens.

  “Scared Tanner might unfriend you if he knew how badly you want a dick in your ass?”

  His eyes flash. “Careful, Bailey.”

  I just grin. “Hmmm. What do you think they’d say if they knew you’ve been sexting with one of your frat brothers for weeks?”

  “Are you…blackmailing me?” he bites out.

  “What?”

  “You’re threatening to tell my buddies about this if I don’t, what, drop out of the race?”

  I’m startled. “Of course not.” Shit, but I can see why he thought I was. “I’m not blackmailing you, Hayworth. I was just teasing. Do you think I want anyone knowing about this? No way, man. My sex life is nobody’s business but mine.”

  At the word “sex,” Keaton’s gaze flits from my bare chest to my towel, and then awkwardly lowers to his own feet.

  It gets hard to breathe. I feel like Keaton is sucking up all the air in the room with the deep, ragged breaths he’s taking.

  “Look, this isn’t a big deal,” I say roughly. “It was just…bad luck.”

  “Not a big deal?” he roars. “Are you serious right now!” He draws another breath, then lowers his voice to a tortured pitch. “We watched videos of each other jacking off! You were going to fuck my girlfriend! We talked about having sex with each other.”

  He’s panicking. I can see it on his face, in the way his chest heaves with each whispered word.

  “And I can’t even pretend that it didn’t turn me on, that it was some kind of fucked-up prank I was playing on you, because you saw how hot it made me.” His hands are clawing through his hair again. His broad chest trembles wildly. “You saw me come.”

  “So?” Despite my attempt to sound casual, my pulse has sped up. He’s spitting out all these dirty, dirty things, and God help me, but it’s turning me on.

  “So that’s not right,” he shoots back. “I don’t want you knowing this shit about me. I don’t trust you not to use it against me. I don’t trust you, and I don’t like you, and if I’d known you were SinnerThree, I never would’ve—”

  “Never would’ve told me what a hot dick I have?” I taunt.

  “Fuck you—”

  “Fuck me, yes,” I interrupt, laughing darkly. “That’s exactly what you wanted to do, remember, Keaton? You wanted to fuck me. You wanted me to fuck you. You wanted me. You wanted this—”

  I grab him by the back of the neck and kiss him.

  One More Thing

  Keaton

  A hot mouth suddenly latches onto mine.

  Holy motherfucking shit.

  He’s kissing me. Luke Bailey is kissing me, and my brain can’t make sense of it. Why is his tongue sliding i
nside my mouth like it belongs there?

  Growling, I push at his chest. “What the hell—” But I stop talking, because his rock-hard body doesn’t so much as budge thanks to my shove, and now my palms are pressed up against the tightest set of pecs I’ve ever felt.

  Hell, the only set of pecs I’ve ever felt.

  Bailey’s body is unreal. And now the asshole’s tongue is in my mouth again. I groan in surprise as pleasure jolts through me, and I swear I hear him chuckle, or maybe he’s groaning too. I don’t know. I’m too out of it. Too turned on, and too confused.

  I’m gasping for air by the time I manage to wrench my mouth away. It’s three in the morning and I’m drunk off my ass. That’s the only reasonable explanation for what just happened here.

  “Why’d you stop?” Bailey pants. “Go get your girl and let’s go. You know you want to.” His gaze is a lust-filled challenge.

  “She dumped me,” I blurt out. Or, rather, the vodka does.

  His eyes widen. “Come again?”

  “She dumped me. First she changed her mind about the threesome. And then after I sent you away, she said, ‘Keaton, I was only trying to spice up our sex life because I think it’s run its course. Let’s just be friends.’”

  I feel a stab right in my heart just saying it out loud. Annika thinks we’re not hot together anymore.

  “Jesus. I’m sorry, man.” Weirdly, he sounds like he means it.

  And I still can’t shut up. “She said, ‘you weren’t supposed to get so excited about sex with other people. You were just supposed to get more excited about sex with me.’”

  “That’s bullshit,” Bailey sputters. “Then why did she suggest it? I thought the whole thing was her idea.”

  “It was.” I sit down on the edge of his bed, because standing up isn’t working for me so well. And, fuck. The plaid bedspread—it’s the one from the video he sent me. It was here all the time. I could have known it was him if I was a little more observant.

  “That’s cold,” he remarks.

  When I glance up at him again, he’s pulling on a pair of sweatpants. Which means I just missed a view of his bare ass.