by Anthology
The professor dismisses class, and it isn’t a second too soon. Despite being in a large lecture hall, I always feel claustrophobic the entire fifty minutes of class. No matter where I sit—front, back, or center—I can feel Mason’s eyes on me. So much so it might as well be a physical touch.
It’s too fucking much.
I shoulder my backpack and glance behind me as I do, my eyes snapping right to his, and I find his gaze on me. Seeing him already watching me sends a flutter to my stomach before I can tamp it down. There’s a subtle dip of his chin before his eyes dart away, focusing on someone whose name I don’t know—another football player—as the guy ambles up to talk. It’s the only acknowledgment either of us will give that we’re still on for tonight, meeting at midnight in the Denny’s parking lot several blocks from campus, then going wherever we can find an ounce of privacy, before he’ll either drag me over the center console or figure out some other creative way to get inside me. Lather, rinse, repeat, every Monday and Wednesday night.
This was my last class for the day, and since I don’t have to work at Spin tonight, I’ve got plenty of time to get some footage for my film project due at the end of the semester. The working title is The Lemmings in Their Natural Habitat—obviously I need something a little subtler before I turn it in, but it works for now. With the overabundance of jocks, not to mention the huge infliction of Greek life on campus, it’s easy to get the shots I need when I actually go out in public and mingle with the rest of the student body.
I use my key and push through the door to my dorm room. Piper’s there, perched on the sill of the open window, her exhale of smoke aimed in that direction as she flutters her fingers at me in greeting.
“Hey, Chad dropped off a video for you to watch.” She tips her chin in the direction of my unmade bed, black rectangle amongst the crumpled sheets. “It’s due back to the video store tomorrow, but he wanted you to watch it. Said some shit about it being one of the best cinematic masterpieces he’s ever seen.” She rolls her eyes and flicks her ash into the ashtray. “So fucking dramatic. Is he even a film major or is he just trying to get into your pants?”
“Well, he’s not a film major,” I say as I drop my backpack on my bed.
Throwing her head back, she lets out a bark of laughter. “I knew it. Why don’t you just fuck him already? The poor guy is dying for it. Plus, he’s kind of cute, melodrama notwithstanding.”
“You think he’s cute,” I say flatly. Her pickiness in guys is something she’s known for, and something I’ve had to contend with the entirety of our friendship.
She just shrugs. “Yeah. He’s got that whole Kurt Cobain thing going on. I’d hit it.”
“Then maybe you should, because it’s not happening with me.”
“You know what, T? I don’t get you. Didn’t you have a different guy every week last year?”
“Careful, you’re tarnishing my reputation.”
She waves me off, then stubs out her cigarette. “What gives this year?”
“What do you mean?” I busy myself grabbing my 16mm camera and making sure I’ve got extra batteries, just in case. Nothing worse than finding a great shot and running out of juice.
“I mean…you haven’t been with one guy so far this year, and we’re already two months in.”
“That’s not true,” I hedge. I’ve been waiting for this to happen. I’m actually surprised it took Piper so long to say something about it.
“Oh, yeah? Who’ve they been?”
I go over to the mini fridge we smuggled in, grabbing a pop from inside, just to buy myself some time. She’s right—this is odd for me, and if I don’t give her something, she’s going to keep pressing. Considering the secrecy of mine and Mason’s little “relationship,” nothing good can possibly come from people digging. Solid in the notion that the best lies are centered in truth, I say, “Just one. He’s in my Econ class. We’ve hung out a couple times.” Thank God it’s the largest class I have this semester. There’s no way she could ever pick Mason out from the hundred-plus students in it.
“I sure as hell hope ‘hung out’ is code for ‘banged.’”
I ignore that statement, then hike the strap of my bag over my shoulder. “I’m going to head to the quad and grab some footage. You wanna come and help?”
“You know it.” She hops down from the sill and riffles through a pile of clothes on the floor before grabbing a flannel and slipping it on over her tank top. “I love watching you zero in on all the cliques. It’s like watching a cheetah stalk its prey.”
“There won’t actually be bloodshed, you know that, right?”
“Not in the literal sense, but I can’t wait until you get this film done. I only hope some of those snooty douchebags actually see it. God, can you imagine their faces when they see what exclusive, segregative assholes they are?” She rubs her hands together in glee and skips a little down the hallway, lugging a few things for me. Normally, I’d be just as excited as she is, but I’m not.
I’m not, because I’m stuck on what she said about the students who are showcased seeing this. The thought of Mason seeing this, actually being able to view how I see him, has my stomach dropping. I can’t figure out why, though. It’s never bothered me before, the thought of any of them seeing themselves on my film. Let them see how they come across—like Piper said, as exclusive, segregative assholes. But now…now I wonder what Mason will think when he sees it. When he sees his face or those of his friends. Will it bother him?
More importantly, why should I care if it does?
* * * * *
Fall hasn’t quite settled in with ferocity yet, so it’s still nice enough where people are out in droves. I light up as soon as I hit the steps outside, taking a deep pull from my cigarette as I lean back against the concrete banister and survey the surroundings. Since Piper’s come along enough to get footage that she knows the score, she hangs back with me, lighting up a smoke of her own.
It’s prime time in the quad, the majority of classes dismissed for the day, people hanging out all over the place. Clusters of students are grouped all over the vast grounds, rainbows of orange and red and yellow sprinkling the still green grass. Several people are on blankets, working or studying or reading, some just hanging out, and there’s even a game of touch football going on.
She spots them the same time I do, and despite the hesitance I felt walking out here, I still pick up my equipment and take off in that direction, knowing there’s a good chance Mason will be among the jocks running around. It doesn’t matter, though, and I can’t let it—it’s the best material for what’s going on out here right now, and I need it for my B-roll.
While there’s never a guarantee, it’s always possible that alumni will come back and watch the showcases. Considering the school has produced several directors who’ve made a name for themselves, I need this film to be the best I can do. There’s too much on the line—the chance of getting my work seen by a big name in the industry? Priceless. I’m not going to fuck it up because I had a momentary lapse of…what? Contrition? Would we have Natural Born Killers or Kids if those directors were worried about making people uncomfortable?
Besides, we’re all who we are—jocks, stoners, geeks—and if they’re not big enough to own up to that, that’s on them, not me.
When we’re close enough, Piper sets down the other bag and leans back against the trunk of a tree while I get my tripod and camera set up, focusing on the pseudo football game as I compose my shot. The guys, some in shirts, some not, all look alike. They’ve got the same haircut, the same clothes, the same shoes. It’s hard to tell them apart.
Except for Mason.
My eyes go to him immediately, even when they shouldn’t. He’s shirtless, just like half of the guys, wearing unremarkable shorts, a backwards baseball hat on his head. He’s laughing with his friends, his smile too big for his face, his eyes dancing, and I catch all of it, because I’ve focused on him and not the rest of them like I planned to.
Taylor—the girl who said she was going to hook up with Mason the night of the party—slides her fingers around his arm, the bright pink of her nail polish shocking against the smooth skin of his biceps, and my stomach twists as my legs beg me to move. Whether to get the hell away or go over there and lay claim to him, I don’t know.
“Are you getting this?” she asks. “Jesus, they’re even doing cheers for them. Maybe they’re too stupid to realize this isn’t an actual game.” She laughs, but I have no idea what she’s talking about, can barely register the words she’s saying, because I’m caught watching the interaction between Mason and his picture-perfect cheerleader—the exact kind of girl he should be with. The kind he used to be with. The kind he’ll end up with eventually.
Miss Perfect pushes up on her tiptoes, whispering something in his ear, then he stands to his full height, peeling her fingers off his arm one by one. He shakes his head, eliciting a pout from her, and moves away, unconcerned. When he looks up, his eyes connect with mine through the lens of the camera, and my breath leaves my lungs.
“Oh shit,” Piper mumbles. “The jig is up. We’ve been spotted.”
She pokes me in the side, and I move my face away from the camera, my eyes meeting Mason’s briefly before I lower them, turn around, and gather my things, doing my best to ignore all the feelings he just stirred up inside me.
Feelings I’d do best to shut down before they multiply.
Chapter 5
Mason
Fuck, she looks good. She always looks good, though. The difference tonight is that she took my advice and is wearing a skirt. If you can call that band of fabric that barely covers her ass a skirt. And it only rides up more because she has her boot clad feet propped on my dashboard. Anyone else, and I would’ve shoved that shit right off and bitched them out while I was at it. The Eclipse was a graduation present from my parents, and it’s my baby. If you fuck with it, you fuck with me. With Tia, though, I let it pass. I always do.
Headphones cover her ears, a Walkman in her lap no doubt playing some obscure tunes I’m sure I’ve never heard of. She has the shittiest taste in music—refuses to listen to anything that’s played on the radio. It’s quiet in the car, but I’m used to her silence. Usually, we never talk on the drive to where we go on our nights. Usually, we never talk at all.
But after seeing her in the quad today, filming me and my buddies while we played a game of touch football, I have questions. Like, was she filming us, specifically? And if she was, why?
Stopped at a stoplight, I reach over and pull the headphones away from her ear. “What were you doing in the quad today?”
She slides me an impatient look and slaps my hand away, lips pursed. And just like that, I’m distracted. Goddamn, those lips. I’d like to sit and stare at them all day…imagine all the things I’d like her to do to me with them. A horn sounds behind us just as I’m picturing those lips around my cock again, and I jolt out of my fantasies, stepping on the gas without receiving an answer from her. And from the way she replaces the earpiece and continues to ignore me, she’s not planning to give me one.
I drive us to the same place I always do—the industrial park. Factories are abandoned for the night or for good—either one works for what we need. Not for the first time, I wish I could have Tia in something more than a cramped car. Wish I could spend more than a rushed fifteen minutes inside her…just long enough for both of us to get off. What would an entire night with her be like? To spend an hour just sucking on her tits or licking her pussy… How many different ways could I make her come? How many times could I make her scream?
We don’t have the luxury of time, though. Or a bed. Or privacy. And since this isn’t our first time coming out here, she doesn’t waste any time. As soon as I’m parked, she unbuckles her seatbelt and pushes one side of the headphones behind her ear. “We gonna get this party started, or what?”
Jerking my chin in her direction, I say, “As soon as you take off your headphones.”
Her face is impassive as she looks at me. Except for the single cocked, pierced eyebrow—that speaks volumes. “I’m not taking them off.”
“I’m not fucking you while you’re wearing them.”
“I’m not fucking you while you’re playing this shit you consider music. So it’s either the headphones or no pussy tonight. You pick.”
I stare at her for a minute, and she stares back, completely serious. With a growl of irritation, I flick the radio off, then reach over and yank the headphones off her ears. “No music, then.”
“What the hell?”
“Get out of the car.”
“Excuse me?” Her voice is all venom, her eyes narrowed.
“Out of the car, Tia. Now.”
“Since when do you—”
I don’t listen to the rest of what she has to say before I climb out of the car and walk around to her side. I don’t know what it is about this girl, but it’s like I have an itch that can’t be scratched when she’s around. Like I can’t get close enough. In the short time since this thing between us started, she’s embedded her way deep under my skin, and I can’t get her out.
Worse, I’m not sure I want to.
We shouldn’t be together. I know that. She knows that. Nothing can ever come of this—I can’t even imagine what my parents would do if I sent them a picture of Tia and me together. Or what my frat brothers would think…what my brother, Max, would think. He’s certain I have a solid chance at taking his place as President during the next term, but not if this thing I have with Tia comes to light. The brothers of Zeta Alpha Tau are known for dating a certain kind of girl—namely either someone in a sorority or a cheerleader. Tia isn’t even in the same realm as either of those. There’s no doubt this situation has the power to crush all those plans.
And yet here I am. Week after week, here I am.
A little bit pissed off at her for her mouth, and a lot pissed off at myself for continually putting myself in this situation, I yank open her door and lean down. “Why do you have to fight everything I say? Do you do it just to piss me off? Most girls wouldn’t make me work this hard to lick their pussies.”
It’s clear I’ve surprised her, because she’s quiet for a minute, her eyes flicking back and forth between mine. And then she steps out of the car, her shoulders rigid. “Yeah, well, I’m not most girls.”
I let my eyes travel over her from the toes of her black Docs to the top of her head—her hair twisted in knots in some kind of pseudo pigtail bullshit that only makes me think of having something to hold onto while I fuck her from behind. No, she’s definitely not like most girls. If she was, it’d make this a whole lot easier to resist. It’d make her a whole lot easier to resist.
* * * * *
Tia
His eyes devour me, and I shiver under his scrutiny, despite the frustration running through my veins. When he meets my gaze, he says, “I’ve noticed.”
And all the air rushes out of my lungs.
I don’t know why him stating the obvious hurts so damn much, but when the obvious is how different I am from all the other girls he’s used to, from the girl who was hanging all over him just hours ago, it does. Like a blade sliding right into my stomach. But my hurt transforms almost instantly into anger, and I spin on him, finger pressed into his chest. “You want most girls, I have no doubt there are a dozen lined up outside your door right now, waiting to ride your cock. You’re the one who put this no one else rule into place. Not me.”
He reaches out and engulfs my finger in his gigantic hand, the feel of it sending warmth straight to my chest, then leans down so we’re eye level. “Doesn’t it
get hard walking around with that huge chip on your shoulder? Jesus, Tia. I never said it was a bad thing you’re not like most girls.”
I open and shut my mouth several times, my brows furrowed. It’s all I can do, really, because…what? No, seriously, what? We don’t talk like this. In fact, we don’t talk at all. The information I know about him I’ve gleamed from different avenues, but rarely—if ever—from him. But in the last week, something’s changed. A change I’m not sure I’m comfortable with.
A change I’m not sure I’m ready to admit I want to happen.
Taking advantage of my distraction, he slides an arm under my ass and lifts me easily, hauling me up against him. No matter how many times he’s done this to me, it hasn’t gotten old. I feel…delicate when I’m with him. Something I’ve never felt a day in my life, but with Mason, I do. Automatically, I wrap my legs around his hips and my hands go to his too-broad shoulders—those shoulders that I secretly love, even when they are covered in a track jacket—as I look him in the eye.
Before I can say anything, he continues, “And do you think I would go with any of those other girls even if I hadn’t put that rule into place? Do you think I have done something with any of them?”
“How should I know?” I don’t mean to snap at him, but I can’t help it, because, God, I don’t want to know. Ever. The thought of him with another girl is what got me in this position in the first place, is what had me going to that stupid party and dropping to my knees in the hallway of his frat house. The first domino pushed over.
“Well you do now,” he says.
“I do now, what?”
“Know,” he says, his face inching closer to mine. Close enough that his lips brush against mine with each word. “That I haven’t.”
I stare at him for several seconds, then snort and roll my eyes, pushing back to get some breathing room. As much as I don’t want to hear about him with other girls, I’m also not an idiot. He’s Mason Fucking Brooks, starting quarterback, VP of his frat, and all around campus god. People fawn all over him wherever he goes. He’s never without female admirers, especially during football season. “You’re telling me you’ve been faithful to someone you’re not even dating?”
