“If you don’t want to hear my honest opinions, then feel free to keep your skeevy voyeurism confessions to yourself.” She sipped her rum. “And seriously, if you want to sleep with him that bad, then just do it.”
“It’s not that easy. For one, he’s not interested. Two, we would probably never be the same later. Three, he has a girlfriend.”
“Forget her. You’re not her friend and you’ve known him for ages whereas when it was announced he was up for the Heisman, she just twirled her blonde hair and weaseled her way into his life.”
“I wish that was the case, but she’d been drooling over Jay since the first time she laid eyes on him. She almost fell out her chair, stopped typing and everything.”
“Stop it.” Giggling, she high fived me. “Okay. She’s probably not digging for gold, but she’s definitely keeping that diamond coochie on lock.”
“Which isn’t against the law.”
“Jay would probably argue against that logic.”
I smirked. “Probably.”
“If I was you, I would let Barbie go outside of the room to talk to her
dad.” She made air quotes. “Then I’d get out of bed and take off all my clothes.”
“And do what?”
“Jiggle a little.”
“What the hell? Jiggle?” I scrunched my face up in confusion. “Oh! I see. I should just get up, take off my clothes, and start doing naked jumping jacks? Maybe a little midnight nude exercising?”
“With your body, he’s not going to be questioning the why or how. He’s going to lock the door and take you right there.”
“Eww. Having sex with her right in the lobby? That’s not cool. I don’t think he would do that.”
“A man with a raging erection is a very dangerous animal.”
“Whatever. Besides, there’s some sort of girl code to consider. How cruel would it be to have sex with a guy while his girlfriend is right outside of the door?”
She thought about it for a minute, sampled her drink, and proclaimed, “You knew him first, and she’s not your girl, so officially girl code is canceled out.”
“You’re trying to get me killed. My mom stresses two things to me all the time.” I held two fingers in the air. “Guys that don’t introduce you to their friends and family after a month of dating are hiding something and probably just want to have sex with you. And two, the easiest way to get murdered is to sleep around with someone else’s man.”
Melanie looked me up and down. “You could take Cynthia.”
“A woman with a broken heart is a dangerous beast.”
“Good point.”
“Cynthia has access to me while I’m sleeping. I would be here one day and the next day, gone.”
“You do have an impressive shoe collection. I assume that if you die, you would will all of your shoes to me?” Melanie lifted her foot and showed off the boots she’d borrowed from me. Small silver buckles formed into a zigzag pattern that started at the toe and ended at the knees. Florida in the fall boasted flip flop weather, but that didn’t stop Melanie from pleading with me to wear my heavy boots tonight. “Your shoe game is serious. I would be willing to make love to you if you gave me ten pairs of shoes that I’d get to choose myself.”
I wagged my finger from side to side. “Not happening. I don’t swing both ways.”
“You probably do and just don’t know it. You damn sure like to watch.”
“I like to watch what Jay does, not what Cynthia is doing.”
“Just sleep with him and get it over with.” She pulled out her cell phone. “Should I call him?”
I snatched it away from her. “I told you, he’s not interested. I’ve never even seen him look at a black chick in any drool-worthy way besides Beyoncé, and I am no Beyoncé.” After giving Melanie her phone back, I added as much Coke as I could to my cup. The dark liquid merged with the clear and swirled at the center.
“When’s the last time you had sex?” Melanie asked.
“Two months ago. I went out with Powell. We did the whole dinner and a movie thing, and then hooked up in his room after.”
“Powell, the computer lab assistant for Professor Simms?” She scrunched her face in disgust. “Sounds exciting.”
“It wasn’t that bad. It just wasn’t as good as…”
The orgasms I have when I watch Jay and Cynthia make out.
“As good as what?”
“Just not that good.” I gulped my own drink. The sweetness of soda and bitter edge of rum lathered my tongue before rolling down and singeing my throat. I coughed some and then took another gulp.
A slow song came on. The dancers in the living room cleared and left the few couples grinding into each other. Fraternity brothers flooded the kitchen, from caramel-coated muscle to slim, towering, dark-chocolate frames. They made their drinks. A few bumped into me. I inched away. Each time they passed Melanie and me, they winked or smiled.
“Well, at least if I’m going to find a guy to hook up with, this is the perfect place.” I checked out one guy’s firm behind as he walked by. “I should grab one of these Ques and take him home.”
“Definitely.” She tapped my cup with the edge of hers in a half cheers gesture. “You’ve been killing yourself maintaining that 3.8 GPA. You’re heading all types of councils and clubs. You deserve to be naughty.”
Nodding, I drank some more. “Alright. I’m not guaranteeing that I’m taking some hot guy home with me tonight, but I’m definitely back on the hunt.”
“Yes!” She clapped her hands. “Do I get to pick the guy?”
“Never. It’s like you have a metal detector for losers.”
She frowned. “That is true. I have an eye for gorgeous faces, but I’m a huge sucker for one drowning in problems.”
“That’s why you’re a psych major. You like getting into people’s heads and trying to fix them.”
“Plus, crazy guys give better oral sex than the level-headed ones.”
I tossed her a wicked grin. “I’ll take your word on it.”
“Do more than take my word on it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Damn, that’s just delicious man candy right there.” She pointed over to a bald-headed guy standing in the hallway separating the living room and kitchen. “I would’ve called dibs on him, but we need to save you before you do something crazier than masturbate to other people having sex.”
He wore no shirt, just dark colored jeans and black boots. His brown skin gleamed in the light. A huge Omega brand, a sort of upside down U, decorated the whole right side of his chest. Our eyes met from across the room.
Was he looking at me the whole time?
“Well that was quick,” I admitted. “It looks like I already have a willing volunteer.”
“You’re at a frat party, not church. You look at a guy for more than five seconds and he’s pulling out his dick and handing it to you.”
“Then perhaps I need to spend more time at frat parties instead of the library.”
“Well I don’t know about that. Nobody likes a stupid chick.” She laughed. “Oh wait. I think I remember his name too. That’s Marcus.” Melanie gestured to him. “I’ve been checking him out all semester. He’s in my African American literature course. I heard a few people call him that name, so it has to be it.”
“What do you think of him?” I glanced at her. “You’re good at reading people.”
A guy stopped him before he could go further. They talked, but his gaze remained on me the whole time.
“Hmmm.” She made a big deal of analyzing him with her gaze. “I would guess that he’s a Pisces that enjoys rock climbing, hang gliding, and long romantic walks on the beach. I’ll bet you a hundred dollars that he wants to name his first child William after Shakespeare, his favorite author.”
I nodded in mock belief. “Anything else?”
“He’s got a big one, not long but wide. He’s good with his tongue, but stingy with his money.” Barely ten feet existed between Marcus and us.
“He sleeps with a stuffed tiger that he hides under his bed whenever a lady visitor comes around.”
“Well, he’s lucky I love tigers. Maybe I’ll let him take it out tonight.” I tried my best to keep a seductive expression on my face while I cracked up with giggles inside. “Are you getting any other readings from him?”
“Hmmm.” She squinted. “Just one last thing. In the seconds right before an orgasm, he can be expected to recite sonnets about the feel and scent of the moment.”
I coughed to hide the chuckling. “And will there be poems afterwards?”
“No. He pretty much falls asleep.”
“Well,” I shrugged and let out another giggle, “they all can’t be perfect.”
Leaving the guy he was talking to, Marcus approached and looked at both of us. “What’s so funny, ladies?”
His cologne assaulted my senses. It was some designer number that could have been intoxicating in small doses, but he'd poured it on. The fragrance overtook my own perfume and forced me to take a small step back. Other than that, he seemed like a perfect candidate for going home with me tonight, as long as he didn't mess it up somehow.
“My friend’s really entertaining.” I motioned to Melanie as she hid her chuckling face by drinking more of her rum and Coke.
“How are you both doing tonight?” He formed his full lips into a wide grin that displayed perfect teeth and one gold tooth in the center.
Oh God. He’s got a gold tooth.
I twisted my lips to the side, realized I was doing it, and straightened them back.
Oh well. No big deal. It’s not like I want to have sex with his mouth.
“I’m doing fine,” I replied.
“I’m thirsty.” Melanie walked off. “I’ll be right back.” She rushed away from the liquor, giving the clear impression that she was leaving us alone to breed.
Marcus’s gaze trailed from the top of my head down to my toes. He made no attempt to hide that he liked what he saw. "I've never seen you before. Do you hang out with us Ques a lot?"
"I’ve been here a few times but tend to give all the fraternities equal party participation. I'm cool like that."
"We'll have to change that. Q-dogs should be your only party destination." He moved in closer and gave me a great opportunity to drool over his bulky shoulders and ripped chest. “I love the rose in your hair. Very Billie Holiday.”
“She’s my favorite jazz singer.”
I'd found that some guys ran their mouths to the point that they lost an invitation to taking off my panties. I was a simple woman that didn't hold much against people and tried not to judge others. That being said, I had a few pet peeves. A guy blurting out the words “bitch” or “cunt” in any situation hit the top of the list. The only way it would be forgiven was if the person who he was referring to was actually in fact named Bitch or Cunt. Crotch-grabbing or groin-scratching fell right behind name calling. Next came jean sagging. There was no way I could bring home that type of guy. My mom threatened many times to shoot any thug-looking boys who came to see me if they so much as stepped into our yard. I didn’t doubt her. A fun Sunday for my mom was church in the morning and shooting at the gun range in the afternoon.
I pointed to the brand on his chest. “Did that hurt?”
“Hell yes.” He leaned my way as if telling me I could touch it. I did. The brand puffed out. I traced the soft skin with my finger.
Hmmm. He’ll definitely do.
He licked his lips. "Would you like to dance?"
"Definitely."
One dance with him turned into several. In between songs, we took shots and talked about our classes. We had more in common than what I would've assumed. We were both math majors. Like me, he found mathematical equations sexy.
“What’s your favorite equation?” I asked more to see if he was full of it than to discover the actual answer.
“Easy. Pythagorean Theorem. It’s the one that started it all for me.”
Desire hit my core.
How sad that the mention of a geometry formula would get me hot and bothered. The formula explained that for any right-angled triangle, the square of the length of the hypotenuse, or longest side of a right triangle, equaled the sum of the squares of the other two sides’ lengths.
So hot!
“Why is it your favorite?” I finished my fourth drink.
“My parents had just split up the week before I learned it in class. I remembered wishing that life was that simple. That every emotion had a simple formula that fit and explained it.”
“Wow.”
“Wow. What?”
“You’re perfect.”
He leaned in. “Perfect for what?”
“My little secret.” I blew him a kiss.
He took my cup. “Do you want another drink?”
“Yes.”
The more drinks and shots I swallowed, the less his cologne irritated me and the more he materialized into the hottest man alive. By three in the morning, we were kissing on the dance floor and dancing less and less with each slip of his tongue around mine. By four in the morning, he begged me to come to his room upstairs. I refused, not wanting to be drunk and stranded in a frat house all night. While I trusted Marcus enough to be alone with him, I felt safer with him in my room than me in his.
My dorms were always a better option for me. There, Melanie would be in her own room next door and probably Jay and Cynthia would be inside mine. The latter thought made me cringe a little as I pictured me having sex next to my best friend, but with my hormones raging, my body had no problems with the idea. Marcus hadn’t been helping my horniness either. The whole time we were together, he rubbed my waist with his big hands. He was as drunk as me.
I nibbled his bottom lip. “Come back to my room.”
He dipped his tongue into my mouth and groaned. “Okay.”
Chapter Four
Evie
The frat house was barely ten blocks from my dorms, but it took Marcus and me thirty minutes to get back. We stumbled to my dorm and even fell a few times on the way. Laughing, we spent some time rolling around and kissing before finally remembering our true destination. Grass and twigs clung to my hair. Wrinkles and green stains adorned my skirt and his jeans.
"Shh. Don't make too much noise." Giggling, I pushed my key inside and opened the door.
Loud yelling sounded from the other side of the door, and not passionate yelling. Jay and Cynthia were fighting, which was odd for Jay. He hated quarreling and ended a dispute as soon as he could. Most of the time he simply agreed with the other party, whether it was ridiculous or not.
I guess he won’t be backing down tonight.
“It sounds like they’re already up.” Marcus sucked on my earlobe.
I opened the door.
"Jay, please don't leave. I'm sorry, please." Cynthia blocked the door with her body and arms spread out on either side. “I’m not letting you leave. I just can’t. Jay, talk to me, please!”
Okay. This is crazy.
Jay stood near my bed pulling on his shirt. "I’m done with this. I'm tired of you answering your phone." He glanced up only then, noticing Marcus and I standing in the doorway.
I dropped my keys in my bag and tried to back out of the room. "Um…do you need us to give you guys a minute?"
"No, I was leaving." Jay yanked the shirt down over his washboard abs and glared at Marcus. "Who's this?"
Rude, much?
"This is my new friend.” I touched my man candy’s chest. “Marcus, this is my roommate Cynthia, and this is her boyfriend Jay."
With a neutral expression, Jay walked over to Marcus and extended his hand out for a shake. "My name is Jason. I'm also Evie’s best friend.”
“Cool.” Marcus shook Jay’s hand and then stepped around him, probably ready to have me lying under him as soon as possible. I’d been playing with Marcus’s cock the whole walk, relishing in its thickness. Melanie had guessed correctly. Marcus’s equipment wasn’t long, but it had a width
that made me excited to take him home.
Soon.
Jay’s gaze followed Marcus as my bulky man candy headed to my bed and collapsed on top of it. Looking at both sides of Cynthia’s and my room, it wasn’t difficult to guess which side was mine. I had an Alice in Wonderland comforter on my bed. It was all black with two glowing yellow eyes and a mouth formed by white words that said, “We’re all mad here.”
A pink ruffled spread lay on Cynthia’s bed. The Muppets collection adorned her space—posters hung on the walls and Muppet stuffed animals flooded the shelves, floor on the other side of her bed, and even some of the night stand. On the other side, most of my space remained empty and sparse, aside from two photos hung above my bed. One framed photograph hung on the left. The black and white image was a famous picture taken at the 1968 Olympics where two African American sprinters, Tommy Smith and John Carlos, received the gold and bronze medals. Right as the picture snapped, they each raised a fist in the air to represent black power. My mother had given it to me hoping I would never forget my black pride.
Cynthia and Jay scowled at each other. I stood in the middle draped in discomfort.
“This is interesting.” Marcus gestured to the poem on the right side of the Olympics photograph. “What’s this?”
“It’s from Alice in Wonderland.”
“That’s your favorite book?” Marcus asked.
“No. Well, it’s in my top five, but it’s by my favorite author. This poem is called ‘The Mouse’s Tale’ by poet, author, and, most important of all, mathematician Lewis Carroll.” It sat in a huge red frame with a black background and white letters. “I love it because it’s a concrete poem, which is poetry presented in the shape of its subject.”
Jay folded his big arms across his chest and rolled those green eyes at me.
Oh, get out of my room, and take your pissed off girlfriend with you.
“Concrete poem.” Marcus said the words to himself.
I grinned.
This moment between Marcus and me would’ve been pretty awesome, if not for the angry couple that stood on either side of me, puffing and huffing out tension that thickened the air and made it difficult to breathe.
The COMPLETE Coventon Campus Series: Books I, II, & III Page 3
