Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“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.