The Social Experiment

by Addison Moore

  “So”—I start off slow as if I’m speaking to a couple of idiots—“did you see that game?” I sock thin air with my mock enthusiasm. “Go Cougars! Another at home win!”

  Braden’s brows furrow before flattening into a line. I’ve always felt as if he morphed into the monster from Frankenstein when he does that, and considering he’s basically the male version of me, it doesn’t bode well for my own aesthetics.

  “Yes, we did see it.” Braden is slow with the confession.

  “You did?” I practically scream the words out in disbelief. Becca and Braden haven’t been to a Cougar football game since the incident happened. Are they even aware of the fact Rowen is still on the team? Hell, that he is the team?

  “Yes.” Becca scoffs before sucking the foam off her beer. I bet she’d like to suck the foam off someone else’s beer, too—Rowen’s. “It’s our senior year. It’s about time we do whatever we want on this campus. I’m tired of being bound by old ridiculous chains. We went to the game. Big deal.”

  “Did Bixby play?” God, if they missed Tanner’s game to watch Rowen perform, this just hit critical mass.

  “They had a bye.” Braden gives a nervous glance around. “So, this is what you do now? You hang out in bars with your friends?”

  “Yup, and you should see the douchebags I go home with.” I frown at him for even insinuating that I lacked better judgment. “They serve food here. You’ve dragged me here yourself on occasion.”

  “Not on a party night.” He sulks into his beer.

  “Why are you here on a party night?” I’m this close to calling Becca out on her cleavage bearing bullshit.

  Braden shakes his head as if he’s not even sure himself, and just as I’m about to make an excuse and bolt from this good time, a roar erupts as the football team makes their way in. The entire bar freezes. The house band stops mid-song.

  “Ladies and gentlemen”—the lead singer pants into his mic with the most adorable British accent, and tons of girls flock to his feet with a whimper—“can we take a moment to stand and offer Leland’s boys a quick round of applause? And a special shout-out to Rowen Garret for destroying the Pelicans’ defense!” The bar erupts into a riot of cheers, and I hop to my feet, along with the rest of my peers, clapping up a storm as they make their way in. Rowen spots me, and a wild rush pumps through my body. His smile expands that much wider, and his dimples dig in deep as he makes his way over.

  Oh shit. I shake my head ever so slightly. He’s high-fiving everyone in sight as he meanders this way, and that grin I’m wearing slides right off. If Braden sees me getting chummy with the enemy, it might remove me permanently from his gift list come Christmas. And seeing that my brother gives the best Target gift cards that money can buy, I quickly take a seat as Rowen comes over.

  He holds out a happy hand my way before snagging his gaze on Becca and Braden. Rowen does one of those cartoon-like double takes before playing it off and slapping a high five to the person behind me as he shuffles the hell away from the three of us.

  That was close.

  “And that’s why I don’t understand what you’re doing here.” I tip my head in my brother’s direction, but Braden doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he glares at the door as if willing himself to teleport there.

  “Anyway, Becca’s right.” Braden offers the nonsensical answer to ironically a question I didn’t ask. “It’s our senior year. This is our school. This is the last football season we’ll get at Leland as undergraduates.” He thumps his glass over the table as if to sound the beer gavel on his truths.

  “Nice. I think. Hey, maybe next time you guys can sit with me? I don’t think we’ve been to a football game together since you played.” It’s true. In his freshman year, Braden injured his shoulder, thus ending his playtime on his own field of dreams.

  Braden glances over to the crowd amassed around Rowen and his football-wielding cronies and scowls. “I don’t think so. I doubt we’ll hit many games anyway. The Bears only have two more byes this season.”

  Becca cuts a glance in the direction of her ex, and her lips part as her tongue does a swift revolution to wet them. And there it is. Affirmation. She wants him.

  I squeeze my eyes shut tight a moment. God, I’m reading everything into nothing tonight. “Fine. But I’m still not sure why you tortured yourselves by coming to the Underground. He’s sort of a hero around here in the event you hadn’t noticed.”

  Braden’s eyes widen. I’ve broken the unspoken rule. Ever since all hell broke loose, we’ve basically pretended that Rowen never existed. But I can practically feel him here, his tongue roaming free in my mouth, his hands hot and heavy over my back. He exists, all right, and I’ve had the orgasms to prove it.

  Becca scoots back in her seat. “And on that note, I’m headed to the ladies’ room.”

  Braden and I watch as she shakes her hips all the way past the golden god of Leland himself, but Rowen doesn’t even flinch. It’s clear her glory days riding the Colossus have come and gone. A smug smile of satisfaction touches over my lips.

  “What are you grinning at?” my brother growls as he takes another sip from his beer.

  “Nothing much. And don’t think for a minute I’m buying the fact you want to be here. Is something going on? Is she still into him?”

  “What?” Braden looks truly stymied by the fact I’d even bring up the possibility, and now I feel like three-day old shit dried on the bottom of a shoe. “Why would you say that? Are you trying to start crap between Becca and me? Keep your ridiculous thoughts to yourself.”

  “My ridiculous thoughts?” I glance over toward the restrooms, but my eyes snag on Rowen instead. He meets me there with his gaze, and it’s as if we’re stealing a moment right here in the bar, with my psychotic brother sitting by my side no less. “Look, Braden”—it takes monstrous force for me to look away—“you’ve wandered into enemy territory, and you’re uptight. I get it. But don’t expect me to take whatever crap spits out of your mouth.” I stand to leave, and he gently pulls me back by the wrist.

  “Hey, whoa, don’t go. I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes, and you can see the remorse pouring off him. “Things aren’t going the best for me right now.” He stares down his beer like he’s about to get in a bar brawl with a pilsner glass. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I’m sorry.” I wrap an arm around my brother and my heart breaks. We may have drifted a bit ever since he and Becca became joined at the crotch, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be a major part of his life. “But you have to tell me what’s happening. Are you sick? Is this about Dad?”

  “No.” He winces. “Look, I don’t want to get into it.” He nods over, and I spot Becca sashaying her way over again. Knew it. That blonde witch is going to break his heart. Did I just call Becca a blonde witch? I don’t mean that, do I? “Speaking of Dad. His fiftieth is coming up. I’m thinking we should do something.”

  “Is we should do something code for use your great feminine mind and come up with something spectacular?” After my mother died, it was me who decorated for holidays and kept the great birthday tradition alive. Without me, my brother and father would have long since stopped celebrating both Thanksgiving and Christmas—and once a year, routinely, would have called the cops on all the annoying candy hungry children trying to break into their living room.

  “Yes, exactly that.”

  “And by the way, I don’t need Becca’s help.” No offense, but after the last debacle I tried to plan with Becca the Bitch, I swore never again. Not only is she demanding, but she’s used to being the big bitch in town. It’s her way or the highway. Wow, I just called Becca a bitch two times in a row. She’s really taking a beating from my subconscious.

  I give Braden a hug goodbye and mouth the words call me while miming as if I’m talking on the phone, making a break for it before I accidentally on purpose call Becca a bitch to her face for making my brother miserable. I don’t need a road map to know Becca is the root of a
ll brooding where my brother is concerned. I make a beeline back to Vi and Ember and hop into my seat, which has since gone frigid.

  “So, what’d I miss?” I bounce a happy glance between my two new besties, and it’s obvious they’re both holding back a laugh.

  Vi jets her chin out. “While you were away, Rowen did play.”

  My heart sinks into that ball of acid formerly known as my stomach.

  “What’s this?” I try to sound casual like I don’t care, but I am about to cut a bitch.

  Ember glances toward the bar. “That blonde chick with your brother—she bumped into him accidentally on purpose on her way back from the little girls’ room. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. He didn’t look too happy about it. They had words. It didn’t look all that friendly.”

  “Oh, right.” I glance over my shoulder to find both Braden and Becca looking like their beer just turned to piss. “Becca and Rowen went out for a while. My brother and Rowen were best friends. It was a mess.” My heart still feels heavy as lead. I knew that Becca was trying to boob flirt her way into Rowen’s life again. I can’t remember the last time I was exposed to so much Carmichael nipple. Is it any coincidence she forced my brother into going to a game? Not to mention the fact Braden said they were having problems? Or at least that he was having them—in the shape of Rowen Garret’s penis.

  “Hey”—Vi shakes me by the wrist—“I wouldn’t look so down. That was the weird news. The good news is Em and I were keeping tabs on where that boy’s eyes were going, and the entire time you were slung over that bar, his baby blues were glued on you.”

  “Gray.” My adrenaline soars. “His baby grays.” I bite down over my lip, hardly able to contain my excitement. “We’re supposed to have a date tomorrow night.”

  “And you’re going, right?” Vi’s left eye flutters as if gauging my sanity.

  “I’m going.” Rowen and I may not have left things on the best note, but a part of me is counting down the hours until we can be alone again.

  There is just something about Rowen I have never been able to get enough of.

  I glance back at him in that tightknit circle with his friends, each with a matching beer in hand, and he looks my way and winks.

  Life made.

  Seth’s instructions were simple. Tonight’s experiment requires me to dress bar casual—read little black dress. To wear sensible shoes—read four inch spiked heels. And to be prepared for the unexpected—read sex in a bathroom stall. Okay, so maybe that last one is a little off base, but, trust me, the rest of my adjustments will be plenty warranted.

  I head down to the psychology building, into the social experiments bowels of operations, where the frisky festivities will be held. There happens to be a huge conference room down here where a ton of bodies happily mill around this evening. You can practically see the fornicating glee in the participants’ eyes as if deep down they’re hoping this will all morph into one mass orgy—and knowing the TSE it just might.

  Seth mentioned in his email that this would involve a mega mingling of all the horny peeps in Group A, so to see the overpopulation of sex central doesn’t at all surprise me.

  I meet up with Seth in front of his office, suite 109, and I’m startled to find Rowen inside sitting on the desk along with a lion-maned, friendly looking gal with glasses that sit crooked on her face. But it’s Rowen dressed in quasi-Italian tailored finery that has all of my attention.

  Rowen jumps to his feet. His eyes expand while doing that elevator thing up and down my body, searing his gaze over every square inch. A flare of heat rakes through me at the thought he actually approves of what he sees.

  If I’ve ever doubted that Rowen Garret is a god, then, tonight, with him in that suit—holy hell. It’s safe to say he is dressed to rule my universe. It may not be a three-piece monkey suit, as my father affectionately refers to the ensemble, more of a dress shirt paired with jeans, an actual belt, and a pair of rugged looking shoes, but holy hell, does it ever work. His dark hair is still damp from the shower and slicked back in thick spaghetti-like strands. The faint smells of soap and mouthwash mingle to create the perfect intoxicating brew. And that face. Three-day scruff, check. Smoldering eyes that make me wetter than a slip and slide, double and triple check. I sure hope I was right about that sex in a bathroom stall. I, for one, would not mind if tonight actually ended with a bang.

  “Petra Mitchel.” The lion-maned girl extends her hand. “I’m Rowen’s sensory guide. Since we’re about to embark on week four, I thought I’d introduce myself.”

  “Hey, Soph.” Rowen’s dimples go off, and I die a sweet dimple-laced death while quivering with the beginnings of a promising orgasm.

  There is something disconcerting about shaking another girl’s hand while trembling your way to the big O in front of the boy you’ve loved for as long as you can remember.

  “You’re drooling.” Seth grins like a proud parent while doing his best ventriloquist whisper. “The two of you really seem to be hitting it off. Congratulations.” He claps his hands just once like a magician trying to divert our attention. “For tonight’s experiment, we’d like to present to you two options.”

  Petra holds up a finger. “Although, to get to the second option, you’ll have to wait an additional hour.”

  Oh darn. I’ll have to spend an additional sixty minutes with Rowen Beefcake Garret? Option two sounds like a sure-fire winner already.

  “Correct.” Seth tips his shiny bald head her way. It really does have an unusual glimmer to it. I’ll have to ask one day what he puts on it to make it so shiny since there’s no possible way the human head is that much of a mirror ball. If I ever shaved myself down, I’m pretty sure my scalp wouldn’t be anywhere near as pretty as Seth’s—more of a gray stubbly mess with patchy tufts of hair. “Tonight’s challenge is just that—a challenge.” He goes on. “You’re both to head to the mixer. Rowen, you’re to find five men you think would appeal to Sophie and introduce her to them. Sophie, you’ll find five women you think would appeal to Rowen and introduce them. Everyone will be wearing nametags, but not everyone present has the same task, so you won’t have to worry about being bombarded all night. In an hour, we’ll meet at the north entrance that leads to the lab.”

  “So let me get this straight.” I lift a hand as if asking permission—it’s years of indoctrination at the public school level, so it’s practically muscle memory taking over whenever I feel the need to interject. I’m sure I’ll be in my nineties and on my deathbed raising a hand to whoever’s in charge of changing my bedpan. “All I have to do is find five girls that I think Rowen might like and introduce them?”

  Seth and Petra nod in tandem.

  I don’t see the point in wasting any time so I get right to it. “Rowen, this is Petra. Petra, this is Rowen. Rowen here is an equal opportunity bed mite. All women with vaginas are of equal value to him so long as they house the proper plumbing to house his pecker.”

  “Soph,” Rowen groans, pinching his eyes shut with his fingers.

  Seth nods to Petra. “If this is true, Sophie just completed her first mission of the night.”

  “It’s true.” Petra scoffs and jots something down in her phone, most likely my scorecard. “This more than counts.”

  I sneer at Rowen as we head out to the conference room brimming with coeds and frat boys alike. There’s a refreshment stand and a bar in the corner, and everyone has a drink of some sort in their hands while mingling about having a good time.

  “So, what kind of guys do you like?” He scowls into the crowd as if he were ready to beat up each and every one.

  “I like them freaky. The more perverted the better. I really like the ones that have this weird obsession with putting my foot up their—”

  “Soph,” Rowen moans as if he’s about to get sick. “Look, I get it. You’re into making me nuts. You haven’t changed a bit, by the way. Okay, never mind. I’ll find you some decent guys. And if any of them happen to look at your feet while
we’re talking, we’re leaving without saying goodbye.”

  “Okay, Daddy. Whatever you say.”

  We head inside, and the room is warm and alive with the scent of a thousand clashing colognes and perfumes. A bevy of Becca knock-offs stand to the right—four of them to be exact, and I see this as one pretty pink stone that can knock out four Barbie birds at one time.

  “Come, come.” I take Rowen by the hand, and we land in their midst. It takes zero point three seconds for the entire lot of them to let out a collective scream. They’re so excited to see him up close and in the flesh, I practically join them in their Rowen-gasm. Honestly, you’d think their bleached blonde hair—and not well done at that—their dark soulless eyes were contagious the way these girls resemble one another.

  “Ladies, I’d like to formally introduce you to Rowen Garret, all-star athlete both on and off the mattress, armpit musician extraordinaire”—I know it well from having to listen to him and Braden try to outdo one another while playing battle of the pits—“and lover of all things blonde and beautiful!” They squeal in unison, but Rowen takes a moment to scowl my way, most likely for the uncalled-for pit fandom. “Don’t you worry, girls—the curtains don’t have to match the carpet. Rowen here is an indiscriminate lover of well-manicured kittens in all shapes and sizes, but I’m betting it would be a plus.” I offer him a quick wink, and his eyes grow wide with both rage and amusement.

  “Sophie,” he hisses so fast that what he meant as a reprimand sounds unmistakably like something erotic he’d whisper deep into my ear in bed.

  “I’m intimately familiar,” giggles the first Becca clone to my left.

  “Oh?” I’m not sure why this amuses me. “So, you’ve taken a ride or two on the Colossus, I take it?”

  “Or three or twelve.” She gives the boy of the hour a quick wink, and I think we all know what that means. Ding, ding, ding! Winner, winner, penis dinner! Rowen’s got the invite if he wants it. Just the thought sends my good mood plummeting.

  “Me, too.” Lookalike blonde number two steps up and offers him a kiss on the cheek and a firm squeeze on the bottom.