Fool Me Twice

by Aarons, Carrie

  “Who the fuck cares? All I’m saying is, why do girls act like they’re completely into you, come back to your room, let you dick them down three times and you even let them stay over, and then they ghost you?” I let out an exasperated grunt.

  I wish I could punch the fucking wall in here, but I’d break my goddamn throwing hand and that would be good for no one. As it is, I’m pushing it too hard on the weights.

  I’ve been in here for an hour, pushing my body to its physical limits, after I saw Henley getting pawed up by some other dude. It doesn’t help that the guy looks jacked and suave and had his hand on her fucking thigh.

  Why am I getting so worked up over this? We had sex once. Okay, we had sex three times, but only spent one night together. And then she came to my football game and clearly was only there to see me. I thought we were cool, that we could have some more fun, but apparently she has other plans.

  “Dude, are you going crazy? Who is this about?” Janssen swigs from his water bottle, his eyebrows knitting in concern.

  “Oh, shit, is this about that bangin’ blond from the party the other night?” Derrick’s eyes go wide.

  I shrug, defeated, as I plop down on the weight bench next to me. “Yeah.”

  “And you care about this because … ?” Derrick looks at me like I have two heads.

  “I don’t know, man, she’s cool. And sexy as hell.”

  “You got that right,” Janssen agrees. “The legs on her—”

  “Hey,” I cut him off, sending another death glare. “But you’re right. They’re some damn great legs. And I want to see them again. Problem is, she’s gone radio silent on me. And then I just saw her in the quad with some other guy cozied up next to her.”

  “Maybe you didn’t make her come,” Christian deadpans, completely serious.

  The other guys snicker while I flip him the bird. “I made her come. There is no doubt about that.”

  “You never know. Girls these days are masters at faking it,” Derrick says.

  “If you can’t tell whether a girl actually came, or was just faking it, you’re not a real man.” Janssen puffs out his chest. “There is that gripping thing their pussy does when—”

  I hold my hand up, not needing vivid detail of how my best friend satisfies women. “Bro, trust me, I’m good. I know I made her come, multiple times. It’s not that.”

  “Then what do you think it is? Is that guy her boyfriend? Did she cheat?” Janssen asks.

  The way said guy got up, as if he felt like an awkward third wheel while Henley and I minced words, there is no way he’s her boyfriend. But it doesn’t mean she isn’t hooking up with anyone else, which I hadn’t considered a possibility. The thought makes my stomach churn. We’re nothing to each other than two people who shared some really great sex, but it feels like a little more. We have nicknames for each other, and a banter that is rare to find with another person. I thought we were onto something, and I’m just disappointed that she’s completely ignoring my attempts to get in touch.

  “No, she doesn’t have a boyfriend. And I thought we had fun, hell, I’m Lincoln Kolb.” I say this, sitting up a little straighter and trying to get my dick to commit to my ego.

  “Maybe that’s the problem. What if she’s not into the whole ‘macho football player’ thing?” Christian asks.

  I hadn’t considered this. I’ve been so concerned coming into college that girls would get too attached to my persona, that they’d want me because of my status on the team and the fame I could maybe give them one day. I had never thought I’d meet a girl who seemed interested, and then got to know me, or my lifestyle, a little more and be turned off by it. But Henley had come to my game. Maybe she didn’t like what she saw when it came to football. Maybe she didn’t like what she saw in me that night in my dorm room.

  Rubbing my chin, I nod. “Maybe. But if that’s so, how do I get her interested again? And it’s just plain rude not to answer texts. Or DMs.”

  “You texted her, multiple times? Without her answering? And then DMed her? Damn, dude, that looks so desperate.” Janssen snorts.

  “How many times have you ghosted a chick? Come on, Kolb, we all do it.” Derrick smiles smugly, and I want to punch him because he’s right.

  “You gotta find out where her dorm room is. Maybe leave flowers. Or chocolate.” Someone pipes up from the corner, and I notice the entire weight room is in on our conversation.

  “Or a chicken, bacon, ranch pizza from that place in Collegetown. That’s the way to my girlfriend’s heart.” Christian walks over to the bench press and starts setting it up.

  “I think that’s too aggressive,” I say, doubting their advice.

  “Or romantic. Depends on which way you look at it.” Christian lays down to begin his reps.

  Maybe they’re right. I could try doing something out of my comfort zone. But I have a feeling that Henley won’t really appreciate that type of thing. She’s a no-nonsense woman, I can tell that just from spending a short amount of time with her.

  No, I need to meet her on the territory we first bantered at. A keg, a party, somewhere she feels she has the upper hand. Janssen does have a point though, I’m not sure why I’m so hung up on this girl. I could just get under someone else to get over her. It might be worth it to do that.

  Because Henley Rowan is going to be a hard nut to crack … though she was smooth as velvet in my bed.

  Even though I tell myself that I’ll stop thinking about her, obsessing over why she hasn’t returned any of my messages, I know I won’t.

  I’m going to get her to see me again.

  18

  Henley

  Rhiannon passes me a beer, and I grimace.

  “This is all we have?”

  “Sorry, couldn’t score us any vodka tonight. Shitty beer it is.” Rhiannon gulps some down.

  Unfortunately, as freshman, we were left relying on whatever upperclassmen agreed to get us alcohol for the weekend. Sometimes, we scored big and got a whole handle of vodka that we could ration for a week or two. Other times, we were delivered a lowly twelve-pack of fifty-cents-a-can beer. And instead of the person either of us had originally texted to get it for us bringing it to our dorm room, it was like friend of a girlfriend’s lab partner who dropped it off.

  I can’t wait until we turn twenty-one, though it’s a ways off. And not like I’m a huge drinker, but it’s college and I do it socially. Just like every other red-blooded American co-ed.

  So, I pop open a can, take a drink, and wince as the bubbles hit my nose.

  “Hey!” I exclaim, as Alden comes across the party toward me.

  I’d mentioned we’d be coming to this party tonight. It’s not one of the biggest ones I heard about happening on campus at this time, but I don’t need to be showing up at any of the sporting houses. Lincoln is still sweating it out, as evidenced by the vague text he sent asking if I liked chocolates or flowers. Of course, I didn’t answer, but it made me chuckle that he’s debating resorting to cliché romantics.

  I think after tonight I’ll reel him back in, because we’ve both waited long enough to get into each other’s pants. And I’ve strung him along just enough that he won’t let me go so easily the next time I decide to grace him with my interest.

  I know, I sound like a total frigid bitch. I’ve been going back and forth with myself, wondering if I can really do this. And then I’m reminded of all the girls I know he did the same thing to back home. Before Catherine, there were at least a few other girls I could remember that he ghosted or stood up after getting their panties wet. He deserves it.

  Hugging Alden as he joins our twosome, I glance around the party. It’s a different crowd, one with not so many hulking athletes, but more so, normal looking college kids. These are the ones who came for educational purposes, not to distract everyone on campus by their ridiculous looks and bodies.

  “So glad you could make it. Want a beer?” I ask my photography friend.

  “Sure.” He shrugs; the
arms of his tight black long sleeve forming nicely around his frame.

  “Rhi, this is Alden,” I introduce them, and see my roommate’s eyes spark with interest.

  In a second, it’s gone though, replaced by a faux slyness that I know is an act. She’s interested in him, but she’s going to play hard to get. Atta, girl.

  “And this must be Rhiannon.” Alden sticks his hand out so that my roommate can shake it.

  Rhiannon has a hard look on her face, with a tease of a smile, when she daintily accepts his greeting. “Oh? You’ve been asking about me?”

  I motion to Alden as if I’ve never told Rhiannon about him, even though I’ve gushed over how cute he is and how I think he’s her type. I see my girl’s game, she’s playing hard to get, with just one toe in the water.

  “Alden is in some of my photography courses. He saw the shoot I did with you and couldn’t help but notice how pretty you are.” I smile, threatening her with a “be nice” undertone.

  “Beautiful. I believe I said beautiful.” He sends her a dazzling smile.

  Rhiannon’s cool, aloof demeanor never waivers, and I seriously admire how hard she is. I’d be melting under Alden’s megawatt charm if he was directing it at me. I guess I know a bit about that, though, warding off gorgeous guys that seem interested.

  The music at the party turns up a notch, going from a poppy ballad to some hip-hop song Rhi has been blasting nonstop in our dorm room.

  “Oh my God, I love this song!” She claps her hands and starts shaking her hips to the beat.

  “Tory Lanez? Me too. Wanna dance?” Alden holds out his hand.

  More people gather on the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room, and I watch as Rhiannon weighs her options. Finally, she takes his hand.

  “Only if you can keep up.” She smirks at him and drags him to the dance floor.

  They disappear in a throng of people, leaving me on the sidelines grinning in accomplishment. I have a feeling I just played a great round of matchmaker. I sip my beer alone for a few minutes, content to just be and relax on a Saturday night.

  A prickle of recognition tingles down my spine, and I turn. Of course, he’s here. There was no doubt he’d try to seek me out tonight, since I’ve not tried to contact him once.

  Lincoln holds my eye contact as he swaggers across the room, the entire party splitting a walkway for him like he’s freaking Moses in the Red Sea. Jesus Christ, does he look virile. Like sex on a stick. Dark jeans press against his thighs as he walks, and his dark locks are loose around his shoulders. He’s like a brunette Chris Hemsworth, and my mouth goes dry just watching him walk. It’s a sin, watching this man exist. Eve would certainly be in trouble if this guy was in her garden.

  “You’re a mighty hard girl to get ahold of.” He dips his eyes, meeting mine on their level, when he reaches me.

  Ah, so I’ll get no small talk tonight.

  I shrug. “I had to see if you were serious.”

  Lincoln’s eyes startle with surprise. “The fact that I asked you to stay in bed wasn’t evidence enough?”

  My eyes roll so far back, I think they might stick. “How many girls have been in that bed before me? And how many have stayed the night for round two?”

  If Lincoln is trying to maintain that I’m special because he allowed me to stay in his bed after we fucked, it’ll be the first of many lies he tells me.

  I’ll make it about this. About his proving to me he’s serious when he says he’s interested in pursuing me. I won’t point out my faults, or spill any secrets about how this was all a ploy to have him come crawling back, kissing the ring.

  Lincoln sighs. “Listen, if you’re not interested, just let me know. Don’t do this whole games thing. I’m not into them. You don’t want to hang out? Cool. Just don’t ghost me. Be a little more mature than that.”

  His words hit me square between the eyes. Wow, I’m stunned. We’ve been doing nothing but playing games with our words and actions since the first day we met. And now he’s hitting me with straight knowledge and chiding me about values. Talk about fucking a girl up; no college-aged male confronts women with logic and fairness.

  “I’m interested,” I say, not giving him anymore.

  Mostly because he’s stunned me into silence.

  “Good. Because I’m interested, too.” He sidles up to me. “Next time I text you, you’ll text back?”

  I take a long, slow sip of my beer, then turn to regard him. “Consider it done.”

  “And if I told you I’m taking you back to my room, what then?”

  God, he’s cocky. Showing up at this party intentionally to find me. Not mincing words about anything, throwing daggers at my heart. And now he’s just completely bypassing the night and assuming I’ll fall into bed with him again.

  Which I will.

  “I’d say let’s go. I’m over this party.”

  Lincoln’s smile is pure devilish, as if Hades himself whispered in the boy’s ear all the naughty things he’d get to do to me tonight. My heart gallops with glee, while my vagina flutters with anticipation.

  Phase two of my plan was in motion, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t going to get some really earth-shattering sex from it.

  19

  Lincoln

  A week and a half passes in a blur of practices, games, class, and …

  Henley.

  Every spare minute I have is dedicated to her. We passed that weird, initial stage of hooking up but not being attached, as evidenced by her refusal to return my messages. She claims she was undecided about whether I was a trustworthy guy, what with my jock background and all. And I’d overcome my wishy-washiness over linking myself to one girl.

  And in the span of a week or so’s time, we went from the casual hanging out and guessing what we were to full-on commitment without the title of it. When I wasn’t practicing or in class, I was spending time with Henley. Whenever we were alone, we were shedding each other’s clothes. If I could get a spare ten minutes, I was inside her.

  Henley is one of the most intriguing girls I’ve ever met. Self-sufficient is her middle name, and while there can be a hardness about her, she’s soft in the next instant. Her eye for beauty in the world, behind the lens of her camera, is magnificent. I often flip through her portfolio when she’ll show it to me, marveling at the unique views in there. She’s also fucking sexy. I’ve been with my fair share of girls, and sex is usually just a release for me. A fun way to feel pleasure. But with her … it’s more. I can’t get enough of her. No matter how deep or hard or gentle or which position, I always yearn to taste her again. I always want to feel her explode around me again.

  We were so hot and heavy that I could barely think about anything else.

  Which is unfortunate, because I really need to get my head in this fucking game.

  The crowd roars around us, thirty thousand people strong as the Saturday night lights beam down onto the turf. There is a grass stain on my pants, and a burn on my elbow from getting sacked that I’m pretty sure is bleeding.

  Coach Daniels decided to play me the entire second half, which is a huge upgrade from our first two games where I only saw the last two drives of the game. It means I’m inching my way closer to that starting job. And if I can dig us out of the hole that Wayne got us into, I may able to solidify my spot.

  “We’re going with the Alaska, wide right, play. Make sure you know your coverage, skirt it, and get downfield, we need a big one here, guys. Let’s fucking get it.” I pump up my guys in a circle, as it’s my job to execute and get this done.

  We line up, the opposing team snarling in our faces. These guys made me look like an absolute rag doll two plays ago, and I’m not going to be made to look like an idiot any further.

  I call for the snap, and everything blurs in motion. Helmets clank, players grunt, the fans boo and cheer accordingly. I block it all out, layering in on my receivers downfield. When one opens up, his coverage slipping their man, I rocket the ball toward him. Intuit
ion sets in, and I know before he even catches it that it is going where I intend for it to land.

  No more than five seconds later, the ball drops into his hands, and he’s off, down the field to the fifteen yard line, where a defender tackles him.

  I hurry up the offense, waving them downfield and shouting the play call at the same time. We snap, but the defense read us too well. They scramble our play, and I’m about to get bowled over when I decide to make a run for it. I just need to get to the five yard line without getting my head ripped off, and I’m nearly there when one of their linemen comes at me, looking like I’m about to be his next meal.

  Sprinting for the sidelines before he can tackle me and do damage, I don’t realize I’m running right into the cheering section for Warchester.

  I nearly run into one poor girl. The momentum from me running the ball to the sidelines has the cheerleaders scattering, and I try to jump over her like some kind of ninja, but she topples over from surprise.

  “Shit! I’m sorry!” I throw the ball behind me for someone to catch now that the play is dead and crouch down to the cheerleader. “Are you okay?”

  She shakes her head a little, bouncy brown curls moving in the big bow atop her skull. “I’m okay. You surprised me!”

  The way she’s able to flutter her lashes tells me that she’s perfectly fine. I help her up and the crowd cheers as she presses into me. My spine goes rigid, but I don’t back away, not wanting to cause a scene. I’m a figure for all of these people, their puppet who wins and walks around campus like an idol.

  “Folks, let’s give a round of applause for our quarterback, the Clark Kent of Warchester, Lincoln Kolb!” The announcer comes over the system, and the crowd erupts again.

  I hold up a hand, waving.

  “And now seems like the perfect time to start our Kiss Cam!” he says.