by Brit Benson
“Alright, Bianca, I’m going to be blunt.” She pops a brow at me, suddenly suspicious. Another notch for the pros. “First, how much have you had to drink?”
She jerks her head back, no doubt ready to put my nosy self in my place, and I find myself liking her even more. I throw my palm up in an effort to show her I’m harmless. Mostly.
“No judgments here. Totally respect your right to party however hard you want. I have a purpose, I swear,” I say, and her shoulders relax a bit. She studies me a moment before defiantly taking a sip of her beer and responding confidently.
“This is my second beer. I got a paper to write tomorrow so I’m just here to let loose some steam and kick some ass at pong.” She winks.
I nod my head and can’t hold back the mischievous grin.
“Perfect. Okay, Bianca. I’m playing wing woman for my friend over there.” I nod my head toward Jesse. “He’s the tall, tan, sexy one talking to the guy at the corner table.”
She slides her eyes over to J, and I watch as she assesses him while sipping her beer. Then a smile forms on her face, and she brings her gaze back to me.
“And what’s your sexy friend have to do with me?” Her grin is almost predatory, and I know I’ve got a winner.
“Well, Bianca, I’m pretty sure he wants to provide you with a few orgasms tonight.”
She barks out a laugh at my bluntness and spits some beer out of her mouth. I should have waited for her to swallow before delivering that information.
“No shit? And why should I follow through with this opportunity?”
“I’m glad you asked,” I say with a smile. “He’s a great guy. Word is he knows his way around the female body. Respectful. Safe. Clean. A little goofy, but he’s fun. And he’s 6’3”.” I punctuate his height with a wink, and her eyes widen with humor. “But he’s not wanting a relationship, and he only takes home women who are sober, single, and well-informed on his intentions.”
I know I’ve sold her when she nods appreciatively and slides her eyes back to J. She eyes him greedily and takes a few more small drinks from her cup before looking back to me.
“Alright, Ivy. I’m in.”
“Great!” I say, clapping my hands in front of my chest. “Cool if I hang out here until he’s done securing my company for the night?” I waggle my brows at her and we both giggle.
“Nice.” She laughs, and we watch Jesse until he looks over at us and sends me a wink.
“That’s my cue, Bianca. Have fun tonight. Your orgasms will arrive shortly.”
“Thanks, Ivy.” She smiles, I smile, and I head over to meet the brunette jock in Jordans. My company for the evening.
I’ve been chatting Brock up for the last ninety minutes and so far, so good. He seems like a decent guy, albeit a bit dull. Several times I find myself wishing Kelley were here to liven up the conversation, but my best friend doesn’t go out. It’s for the best, anyway.
With the exception of some shoulder rubs and a light hand on my hip, Brock hasn’t gotten gropey, so I’ve been cool, collected, and flirty. I think this might actually be the night I beat it.
But then it happens.
Brock slides his hand up to my waist and gives it a squeeze as he lowers his lips to the shell of my ear.
“Want to head to my place?” he asks, and I feel the familiar drop of ice skate its way down my spine, leaving pinpricks in its wake. My breath catches and my pulse thunders in my ears.
To anyone else, I could definitely pass as aroused, and I can tell Brock assumes as much by the way he slips his fingertips into the back band of my jeans. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. I’m sure Brock thinks I’m being coy, but that’s better than him knowing the truth. I recite the Attorney’s Oath in my head, and just like last weekend, I only have to say it once before I’ve calmed my heart rate. I take that as a good sign.
I raise my eyes to his and ask, as playfully as I can muster, “where’s your place?”
“South Campus.”
“One of the frats?”
“Yeah. A Sig. Is that a deal breaker?”
I shake my head slowly. South Campus is only an eight-dollar Uber ride to my apartment. Definitely worth not having to dirty up my sheets. I’ve got travel ballet flats and makeup removing wipes in my clutch, and the weather app says tomorrow is supposed to be clear and rain-free. Plus, still not feelin’ the idea of a stranger in my space. So, his place it is.
“Sounds good,” I say, trying to hide the shake in my voice. “Just let me head to the bathroom first. Meet you out front?”
Inhale slowly through my nose, exhale slowly through my mouth.
“Yeah, great.” Brock smiles eagerly, and I try to focus on that. He’s been kind and decent and this will be fine. I remove his hand from my waist and walk quickly to the bathroom.
Once inside, I shut and lock the door and rush to the sink. I wet a paper towel and run it over the back of my neck.
“You got this, Ivy,” I say to myself in the mirror. “This is all you. You’re a dangerous mountain lion of greatness. You’re in control. Just a regular hook-up like a regular twenty-one-year-old college student.” I close my eyes. “This is sex. You enjoy sex. This will be good. Everything will be good.”
I take another deep breath through my nose and release it slowly through my mouth, then open my eyes and look at myself one last time in the mirror. “Orgasms,” I say firmly with a nod.
Opening my clutch, I take inventory.
Pepper spray, check.
Condoms, check.
A single white pill, check, but only as a last resort.
Once my heart rate is settled, I take out my phone and share my location with Jesse for the next twenty-four hours. He sends me a thumbs up emoji followed by an eggplant emoji, which makes me snort out a laugh, and I head out to meet Brock in front of the bar.
You’ve got this, I tell myself again. You’re in control.
Brock gets a little handsy in the back of the Uber, but I don’t mind. He doesn’t breech the clothing barrier, and he’s a pretty decent kisser. He knows how to work his mouth, and if I can get him to take that tongue a little lower, I’ll probably get at least one orgasm tonight. I’m not naïve enough to expect one from the penile penetration part of the evening. I stifle a laugh at the thought. I can practically hear Kelley poking fun at me for the clinical terminology.
Just say dick, he’d tease. C’mon, Ivy Jean. You can do it. You can say the D-word.
I roll my eyes with a smile and give my head a little shake. Focus on the task at hand, Rivenbark. Right. Head in the game.
Once in his room, I take off Brock’s baseball cap and toss it in the corner, raking my fingernails over his scalp. I pull my tank top over my head and throw my arms around his neck.
Brock pushes me lightly onto the bed, and I watch as he takes off his shirt and jeans. He’s standing in front of me in just a pair of boxers.
When did he take off his shoes?
I scan the room for the black and grey Jordans but don’t see them. Did he leave them downstairs? Surely, he wouldn’t irresponsibly leave his shoes in the common room of a frat house. There are probably around one hundred guys in this frat, so at least one of them is bound to be untrustworthy. Those Jordans had to be worth a pretty penny—my mom would have had to pull doubles for a week to get those shoes. I know because Jesse has a sizeable collection, most of which he refuses to even take out of the box. I can’t for the life of me understand spending so much money on shoes that you won’t even wear, but to each their own, I suppose.
Perhaps they appreciate in value?
I make a mental note to research the investment opportunities with a Jordan collection. Then I give myself a pat on the back for the involuntary direction my thoughts went. Musing about over-priced tennis shoes is much better than having to force a grounding exercise to keep my fight or flight response in check. It’s a good sign.
Brock drops himself on top of me and presses hi
s mouth to mine, effectively silencing my inner monologue. When I place my hands on his shoulders and lightly try to guide him downward, I hear him laugh lightly.
“Eager?” He breathes into my neck.
“Yes,” I say, and push a little harder. This time, Brock doesn’t resist and starts sliding down my body, kissing me as he goes. He pops the button on my jeans and pulls them off. Just when I think he’s going to settle between my thighs, he climbs back up and latches his lips to mine. I huff out a frustrated breath through my nose and press his shoulders once more, but he resists again, and I give up.
Welp, I guess oral is out for tonight.
I reach between us and grip him, pleased at what I find. He grunts and drops his lips to the swell of my breast, and I’m ready to get this show on the road.
“Condom?” I ask, and he freezes for just a moment.
“Hmm?” He murmurs as he slips his fingers into my underwear.
“Condom,” I say more firmly, and he lifts himself up to meet my eyes.
“I actually don’t have any,” he says with a fake innocence. Baloney.
“That’s okay,” I say, and he visibly relaxes. Then I roll out from under him and add, “I carry my own.” I saunter over to my discarded clutch and pull out a foil packet.
As I walk back to the bed, he sits up and hits me with these big, ridiculous puppy dog eyes, and I’m already over him.
“Babe,” he says, and I start scanning the room for my clothes.
“Babe,” he says again. “How about we skip the condom? I can’t feel you as good with it.”
I scoff and put a hand on my hip. I’m standing in front of him in just my bra and underwear, and he rakes his eyes over every inch of my body. I know I look good.
That’s right, Brock. Look your fill. That’s the extent of what you’re going to get.
Despite my are you kidding me right now glare, Brock continues his pointless pitch.
“I don’t want anything between us, babe. I want to feel you when I make you come.”
“Yeah, I imagine sex without a condom feels great,” I coo seductively, and he nods eagerly. “But you know what also feels great?” He pauses his nodding and watches me carefully. Yeah, he knows he’s not winning this one. “Not having some random frat boy’s semen dripping from my vagina.” I start to put on my jeans. “Also, not having herpes. That also feels great, Brock.” I slip my shirt over my head and pick up my heels.
Brock is standing now with his hands on his hips, his semi-erect penis still visible beneath his boxers.
“Don’t be like this. I’ll wear the condom.”
“Too late, Brock. Any guy who is going to try to manipulate a girl into riding him bare isn’t the kind of guy I want inside me.”
I start out the door when he calls behind me.
“Fine. I don’t want to fuck your fat ass anyway.”
Ha. Just like an insecure boy to try and insult a woman’s appearance as a last-ditch effort to feel like a man.
I stop at the landing at the top of the stairs and look over my shoulder at him.
“That’s too bad,” I croon as I slide my hand down my body and stop at my butt cheek. “I might have let you have it,” and I give it a squeeze to emphasize my point. I’m totally lying, but he doesn’t need to know that.
I pause, letting the implication sink into his thick skull, and flick my eyes back to his visibly tented boxers. Goodness knows what kind of infections this man-child has going on down there.
Praise to the Goddess of Safe Sex for allowing me to dodge this STI-ridden bullet.
When I’m sure he thinks I’m about to run back into his giant arms—fat chance, dudebro—I drop my hand and descend the stairs, throwing my middle finger up behind me.
“Good luck with your chlamydia, Brock!”
And then I walk my sexy fat behind right out the door, the sound of his frat brothers laughing in my wake.
5
My routine for most Friday evenings includes checking the Friend Finder app before I hit the sack, so I know where Ivy landed for the night.
When Jesse texted me the picture of the douche-canoe she went home with an hour ago, he said she was likely heading to a fraternity on South Campus. When I check the app, though, her icon is moving three blocks away from South Campus frat row. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I immediately start to worry. This is exactly why we have the app. It’s one in the morning. What the fuck is she doing walking in that area at night? Is she with him? Is she okay? Just as I’m about to call her, a text comes through.
Ivy Bean: You awake?
I heave a sigh of relief and dial her number. She picks up immediately.
“Hey, did I wake you?” Her voice is strong, and aside from sounding irritated, I’m sure she’s safe.
“No, I was up. What’s up? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Except it’s a two-hour wait for an Uber and I don’t really want to walk through that creepy Campus Grove.”
Campus Grove is a four-acre stretch of trees and trails and randomly placed picnic pavilions. It’s great during the day, but it’s definitely not safe to walk through at night. A year ago, the campus put safety lights and call boxes along all the trails, but it’s still not somewhere you want to find yourself at one in the morning alone, if you can help it. It’s fucking creepy.
“Yeah, no, don’t do that. Sit tight, I’ll come get you.”
“Thank you, Kelley. I owe you big.”
“Nah, it’s fine. See you soon.”
“Love you!”
“Love you back.”
I hang up, pull on some sweats and a t-shirt, and head out to play the gallant knight in a silver Jeep Wrangler.
Fifteen minutes later, Ivy climbs into the passenger seat of my Wrangler, and I’m immediately assaulted with the nauseating and overpowering smell of men’s body spray. As if I needed one, it serves as a reminder of her activities for the evening.
“Thanks for this, Kell. Seriously, I owe you.” She heaves a sigh and settles back into her seat as I pull a U-turn.
“What cut your night short? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she shrugs. “The guy just ended up being a bigger jerk than I wanted to deal with.”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel.
“What happened? Did he try something? Did he hurt you?” I shoot off a rapid fire of questions, my fury obvious with every word. I will fuck him up.
“No, nothing like that,” Ivy says quickly, placing a calming hand on my forearm. “He just didn’t want to wear a condom.”
I stiffen at the mention of Ivy and condoms and other men, but she’s staring out the front window and doesn’t notice.
“I’m not trying to catch something for twenty minutes of what was sure to be lackluster sex and the hope of a possible orgasm,” she states. “Gosh, I’m exhausted.”
“What time do you have to be in tomorrow?” I ask, happy for the change of topic.
“Nine. At least now I’ll get to sleep in my own sheets.”
“Yeah, at least there’s that,” I whisper. There’s more melancholy in my voice than intended. It’s one thing to hear about Ivy’s Friday nights in abstract from Jesse; it’s something else entirely to be this close to the actual event, and I don’t know how to process it.
The rest of the drive to her apartment is silent.
When I pull my Jeep up to the curb, Ivy unbuckles her seat belt and grabs her small purse thing off the floor.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night, yeah?” she says as she reaches for the door handle. “And don’t forget, you promised to teach me how to drive stick on Sunday night.”
I can’t help but return her smile.
“You know, there’s a joke there...”
“Oh my gosh, Kelley. No. No phallic stick jokes.” I bark out a laugh at her exasperation.
“No worries, Ives. I haven’t forgotten. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ivy leans over th
e center console to give me a hug, and I hold my breath. For some reason, I’m overcome with a deep sense of loss, and I know that even smelling her fruity shampoo mixed with that douchey body spray is likely to push me over the edge. But even with my eyes clamped shut, I feel the unavoidable warmth and crackle of electricity I get every time we touch. I tighten my arms around her because, apparently, I’m a glutton for fucking punishment, and the pain in my chest sharpens.
She lets me hold her, and I feel her fingers twist in my t-shirt, the caress on my back shooting small sparks of heat over my skin. She turns her head slightly, and I feel her breath skirting over my collarbone, feel her loose hair stick a little to the scruff on my jaw. When my heartbeat starts to thunder, I mentally reproach myself for any sneaking hope that this is more than just a hug between friends.
“Thank you,” she whispers, and she’s so close that I can feel her lips moving. I swallow.
“Anytime.”
I turn to press a kiss on her head at the same time Ivy tilts her chin up to kiss my cheek. When her lips land on the corner of my mouth, I can’t breathe, and she breaks away quickly. She says goodbye without making eye contact, and all I can do is nod as she hops out and jogs toward her apartment building. When I finally inhale, my chest burns.
I sit in my Jeep and watch her, waiting for her to get in the door before I drive off, and I’m consumed with a familiar sadness.
She’s unaffected, completely and totally fine, and I’m anything but.
Ivy Rivenbark is my power source. She is my light and my energy and my everything, but she will never be mine.
Not like that.
And as I put my car in drive and head back to my place, I tell myself again that I’m content with my BFF status and platonic Saturday movie nights.
* * *
I’m finishing up dinner for Ivy and me, and the oven timer goes off just as I hear the knob turn on the front door. Right on time.
“Honey! I’m home!” Ivy calls sweetly from the doorway. “Gosh, it smells divine.” Her voice floats into the kitchen, and I can tell just from the cadence that she’s exhausted. Work probably kicked her ass today. I’m sure the moment the clock strikes eleven, she’ll be down for the count. As usual.