The Rules (Moving the Chains)

by Kata Čuić

  “Do you mean what is my favorite type of porn to watch?”

  “No.” He nestles his head into the crook of his arm. “I mean, how do you do it? Your fingers? A vibrator? A dildo?” He rocks his head against his firm, round bicep. “I’d ask about the shower head, but we don’t have removable ones in the dorms. Actually,” he pauses and furrows his brow. “I don’t even know if you live on campus. You’re a junior. Do you have an apartment with an adjustable showerhead?”

  “I do not,” I affirm. “I’m an RA in Honors. I have the same shared bathrooms as you do.”

  He doesn’t prey upon my easy offering of living in the nerd dormitory. His gaze flickers between my eyes as he studies me. “You must have a hard time answering your residents’ questions about sex.”

  “They do not come to me for that sort of advice,” I admit. “They go to the floor where the resident frat mattress lives. She succeeds in preying upon male fantasies of hot librarians where I fail.”

  “You know what you’re doing. You know what you’re about,” he insists. His hand hovers in the air between us, but he thinks better of his intention and drops it to rest on the bed between us. “Why do you hide behind big glasses and layers of clothes in a way that doesn’t work for you?”

  I notice he does not question my use of the colloquial term, frat mattress. To be fair, it is a horrible phrase. I wish I didn’t know it either. He gains another level of respect from me for refusing to acknowledge it.

  We are close to toeing the edges of the hard truths again. If I want to uncover his deepest layers, I have to make mine available. “I am afraid that I will be wrong. That if I perform the ubiquitous glow up, I still will not garner a response.”

  “If you know the term glow up, you know what you have to do,” he affirms. After several moments of obvious hesitation, he laces our hands together. “You’re every man’s wet dream, but you don’t want to admit it. I don’t understand why.”

  “Why are you so willing to give up your precious free time for me?” I am not above turning the tables. If he is going to push me, then I will push him right back. “I know very well it is not because you are charitable nor in need of someone to complete your assignments for you. I want to understand why you are willing to help me without taking anything of real value for yourself.”

  He pulls his hand away. An expression of awareness washes across his face. “Holy shit. I’ve been your subject all this time, haven’t I? You’re fucking using me to get what you want.”

  I haven’t been—not overtly anyway—but this is an interesting turn of events that I simply cannot pass up. My hypothesis garners more support. Alex Fossoway—jock extraordinaire—cannot handle playing outside the rules. He plays to win, not to be beaten at his own game.

  Oh, shit. I do not need this tonight of all nights.

  My mind is playing tricks on me. That’s all this is. I only came up to the kitchen to get Rob a drink, so he’ll chill the fuck out. My timing is shit. Or the best ever. I don’t know yet. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I don’t have time for this.

  I glance at Mike for backup, but he has eyes on Evie, as planned. Rob isn’t here to ask for confirmation that I’m not hallucinating. He’s holed up downstairs in the safer part of the basement with our other teammates. Also, as planned. That area is athletes-only. The rest of the Sig O house is brimming with bodies. Mostly undressed.

  Normally, that’s the way I like it. Looking at what I’m pretty sure I’m seeing? Not liking it as much.

  Smokey makeup framing blacker eyes, no glasses, a set of demon’s lips painted red, and a tank top that doesn’t leave much to the imagination waltz into the kitchen with obviously fake confidence. If that skirt rides up much higher with her stride, I’m going to get a view of what I’ve only dreamed about.

  I’m willing to bet she’s au naturel.

  Evie’s getting a drink at the make-shift bar with our frat president, Shawn. The guy is a snake charmer, but he’s a decent dude. I’ve seen him turn down an easy lay from a woman who was too drunk before. He even made sure she had a way home. Evie will be okay with him for a bit. She’s already learned the hard lessons in life, same as I have. The woman waiting in line for the keg? Not so much.

  Unless the past three months have all been an act for the sake of her experiment. I can’t chance that.

  I push my way through the throng of bodies in the living room to get to Mike.

  “Tag,” I yell into his ear to be heard over the thumping bass. “You’re it. Go keep an eye on Falls for a while. I got this up here.”

  “You sure?” Mike doesn’t look convinced, but it won’t take much. He’s not ready to admit it yet, but he’s done pining over his ex who cheated on him at the beginning of the season. Sadly, knowing he was over her way before they broke up is my ticket to pull the puppet strings.

  Why am I fucking cursed with people who can’t admit the most obvious shit to themselves?

  “If you’d rather find your mark for the night…” I lead.

  As predicted, he looks offended. Because he’s not ready to admit shit to himself. “I’m not here to find my next lay. Don’t make me regret telling you the plan for tonight.”

  The plan for tonight is to trick our dumbass quarterback into training like an elite athlete again. He hasn’t been lifting like he used to ever since Evie was assaulted in high school because he doesn’t want to scare his girlfriend with his big, bad muscles. Naturally, Evie thinks it’s a great idea for her to tempt fate tonight and get herself into trouble, so that Rob will want to work out again if for no other reason than to protect her.

  I think they all need their heads examined, but I’ve never been in love, and I’ve definitely never been sexually assaulted, so who am I to argue?

  “Don’t make me regret letting you be in charge of this stupid plan,” I fire back. “Go downstairs where you can be trusted.” I smile. “No pussy distractions down there.”

  He punches my shoulder.

  I shrug it off.

  He lumbers away with a giant chip on his shoulder.

  Too easy.

  If I had more time, I’d appreciate the fact he obviously trusts me with his adopted sister. That guy’s trust is harder to win than from the woman who has a damn good reason not to give it to anyone.

  I sneak back into the kitchen without Evie noticing I’m here. She’s too busy throwing back a shot of Patron and arguing with Shawn anyway. One of our linemen, Donnell Stewart, lumbers in and laughs at the scene. If I had more time, I would laugh, too. A tiny chick going balls to tits with the captain of the hockey team and the president of the biggest frat on campus? Yeah. That shit would be funny as fuck on any other night.

  I catch Donnell’s gaze.

  He waves like a dork.

  I gesture toward my eyes, then to him, then to Evie.

  He nods. He’ll keep watch for me for a few.

  The situation’s as good as it’s gonna get, so I grab Amira by the elbow just as she’s reaching for a Solo cup on the table.

  She jerks in my grasp then turns her wide, black-rimmed eyes to me.

  Yeah. She hasn’t been lying about being a virgin nerd at all. Maybe. Fuck. I don’t know.

  “Come with me. Don’t you dare fucking argue,” I grit out, so Evie won’t notice me. I drag Amira to the back deck off the kitchen, where at least I can hear myself think.

  She wraps her arms around her body and visibly shivers.

  Shit. It’s probably only thirty degrees out here, and she’s dressed in next to nothing. Only this woman would pile on clothes in the heat of fall, then turn around and wear the equivalent of lingerie out in public when there are snow flurries dancing in the air. There’s a random coat draped over the railing, so I grab it and wrap it around her.

  She tries to push it off. “Eew, gross! Whose coat is this?”

  “Does it matter?” I fume. “You’re cold. It’s a coat. Keep it the fuck on.”

  “I wouldn’t be cold if I was in there, doing wha
t I came here to do.” She points at the door. “Why are you so upset?”

  This woman makes me want to tear my hair out. Swear to God. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You don’t belong here! I do! This is my frat!”

  Even with all the makeup that makes her look like a completely different person, the scrunched confusion on her face is so familiar. “You are a freshman. It is November. There is no possible way this can be your frat yet.”

  “Don’t play stupid with me,” I spit then glance in the window to make sure everything’s under control in there. “You’re a junior. You tutor half the football team. You know damn well this is the athletic frat, and I’m going to get a bid next semester.”

  “Oh.” She covers her mouth with her hand in a totally fake gesture of surprise. “My apologies. Are you concerned that I might ruin your reputation if partygoers notice you speaking with me?”

  I put my hands on my hips to keep myself from strangling her. “You’re the one who wanted to keep our lessons secret. That was one of your rules, not mine.”

  I peer inside again. Jesus. That’s gotta be Evie’s third shot of Patron. She’s gonna be in a fucking coma after even one more. Donnell has no idea she never drank in high school, so he’s just letting her suck them down while he laughs at whatever she’s obviously yelling to Shawn.

  “Who is she?” Amira’s quiet voice pulls me back to her.

  “Who is who?” If she can play stupid, then so can I.

  “She’s part of your rules,” Amira says, her voice full of wonder.

  “She is none of your business,” I grind out as I step to the side when a group of people join us on the deck. Probably to smoke.

  Amira makes way for them, too, pressing her body against mine. She glances at them quickly over her hitched shoulder. Even with the coat, she’s still shaking from the cold.

  Fucking serves her right. Who the hell wears a leather mini-skirt and a lace tank top sans bra to a party in the middle of November?

  Oh, that’s right. A woman who’s looking to get laid. The kind of women I fuck every weekend. Sometimes, on weekdays.

  I don’t have to bend down very far to get in her face. “I don’t have time for games tonight, so tell me the fucking truth right now, or you can kiss your research guinea pig goodbye.”

  She arches an eyebrow. “You are asking me to kiss you? That is against your rules, not mine.”

  The guys on the other side of the deck are watching us with a little too much interest.

  Since I already want to, I wrap my hands around Amira’s throat and lean in until our lips barely brush. It looks like we’re making out. In reality, I’m trying really fucking hard not to squeeze as much as I’d like. “How many dicks have you sucked? Are you a spitter or a swallower? Because good girls drink every last drop.”

  Even though she’s dressed like the perfect prey, her eyes widen, her tan cheeks flush pink, and her mouth forms an O.

  If I had more time, I might actually break my own rules. Her expression is one part innocent schoolgirl—who definitely hasn’t sucked any dicks—and three parts so full of lust I just know she’d get on her knees right now if I asked her to. With my hands wrapped around her throat and her lips close enough to smell her minty breath, I’m tempted. So very, very tempted.

  A loud thud from inside the kitchen stops me cold.

  I glance in to see Shawn on the floor, laughing his ass off. Before Evie pounces on him, Rob appears and hauls her back.

  Just fucking great. The woman I’m supposed to be babysitting assaulted the president of Sig O. Judging by the way Shawn’s curled up in the fetal position, I’m guessing she kneed him in the balls. My best friends—who trusted me to keep an eye on Evie—are never going to trust me again. Rob pretty much has his girlfriend in a vice grip to keep her from inflicting any more damage. Mike helps Shawn to his feet.

  The plan is shot to hell. I dropped the ball.

  And all because of this, this, this…spawn of Satan who’s shivering against me and still gazing up at me like she would be grateful to choke down every last drop of my cum.

  “You owe that woman in there a massive thank you,” I whisper, tightening my fingers a little. “You cost me something very important tonight, but because of her? I’m still going to help you.”

  Amira swallows. The movement ripples against my hands still circled around her neck. “Maybe I don’t need your help as much as I’ve led you to believe.”

  “Bullshit. I think you do, and I also think you’re just fucking terrified to admit it and give in.” I lick her lips. Just the tip of my tongue to her soft, warm skin.

  She shudders. Her eyes have never looked so black.

  I’m good, but I’m not that good. It’s freezing out here, and Amira doesn’t make a habit of showing weakness. She wants the D. It’s not because she’s particularly attracted to me. It’s because she’s hungry for it from anyone who will give her the time of day. That’s why—no matter how much I want to—I can’t walk away.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen.” I tap her pulse point with my thumb to get her attention. “I’m going to order you an Uber back to campus, and you’re going to take it. You’re going to give me a week to calm down and to make shit right with my friends. If you’re a good girl and don’t pull any more stupid stunts before then, I’ll help you learn how to get what you want without looking and acting like a desperate frat mattress. Nod once if you understand—but so help me God—if you say even a single word to me right now, you’re on your own.”

  She licks her lips and blinks but doesn’t nod. She’s thinking about arguing. I know she is.

  I have no idea why she decides to back down tonight, but I’m grateful for it.

  She nods once.

  A week was not long enough. I have never seen him this angry.

  Not even after the football team suffered horrible losses at the beginning of the season. While the rest of the players I tutor were in foul moods for a few weeks, Alex was calm and level-headed. He did not talk about football during our hours together, and I did not ask.

  If I want to find out what makes him so different from the other athletes I’ve ever known, then I’ll have to play the game by his rules.

  He will absolutely abandon me if I break them again. This much, I have learned.

  We’ve been in his dorm room for nearly fifteen minutes. He continues to pace back and forth in front of the door with his hands clasped together on top of his head. He glances my way occasionally, but it’s more to glare at me than anything else.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  He rushes me so quickly that I snap my mouth closed. My apology has absolutely infuriated him for some inexplicable reason.

  He holds a single finger in the air, his eyes wild and a little crazy. “Never apologize.”

  Oh, how quaint. Just when I thought he might be exempt from the culture of toxic masculinity that seems to pervade athletics to its core. I should not be surprised this is another one of his rules.

  I roll my eyes. “It is not a sign of weakness to admit when one is wrong.”

  “It’s a sign of weakness to act like you’re weak,” he spits.

  “Let me finish.” I tilt my head to the side and hold my ground though his invasion of my personal space makes me want to retreat to a safer distance. “I am thankful you are giving your free time up for me, but I do not have much time this afternoon. Either admit you no longer want to do this—and kick me out—or get on with it. I have a tutoring session in forty-five minutes with one of your teammates.”

  His right eye twitches.

  I do not understand why. I am playing hard to get as he advised.

  He stares at me so long that I have no choice but to assume he would rather abandon this act of charity.

  “Fine.” I retrieve my messenger bag from the floor and hoist it over my shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow at our regularly scheduled time for tutoring.”

  He slaps his palm against the door i
n front of my face with enough force to make me jump and squeak like a frightened little mouse.

  I am absolutely acting weak right now. I feel weak. Because I already know I won’t back down from whatever he demands.

  He slides his gaze to me. His eyes are so cold and distant, they make me shiver. His whisper is a harsh, gravelly rasp against my exposed skin. He speaks very slowly, “Take your clothes off.”

  My bag hits the floor with a resonating thump. With shaking hands, I unwind my scarf then peel off my coat. I step out of my boots and walk away from the door. His gaze tracks my every move.

  First my cardigan, then my leggings. The order of my removal seems random. He doesn’t comment on it. Slowly—unsure how he’ll react—I undo each of the buttons of my blouse, starting with the bottom. To me, this is a small act of rebellion. It is nonsensical and illogical.

  “That’s good. That’s right.” He nods, his voice a different man than before. “Do it slowly. Don’t rush. You set the pace. Don’t let him.”

  “What if I want to rush?” My question is genuine, which seems to please him.

  His answer retains that gentle tone. “You’ll concede too much power if you give in to that need. Make him give you what you want. For your first few times, you’re not gonna want him to ravish you without any control. You can build up to that.”

  “The myth about a woman’s first time being painful is just that,” I insist as I peel off my socks one by one. “A myth.”

  He tips his head side to side. “Not always.”

  “Have you ever hurt a woman you were with?” I bite my tongue as soon as the words leave my mouth.

  To my surprise, he admits, “Once.”

  “Because you ravished her without any control?” I grin to soothe the sting of my words.

  He raises his eyebrows. “Because I didn’t know she was a virgin, and she didn’t know what she needed and wanted.” He circles a single finger at me lazily. “All of it.”

  I glance down at my bra and panties. Thankfully, it is not that time of the month, so I’m not wearing anything too incriminating. Still, my plain white cotton must seem dreary instead of sexy.