by Brill Harper
A guy wearing a football jersey bumps Fletch on the shoulder. “Hey, man.”
Shane and Fletch both give him their version of ‘sup, and then he looks down at me.
“Hey.”
I smile, hoping it’s not one of my super awkward smiles like...well, every single school picture hanging on my parents’ wall. “Hi. I’m the roommate girl.”
The roommate girl? What is even wrong with me? Shane snorts a laugh and Fletch introduces me as Penelope and the boy to me as Jones. Whether that’s his first or last name, I don’t know.
They talk about sportsing. I tune out. There are a couple girls looking over at us and talking, and that’s when Shane pats my ass. I get to see their reaction, and I really am living in a high school movie right now. The fact that I’m completely new on everyone’s radar and yet am nonchalantly hanging out with three jocks, one of whom is casually making passes, makes me someone to watch.
Jones didn’t notice the ass pat or doesn’t care. “Need another drink, Penelope?” He’s about the same size as my roommates, except for his neck, which is not quite proportionate if I’m saying it kindly. But he has a nice face and might be a potential—
“We got her drinks, man,” Fletch says, like it’s some kind of personal affront to his manhood. Or maybe he doesn’t trust Jones. Jones doesn’t look like the kind of guy who roofies a girl’s drink, but then, I guess nobody does look like that. Or we’d all know and stay away from him.
“Sure, why don’t you go get one while I dance with her?” Jones suggests.
He doesn’t actually ask me, which is a strike against him, and Shane uses his body to wedge between us. “Do you want to dance with Jones, little bit?”
I know this is probably not scientifically a thing, but the testosterone in the air around the three of them is heavy enough to be felt physically. “Um. Yeah. Sure.” Shane steps back and Jones takes my hand.
Shit. I forgot I don’t know how to dance.
We get to the dance area, and I sort of mimic what the other girls are doing unless they look like they are literally doing their dance partner right there on the dance floor. Jones puts one hand on my hip, but he doesn’t grind on me or pull me to him like Shane did. Which is good. I’m not quite ready for that with a stranger. I’m surprised I was ready for it with Shane, to be honest.
“You want to go someplace quieter?” he asks me after the dance and we’ve moved off to the side.
My gut reaction is no. But then again, since no is my first response, maybe I should try for something different if I want different results. I can’t use any of my newly acquired kissing skills on anyone if I never say yes.
“Or maybe we can grab a coffee Monday?” he offers, obviously watching my response.
Wow. So it appears that he likes me enough to engage in caffeine and conversation. This is huge for me. He hands me his phone to add my contact information.
I try not to act like I’ve just been crowned Miss America but getting a guy to want my phone number is pretty momentous. Especially since my talent is chemistry equations and the bathing suit competition would really not make me a shoe-in for the tiara.
Jones gets called to the beer pong table, so I end up back with Fletch and Shane. Shane gives me a discreet fist bump.
Fletch gestures to the door where a group of about six girls just came in. “Time to go,” he says.
“Really? Why?”
Fletch is finishing his beer, so Shane answers. “Looks like high schoolers. Never stay at a party when the locals show up.”
Fletch nods. “It’s always trouble.”
Judging from the pack of wolves descending on the girls, I guess some guys like trouble.
“Shit. Coach’s daughter is in that mix.”
As we get closer to the door, the girl I’m assuming is Coach’s daughter steps in Fletch’s path. “Hey, Fletch.”
“Hi, Aylie. Your dad know where you are?”
“It’s my birthday. I’m totally legal now.”
“Not legal to drink.”
I don’t mention that I’m not legal to drink yet either.
She gets up in his space, and I watch her moves very carefully. She’s got game for sure. And she’s after Fletch. “Do I get a birthday hug, Fletch?”
“Aylie, have you met my girlfriend?” He thrusts me into the not-enough-space between them. “This is Penelope.”
She’s got about five inches on me, and she makes the most of them as she looks down, taking me in from head to toe. “Really?”
I’m not even offended. I’m just as surprised as she is. “Um, hi?” I manage to eke out.
“We’re just leaving,” Fletch says as he wraps his arm around me.
As we get closer to the door, I hear someone telling her friend. “Oh, my God. Shane totally had his hand on her ass earlier. Do you think Fletch knows?”
Chapter Seven
LIFE CARRIES ON LIKE normal for a few days. The coffee date with Jones had to be pushed back until next week. Between my insane class schedule and his practice and games and travel schedule, we’ll be lucky to meet before break. Also, I had to explain why there was a rumor that I was sleeping with both the guys and were they going to fight him if he took me out. I assured him it was a misunderstanding. That we were all three just friends.
He doesn’t need to know what the three of us are in my dirty, dirty imagination.
I retire to my room one night, not able to watch my roommates play one more minute of shooter games. Gah. They are insanely addicted to killing each other. About an hour later, I meander back out to grab my calc book and stop, completely mesmerized by the porno the guys are watching.
The blonde on the screen is the object of affection to at least four men. Once again, I wonder why the men in gay porn are so much more attractive than the men in straight porn. Because. Yeah. These guys are not hot. The woman looks a little bored, actually, despite all the action.
I approach the back of the couch quietly and lean down. “This a new video game, guys?”
“Shit!” and “Fuck!” are yelled at the same time. Fletch is fumbling with the remote, turning the volume up instead of hitting the power button, and the moans get super loud until he gets the TV off. Shane and I are laughing hysterically, and Fletch is uber upset, which makes it all the funnier.
I round the couch and sit between them. “Oh, my God. The look on your face, Fletch.”
He’s red and starting to get pissed, draining his beer. “Shut it.”
“So, you guys watch porn together a lot? How come I never get invited to movie night?”
I suppose a few weeks ago, I’d have been mortified and probably would have slunk away unnoticed. But I’m more comfortable with them now. And, well, porn is something I’m somewhat of an expert on anyway.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Pen.”
“Jesus, Fletch. Are you her grandma or something?” Shane shakes his head. “I’m sure little sister has seen fuck flicks before. She’s a virgin, not Amish.”
“It’s excellent research material,” I answer, noticing that they both halt their beers halfway to drinking.
Should I not have said that? Am I being awkward? Maybe they don’t think girls should watch porn or would want to. Maybe most don’t. Maybe I’m a weirdo. Maybe—
“That’s the hottest thing ever,” Shane says, saving me from delving too much further into my cave of shame. “What do you like to watch?”
I pull my legs up so I’m sitting cross-legged and push my glasses up my higher on my nose. “I’m fascinated by all of it really. The men are better looking in the gay movies, but I occasionally like the lesbians too. Except for toys. I don’t think I like toys. The fetish stuff is a little too adventurous for me also.” I realize I’m being very clinical, which is how I’ve approached my porn habit from the start. “But mostly I just watch for the penises.”
Shane starts laughing and Fletch drinks his beer fast. “Gonna get some more beers.”
“I�
��m making this weird, aren’t I? That’s why he left the room.”
“Velma, it’s super-hot to hear you talk about penises. Fletch doesn’t like to think of you and super-hot in the same sentence. I don’t mind, though. Tell me more about your thoughts on dick.” I love how open he is. I could learn a lot from him about relaxing. “And do that thing with your glasses again while you talk. I love that.”
“This?” I push my glasses up, though they slide right back down because my forehead is frowning so hard. “Why do you like that?”
“It’s like this nuclear combo of you being nerdy but also thinking about cock. It’s hella hot.”
I shrug. “Well, as you know I have no firsthand experience with penis.”
“Cock,” he interrupts. “Cock or dick. I want to hear you say cock or dick.”
“Penis is wrong?”
“Penis is clinical. Cock sounds hungry.”
“Okay, I have not had experience with cock.” Huh. He’s right. I blush. “So I study images.”
“When you study, Velma, you really study, right?”
“Well, yes. I tend to pay attention to detail. I like to research thoroughly. Is this turning you on?”
He chuckles. “Fuck, yes.”
Fletch comes in and hands us both a beer. “Sorry I got weird. I’m still trying to figure out that you’re not my kid sister’s friend. And, well, it’s awkward sometimes.”
“I get it.” I reach for the remote. “I want to see what you guys picked out.”
Fletch takes it from me. “That’s a big no. It’s not because I’m trying to keep you innocent. It’s just a guy thing.”
“A broment, if you will,” Shane adds.
“Shut up, Shane.” To me, Fletch says, “It’s not reflective of—”
“Reflective?”
“Shut up, Shane.”
I try again for the remote. “Fletch, I promise I won’t be offended by your porn.”
“No.”
Shane takes pity on Fletch. “What he’s trying not to say is that we jerk off, and that is not an activity we wish you to witness.”
I feel all the blood rush away from my face and then tsunami back into it. “Oh. Ohh.”
“Fuck, Shane.”
“What? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“You guys masturbate...together?”
“Well, not each other. But, yeah. I mean, we didn’t have a lot of privacy in our first dorm room. You either pretend you don’t know what the other guy is doing, or you just acknowledge that you both need to clean your rifles on occasion. And then by the time we got this place, well, it’s a shame to waste 72-inch money shots. The big screen TV in here is way better than a laptop screen. We’re cool enough with our bro-ness to jerk it in the same room.”
“Fuck, Shane. Shut up.”
I’m trying to imagine and then trying to unimagine it because it’s too hot for my little brain.
“Turn the movie on, Fletch.”
“No.”
“Please?” I squeak. “I...I’ve never seen...I’d like to...” I don’t dare ask if they will masturbate in front of me. But that would be excellent to see real cocks in person.
“No.”
“We’re not going to touch her, Fletch. Just put the movie on.”
I don’t think he will. His face is hard, his jaw squared. And then he looks at me. Right into my eyes. There’s something hard and unyielding there, too. But it isn’t about the movie. I don’t know what it’s about, but my breath catches and without taking his eyes off mine, he turns the television back on. The movie resumes and we all three sit like stone statues watching the screen as if it’s the most fascinating thing ever. At one point, we all bring our beer up at the same time like synchronized swimmers and we crack up, lessening the tension.
Fletch relaxes more, but out of the corner of my eye, it’s Shane who is absently rubbing the front of his shorts, the bulge growing. I try to keep my eyes on the movie but keep sneaking peeks at Shane's stiffening cock. It’s a huge tent. I’m a little scared of what might actually be in there. After a few peeks, he catches me. I glance away, embarrassed, but when I look back he is still watching for my reaction.
I try to act brave.
He raises one brow. Then his eyes get kind of hooded and he licks his lips. “I’m going to take it out now. You okay with that, little bit?”
IS HE REALLY GOING to take it out in front of Penelope? How far are these three going to go in the name of research? Are there any boundaries they won’t cross? Any taboos they won’t explore? Find out in the next episode of Trois.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GBK6BKT
About the Author
BRILL HARPER IS A PSEUDONYM. Like...a secret identity. By day she’s Clark Kent, writing romance books for young adults and grownups. By night, she’s Brill Harper writing unfailingly filthy yet super sweet books that would make her alter ego blush.
Brill like Alpha heroes with an ooey-gooey when they fall in love. She calls them Alphamallows.
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