[The Social Experiment 01.0] The Social Experiment

by Addison Moore

  “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.

  Damn. After spending the sum total of twenty minutes locked in a glorified closet with my lips melded to his, an hour scaling down a windy cliff side, not once did my hands have a meet and greet with that rock solid ass.

  “Smooth.” I yank her back. “How about you two?” I stare down the remaining contenders, and they both offer up a rather guilty string of giggles. “Great! Well—my work here is done.” I thread my arm through Rowen’s as we descend farther into the bowels of the social experiment’s lab rat offerings. “Boy, I knew you got around, but really? I mean, what are the odds?” A thought comes to me, and I gasp as I cast a glance around the room. “Oh my God, you’ve slept with them all!”

  A dark laugh comes from deep within him, and my body vibrates right along with his. It feels good like this with Rowen, and then it hits me. We’re holding onto one another like lost children in a room full of Rowen worshipers armed with cell phones. And just as quick as that good time starts, it ends as I take back my arm. Rowen gives a slight nod as if he understands, but those wide eyes are telling me something else.

  “First victim.” He glares over at a boy with an unfortunate sense of style. High water pants that are cinched tight around his upper torso, thick-framed glasses, green long-sleeved Polo with the collar popped—and he’s surprisingly not bad on the eyes. Think hot Steve Urkel.

  “Let’s get ’er done,” I say as we charge on over.

  Rowen is quick to introduce himself to Meyer, per his nametag, and I’m stunned for a moment.

  “Oh, wow, I’m a Meyer, too!” I offer him a friendly shake of the hand, and his smile expands, revealing two pin sharp dimples. He is pretty handsome in an insane, psychotic bowtie wearing killer kind of a way. “Hey, if we got married, I’d still be Sophie Meyer!” I’m oddly super excited about this surname development. “I’ve secretly always loved my initials. There’s something nice about the rhythm when they’re written out in cursive. I always did think an M would look great on pillows and monogrammed towels. Not to mention the naughty implications of S and M.” I give a devilish wink. There is something thrilling about overtly flirting with another boy in the presence of my crush.

  “Meyer is actually my first name.” His cute dimples vanish as he cuts a mean look just past us. “I think I see someone I know.” And just like that, my first prospect of the evening has done a disappearing act.

  “Hey!” I give a quick wave in his direction, but it’s too late. He’s off to the races, buried in a crowd of thousands all looking for a set of dimples to call their own.

  “Geez, Meyer.” Rowen busts a gut laughing at me. “Lay off the wedding vows, would you? You sent the poor guy running for the hills. He practically shit his pants when you started in with the monogrammed towels. And S and M? It’s a little too soon to start with the whips and chains.”

  “You would know.”

  The next boys are just that, baby-faced Biebers who look all of thirteen.

  I pull Rowen to the side as I quickly dismiss my diaper dwelling suitors. “Quite frankly, I’m insulted you don’t think I can handle a real man.” I land my fists into my hips, and he snickers at the sight.

  “You’re a kid.” He winks because he knows for a fact I have always hated that disparaging remark. “You’ll probably marry one of those twerps.”

  “Will not.” I stomp on his foot and he frowns, shaking his head as if I’ve just proven his point. “I’m not a kid, Rowen. But if I was a juvenile delinquent, I’d do a lot more of that, so now that you’ve pegged me as one, you’d better watch your back and your feet.” We fold our arms across our respective chests and pan the room for my prospective Mister Right. “Look for someone hairy and scary and full of muscles. I like ’em big. Size matters, you know.”

  “You got it.” A maniacal smile sweeps across his devious face, and before I know it, he bum-rushes me across the room to meet the human mop head with a body built like Jabba the Hut. Surprisingly, Guy—yes, his generic name stumped me, too—is shockingly nice, and we both love manga so already we have a lot in common. We’re just about to exchange our seven digits when Rowen puts the kibosh on that good time and says he sees someone leaving that I need to meet right fucking now. His salty vocabulary, not mine.

  Ro picks up my hand and away we go. “What are you doing giving that guy your number?” Rowen practically has me flying behind him like a kite as he sails us across the room. I take my hand back in the event technology slaps me in the face by way of a friendly pictorial of the two of us. I’m thanking God that Rowen has an in with Dexter Houston himself and that our lovely albeit wasted footage will never see the light of day. But, nevertheless, I feel like I’m playing with fire just being near him in such a public place. Braden would die if he knew. Correction, he will kill both Rowen and me, and then he will fall on the sword just to rid himself of the memory.

  “That guy was kind of cool,” I purr into his ear just to watch his lips purse from side to side.

  “That guy eats girls like you for breakfast.”

  “Even better! My new friend, Ember, says that guys who are into oral are worth their weight in cunnilingus gold.”

  “What?” He stops short. Rowen looks as if he’s about to have a heart attack and a panic attack all rolled into one. “Seriously, Soph? You need new friends, and no, I was not alluding to that. That’s fucking disgusting.”

  I gasp because I fear my fantasy run with Rowen as my new secret boyfriend is over. “You don’t partake in the feast of the gods?” Really? That’s the best I could do? Honestly, though, every other euphemism was far too crude to ever leave my lips—at least in front of Rowen.

  Feast of the gods? he mouths the words. Rowen looks both angry and ready to pass out. “Soph.” That dark laugh bubbles from his chest as his fingers caress my cheek, but it’s those smoldering eyes, those low hanging lids that have me. It’s as if he’s already plotting his lingual plan of attack. Or at least I’d like to think so. “How about we let some things in our relationship remain a mystery?”

  Our relationship? The worst thing you can do to a girl is invoke the R word. Especially if said girl is more than quasi-interested in having the R word with the one who invoked it. Oh hell, I can’t have a real relationship with
Rowen. Braden would die. Christmas would be awkward because at that point Rowen would have banged both Becca and me—different years, of course. But then, if tonight’s coital demographics are any indication, it’s clear Rowen will be hard-pressed to marry a girl without friends or relations that he hasn’t bedded—and perhaps even ate for breakfast.

  “I’m good with mystery. For now.” I give a quick glance to my nonexistent watch. “One more frat boy for me, and we have less than five minutes to complete the mission.”

  He groans as he stares off into a thicket of beefed-up dudes. “Dan and Tim Locke, my buddies from the team.”

  “I get a twofer? Wow, you must really be eager to get rid of me.” I buzz alongside him as we approach the bicep brigade.

  “What’s up?” Rowen does a quick round of intros, but it’s the two blond boys in the corner he shows me off to as if I were the door prize for the evening. “Sophie is pretty nice if you like quick-witted sound bites, sharp enough to chomp your balls off. She also plans on marrying young and filling her home with monogrammed hand towels.” He turns to me as my mortification and shockingly my hatred for him grows. I’m stunned he didn’t mention the feast of the gods. “And if you like eating breakfast, you’re in luck!” I slap him hard over the chest and spear him with a threatening look, but Rowen openly laughs at my efforts. “Sophie here has a sweet treat you won’t be able to resist.”

  “Like what?” One of the blond twins seems both hungry and interested.

  “Pancakes,” both Rowen and I say in unison.

  Pancakes my ass. I glower at him. And, technically yes, the pancakes would be my—oh, never mind.

  Now it’s my turn to do the scowling correction. I glare up at Rowen for debasing me this way in front of his friends. “I am pretty nice.” I offer a candy-coated smile that lets Ro know his balls are coming off later this evening. “And I probably will marry young, once I find someone that likes pancakes as much as I do.”

  Rowen’s chest bucks once with a dry laugh, no smile. I can tell by his eyes he’s both amused and pissed. “And on that note, we need to run. It’s game over.”

  Rowen navigates us to the north exit just as Seth instructed, and we spot both him and Petra laughing it up, staring into their phones as if getting high off all the non-data they get to input.

  “You made it!” Seth is seemingly thrilled to see us. “How did it go? Did you learn anything new about one another?”

  “Yes!” I hop with feigned excitement. “I discovered there’s not a square inch on campus that hides a coed Rowen hasn’t shown his most prized bodily possession to.”

  Ro pumps a crooked grin. “And I learned that Sophie here is eager to have someone share her box lunch at the Y.”

  What? It takes less than a second to compute the dirty details. Oh my shit. I suddenly want to smack the shit out of Rowen and laugh.

  Petra raises a finger. “That’s so wonderful! We have a YMCA right down the road. I’m sure they would appreciate all the box lunches you can offer.”

  I scowl at Rowen for confusing the poor girl just as Seth’s eyes round out with the raunchy epiphany. Great. Now both Rowen and Seth think I’m a freak. I make a mental note to punch Ember later—or thank her. I guess it depends on how this night ends.

  “What’s next?” Rowen slaps the back of his neck like he is killing a fly, and my insides fill with dread at the thought he might want to usher this funfest along.

  “You’re next.” Petra looks to the two of us. “You both have the choice of moving forward with one of the prospects you met this evening or having a private one-on-one together in the dream suite we have for you upstairs.”

  Dream suite? I know for a fact the entire third floor of this building has been transformed into a studio. I can hardly bring myself to look at Rowen.

  “Don’t answer.” Seth shakes his head. “You have some time to consider it. You’ll go your separate ways, and if you both decide to meet up in the dream suite, you may proceed to the following week. If not, your journey ends here, and you’ll begin a new journey with one of the suitors your partner chose for you.”

  “Very clever.” I shoot a dirty look to Rowen for introducing me to the pervs of the room. And here I gave him tickets to the Becca lookalikes and what will probably turn out to be an orgy in the making.

  Petra shuttles him in the opposite direction while Seth leads me to the other end of the patio, but Rowen and I can’t seem to break our gaze, each stubbornly determined to be the last to catch a glimpse of what could have been—what could still be.

  Of course, I choose the dream suite. These entire three weeks have been a dream. Granted this week involved no lingual action—thus far, I really am a glass is half-full person. Seth leads me up the service elevator and through the backbones of the building until we hit a white door labeled private.

  “Your mic is hot, so if you need to go to the restroom you might want to remove it. But if it’s dead more than ten minutes, we’ll storm the room.” He shrugs as if it didn’t really matter.

  “Hey, you’re not listening to this stuff as it goes down, are you?” I swallow hard, sensing my sarcasm inverting in its shell like the head of a turtle.

  “Nope. You’re good to go. The control room reviews the tapes. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. They’re pretty inundated with hundreds of hours of video to chew through. It’s go time as far as the network is concerned, and it has everyone here in a tizzy.”

  “I like the sound of that.” Especially knowing that I’m exempt from the airtime on any leading cable network. Who knew Dexter’s little social experiment would lead to some much-needed alone time with my favorite quarterback? That is, if he shows.

  “Go on in and explore, if he’s not already in there. If he decides not to show, I’ll be in as soon as I get word. But he’ll show.” Seth makes a face as if to say Rowen would be insane not to. “Half the couples have already switched partners or ditched them altogether. You two are solid. I can feel it.”

  “So, what’s the objective?” I give a nod to the door, creating a thin barrier between all of my dirty dreams and me.

  “You have an hour. It’s a Q and A session. Ask whatever you like. Heck, make a game out of it if you like. The objective is to get to know one another on an interpersonal level. If there’s something you’d rather not discuss, simply pass. If either of you chooses to pass, then it’s a no-go zone. Move on to the next topic. You’re doing great, kid. Only a few more weeks to go.”

  I lean in as he postures to leave. “So, what comes next?”

  Seth shakes his head. His brows waggle like a pair of dark worms. “All good things. All good things.”

  My mind spins with all the good possibilities, and I open the door and step inside.

  At first glance, the dream suite takes my breath away. A rather large, dim room glows with the flicker of candlelight as music plays softly in the background. A giant swing the size of a queen bed sits in the center of the room. It’s more of a circular floating cushion, and I climb onboard as the entire apparatus moves swiftly back and forth—think cheap ride at an amusement park. Hey? Rowen is sort of an amusement park ride himself. I’m sensing a theme here. Maybe this is the sexual experimentation phase of this social catastrophe. I bet if I snoop around long enough I’ll find a box full of condoms and an oversized bottle of lube.

  It would be just like me to lose my virginity with a hot mic strapped to my back and the loose prospect of my brother witnessing the event. I bet the boys in the control room would get a carnal kick out of that. Come to think of it, I bet this entire room is laced with cameras just begging for a sneak peek at the international house of pancakes I have stashed in my knickers.

  I fall back onto my elbows and give a sweep of my middle finger to all corners of the room, and just like that, Rowen walks in.

  “Nice to see you, too, Soph.”

  Soph. I love it when he shortens my name that way. He once had a far more colorful nickname for me, and I’m tha
nkful to God he doesn’t seem to remember it.

  “A floating bed? Candles? Your legs parted at the knees?” Rowen teases as he climbs onboard and we take a ride through time and space. “Is Jabba coming up for dessert?”

  “Shut up.” I give his leg a slight kick with my heel. “Wouldn’t you like to watch. Maybe he can give you some pointers? I’m pretty sure your oral skills aren’t really all that much of a mystery. I saw the way those quadruplets were drooling when your tongue made its lip licking debut.”

  Rowen makes a backrest out of the mounds of pillows around us and scoots in until I’m practically lying in his arms. It’s not nearly as romantic as it sounds. It’s more of a gravitational pull issue than anything laced with romantic implications.

  Rowen strokes his fingers through my hair, and just like that, we’ve graduated to romantic implications. “I didn’t like seeing those guys ogling you tonight,” he whispers the words hot over the top of my head and I look up at him as my skin catches fire. “You look great by the way. You sure you couldn’t get that dress any shorter or tighter?”

  “I tried, but my boobs and butt kept falling out. I’ll do better next time. My nipples were dying for a sneak peek at tonight’s big shindig.”

  Nipples? Dies. I can’t believe I’ve just worked my nipples into a casual conversation with Rowen Garret. But really, I don’t see what the big deal is. We’ve already crested the feast of the gods.

  “Cool.” He gives my thigh a light tap before his eyes bug out, and he backs up an inch as if we’ve just committed some lewd incestuous act. God, I sincerely hope Rowen doesn’t see me as some knock-off little sister. He has Mindy for that.

  “First question”—Rowen wraps his arm around me because I guess he’s totally cool with touching me from the torso up—“why couldn’t you and Mindy see past all that bullshit?”

  “Wow?” I twist in his arms to get a better look at him. The dim light transforms his already cutting features into something demonically sexy. “What about the rules? That was our personal Fight Club, remember?”