Except I was laughing too, because it was goddamn absurd. This shit only happened to me. And I couldn’t even be pissed, because I didn’t care about the clothes. Watching Bianca nearly collapsing as she blinked through tears of laughter was worth the dick shrinkage.
I threw up my hands. “Cool. Cool. I’ll just, you know, mosey on home past the damn town elementary school near midnight. No one will think I’m a registered sex offender or anything.”
She began to laugh harder, crouched in a ball on the floor, wet hair soaking her jacket. I sighed, grabbing a towel from the bin in the corner and wrapping it around my waist. It covered my ass and about five inches of thigh. I threw my book bag over my shoulder as Bianca finally managed to get control of herself. At least the guy hadn’t noticed my sneakers, which I’d kicked into a corner. I slipped my feet into them, not bothering with the laces.
She reached for me, pulling on my bicep. “Come on, let’s go find a way to get out of here and I’ll drive you home. I parked at the field house lot.”
“Thank fuck for small miracles,” I muttered, which sent her off into more peals of laughter.
Five minutes later, I walked into my townhouse, wearing nothing but my book bag, sneakers, a borrowed towel and wet boxers. Dre was on the couch, motionless with a water bottle halfway to his mouth as his eyes tracked me crossing the living room. “What the—”
I threw up a hand. “Don’t ask.”
“You’re wearing a towel.”
“Great job, detective.”
“Saint, what the—”
“Pretend you didn’t see me.” I made a woo woo sound and fluttered my fingers. “This is all a dreaammmm, Dre Walker. Just a dreammmm. Go back to sleep.”
He stared at me before snorting. “You’re a fucking whack job.” Leaning back on the couch, he lifted the water bottle to his lips and chugged the rest of it. I escaped, taking the stairs two at a time and throwing my door shut. I leaned against it, finally releasing a breath that I swore I’d been holding for the last hour.
Then I slid down to the floor until my ass hit it. Even as all the consequences of what I’d done ran through my head, I couldn’t tell myself I regretted a damn thing. Remembering her lips on mine. I grinned and let my head fall back on the door. I closed my eyes, and that was the only way I could pretend she was still there, pressed against me, her hot breaths on my skin. I got hard all over again.
Five
Sweet Kiss of Victory
I was no stranger to jerking off. It was in my top three favorite things to do. Maybe top two.
But never, in all my life since I was a preteen with a boner, did I picture a face when I wrapped my fingers around my dick. I was a simple guy. I only had to think about tits and nips and ass and pussy and after some rough strokes on my dick I was done. Sometimes I drew it out by pulling on my balls or squeezing the head of my cock, but the images were always hot bodies.
Never a face. Even when I was an out-of-my-mind horny sixteen-year-old with a pretty girlfriend, I never pictured her face when I jacked it.
Until I met Bianca.
Now it was just her.
I stood in the shower, water now lukewarm because our water heater was the size of my pinkie, with one hand on my hard-to-the-point-of-painful cock and the other braced on the tile wall. Bianca’s smile, the feel of her tight heat around my fingers, the flush of ecstasy on her face when she came because of me.
In my fantasy, I moved over her, under her, in her, all fucking over her. I could smell her on my skin, feel her tighten around me as her back arched, and…
My orgasm snuck up on me like a goddamn ninja and my knees nearly gave out as I shot my load on the tile in front of me. I bit my tongue so I didn’t make a sound, unsure who was home, but I needed the teasing like I needed a hole in the head. Especially when Bianca’s name was on the tip of my tongue.
Wrung out, I let my head fall forward to rest on the back of my hand. Shit. This was out of control what I felt for her. It wasn’t all attraction either—I’d met plenty of hot girls—it was something else about her. Sure I wanted to see her naked, but I also wanted to just plain see her. To hang out with her. Go on a real date.
And then, like a divine sign that that would never fucking happen, the water turned freezing. With a yelp, I slammed the water off and stepped out. I ran my towel over my head, wiping away the shower steam from the mirror in our tiny bathroom. For real, it was miniscule. In order to shit, I had to man spread like crazy or my knees hit the wall. I wasn’t sure how the hell Dre sat his tall-ass down on the toilet, but I also didn’t want to think about his bowel movements.
My face stared back at me, flushed from that ninja orgasm, with a side of guilt because I’d been thinking about her. Christ, I was losing my mind.
I made quick work brushing my teeth and then pulled on a pair of boxers before heading to my room. I dug around for a pair of sweatpants and then stretched out on my bed, taking a moment to close my eyes. Practice had been grueling. Coach had been in a mood, which meant he was full on hateful. Learning a new formation was tough on a good day, and with the state Coach was in, I hadn’t been able to do anything right. My body ached in a million places, and I was hungry as hell. I just didn’t have the energy to rouse my bag of bones up and go find some food. I needed a maid. The only good thing—it was Friday, so no class for two days.
Someone knocked downstairs, and I ignored it, knowing Zac was down there rummaging for food. I picked up my phone, scrolling through texts. I’d seen Bianca on Tuesday and Thursday in class, but we hadn’t gotten a chance to talk. She’d arrived late and left early, although she’d smiled at me and waved. Her only text to me was this morning, and it was just a selfie of her in front of the field house with a wink emoji. Of course, I’d stared at the picture longer than was healthy.
The knock came again and the door opened. I rolled over, thinking I could grab a nap before dinner when a female voice filtered upstairs.
Bianca? I sat upright just as footsteps thundered up the stairs. “Lavin!” she called out, and I scrambled off the bed, falling on my ass before hauling myself to my feet. Zac let her upstairs? I glanced around my room desperately before shoving some dirty boxers and socks under my bed and checking to make sure my sheets didn’t smell like jizz since the shower wasn’t the only place I jerked off thinking of her face. Fuck my life.
And then she was there, in my bedroom, filling the space with her presence which was five times the size she was. And she didn’t keep her eyes to herself. Not at all. She walked around like she owned the place, touching things, even sniffing.
I tried to play it cool, like I hadn’t just came all over my shower thinking of fucking her. “Looking for something?”
Then her eyes landed on my bare chest, and her cheeks flushed. “Hey you.”
“Hey.”
“How was practice?”
I shrugged. “It was whatever.”
She eyed me. “What does that mean?”
“Do you really want to hear the nitty gritty details of practice?”
She cocked her head and folded her arms over her chest. She wore another pair of tight jeans with strategically placed holes, a different pair of flat Converse—these were red—and a tight black T-shirt. “Why would I ask if I didn’t want to hear about it?”
I scrunched my lips to the side. She had a point. “Well, uh, okay. So Coach has me playing a false nine now.” I glanced at her to gauge if she knew what I was talking about.
She nodded. “I know the sport. Keep going.”
“Right, so it’s new for me is all. It might seem like not a big change, but it’s a different mindset. We’re all adjusting to the new formation.”
“Do you like it?”
“Not right now because I’m not comfortable.”
She nodded. “That makes sense. But I’m sure you’ll get there.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I could suck. You don’t know.”
She lifted her
brows. “Oh, I don’t? I’ve watched my uncle’s tapes sometimes. I’ve watched you play plenty, Saint. You’ll get there.”
She spoke with such conviction that I didn’t dare argue. “I give it my all every practice, so I hope so.”
Grinning, she said. “I know you do.” Then she clapped her hands. “So, you hungry?”
As if on cue, my stomach growled. She lifted up onto the balls of her toes, eyes shining. “Perfect. We have plans.”
“Plans?”
“Yep. Get a shirt on, stud. Then let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
She tsked. “So many questions.”
“I have questions because the last time I saw you, I got back home wearing only a towel.” And blue balls, I finished in my head.
She winced. “I am really sorry about that by the way. Oh!” She dug in the purse she had slung on her arm and pulled out a plastic bag. “Here.”
I took it from her, opening it to find my folded jeans and T-shirt. Damn, I hadn’t thought I’d see them again. I’d assumed they were a lost cause. “You got my clothes?”
She wiggled her eyebrows. “My uncle’s ID gets me into all kinds of places in the field house. I pulled those out of the used laundry bin for you.”
They were washed too, and they smelled like her. “You washed them?”
“Yeah, they were on top of dozens of smelly damp towels.” She shuddered.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I did. Now are you going to get a shirt on so we can eat? I’m starving.”
“Do I need to change my pants?”
“Nah, it’s not fancy.”
I shrugged and tugged on a T-shirt and hoodie. After slipping my cell phone and wallet in my pockets, I said, “Lead the way.”
She nearly skipped down the hall. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, no one was there, but I heard sounds from the kitchen. “Going to get some food!” I called.
“K!” Zac called back. Dre and Shane were nowhere to be seen.
She dragged me outside, down the street, right to the entrance of the twenty-four hour burger joint in town. Before we walked inside she turned around. “You like wings, right?”
“Wings? Yeah.” I gestured to the door. “After Dark has the best ones too.”
She clapped her hands together and rubbed them. “Good! Because we’re going to compete in the wing eating contest.”
“Wait, what?”
She pointed to a sign on the door I hadn’t noticed before.
Friday, 7pm
Wing Battle
“Bianca, you can’t just walk in. You have to sign up ahead of time.”
“I did,” she said as she opened up the door.
“Okay, but I didn’t.”
She looked at me like I was stupid. “You didn’t sign you up. But I signed you up.”
She dropped that bomb on me and then she waltzed inside.
I stared after her. She signed me up and just assumed I’d do it? And then I wanted to kick myself. Of course I’d fucking do it. Like I was going to say no.
And hell, telling me about a competition was a carrot in front of my face. I loved it.
I followed her inside, seeing that a crowd was already gathered. After Dark was tiny, with about four booths lining one side, a counter with some stools along the back wall near the kitchen, and a few tables in the center of the floor. Rickety stairs led to an even smaller second floor which I knew from memory held about five tables.
The place was packed, but it was clear who was competing, as they were all lined up behind the counter, plates of wings in front of them. I immediately got in game mode, eyeing my competitors. Mike Delaney was there with his own grid iron cheering section; a female softball player with a name like Maggie or Mindy or something like that; and two kids I recognized from campus but didn’t know. Then there was Bianca, who was acting like a kid on Christmas. She was bouncing up and down, hands clasped in front of her.
“You’re all going down!” she howled like a maniac. “Can’t wait to leave here one hundred dollars richer while you’re all suffering.”
Honestly? There wasn’t much Bianca didn’t do that turned me on, but hearing her trash talk… be still my fucking heart.
I took my place beside her as the manager of After Dark verified our names and then began to explain the rules. I knew them though. After Dark did these competitions once a year. I never entered mainly because I always forgot to sign up on time.
“You eat as many wings as you can in twenty minutes,” the manager said. “If you puke, you’re out. That’s it. Each plate holds twenty wings. You finish one, and we give you another. There’s an assistant standing by each of you as well to make sure you follow the rules. You have to eat directly from the bone, no stripping it first. Bones must be clean. Winner gets $100, their picture on the wall, and bragging rights. Got it?”
“What’s the record?” Bianca asked.
“Seventy-nine wings,” the manager answered.
Bianca’s eyes grew round and she turned to me. Seventy-nine? She mouthed the words.
I leaned into her. “You trying to intimidate me? Throw me off?”
“What?” she blinked.
I rolled my shoulders, swinging my arms back and forth as I cocked my head from side to side. “You’re my competition now. Just focus on your wings, and I’ll focus on mine.”
She was speechless for a moment before her eyes narrowed and a wicked grin crossed her face. “Ohhh, I see how it is.”
“Yup.” I took off my hoodie and set it on the counter beside me.
“You’re going down, Saint.”
I just patted my stomach. She had no idea. This was going to be like taking candy from a baby.
Mike Delaney beat his chest like an animal. “Reigning champ, here. Just give up now, losers.”
“Oh fuck off,” said Maggie/Mindy.
“Everyone ready?” the manager yelled. “Give me a thumbs up if you are.” He checked that we all had our thumbs up before clapping. “Time starts now! And go!”
As much as I wanted to watch Bianca, I had a hundred dollars to win. I stuck an entire drumstick in my mouth, bit down, and pulled, cleaning the meat off in one go. I dropped it on the plate and felt Bianca’s eyes on me. “My God,” she muttered.
I didn’t even look. I hoovered the damn wings, clearing the plate in minutes as the bones stacked up. The girl keeping track of my count was scribbling furiously. I took a drink of water as they slid another plate in front of me, piled high with more wings. By the time I made it through that, my jaw ached. I glanced at the time. Ten minutes down, and I’d made it through forty wings. I belched, the sound echoing off the walls and drawing a few cheers from the gathered crowd.
I risked a glance at Bianca. She’d made it through one and a half plates, which wasn’t too bad. Not on pace with me, though. I couldn’t gauge how anyone else was doing, but I could see the piles of bones in front of Mike. About the same as mine. I kicked it into gear on the third plate, settling into a rhythm. Bite, suck, chew, swallow. Bite, suck, chew, swallow. My jaw was protesting, and my throat was raw. My stomach was sticking out since I’d swallowed approximately 342 chickens. But I was going to win that hundred dollars and then I was going to take Bianca out on a date. A real one. A legal one. Where I only lost my clothes because it was my idea.
Third plate. Fourth plate. When I started on my fifth plate, I felt my body beginning to revolt. I swore I had meat backed up the whole way into my esophagus. I gagged a few times, my fist to my mouth as I pressed my lips shut so I didn’t spew everywhere. When the feeling passed, I kept going. I shoved another wing in my mouth, no longer tasting anything as I reached for that sweet, sweet kiss of victory.
“Time! Hands up! Tongue out!” The manager called out, and I dropped the last stripped bone, my hands in the air as I swallowed the bite with not a small amount of effort. I gagged one more time before opening my mouth, tongue out. The girl who’d been marking my wings w
as a waitress there, a girl I’d see around campus a few times. She checked my mouth, and then blushed, shooting me a look from under her lashes. Cute, but I only had eyes for the one beside me.
I hadn’t even realized Bianca had pulled her hair back, but it was now piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She was eyeing my plate, her eyes huge. “Holy shit, Lavin.” Her gaze lifted to mine. I was sure I was a mess. I licked at my lips, tasting sauce all over the place. My shirt was covered in bits of meat and drops of sauce. I looked like I’d been through war. I wiped my face on my shirtsleeve.
“How many did you eat?” she asked.
I did the math in my head. “Over eighty.”
“Lavin!” she shouted.
Mike leaned over, craning his neck to check out my stack of bones. “Fuck,” I heard him mutter.
I reached out and swiped a drop of sauce off Bianca’s cheek. Her eyes were still bright, cheeks flushed. “I think you won!” she cried, doing nothing to keep her voice down. “That was amazing! I’ve never seen anyone eat wings that fast.”
She was looking at me like I was some damn hero, and all I’d done was eat a shit-ton of wings. “This isn’t my first rodeo,” I said. “The team does shit like this. I always win.”
“Who knew all this time you were the owner of a bottomless stomach?”
I belched again and she wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”
“There’s a bottom, trust me.” My stomach lurched. “I’m feeling this one.”
“All right,” the manager broke up his little huddle of judges. “We have a clear winner and a new record! Coming in at 88 wings in twenty minutes and the winner of this year’s After Dark wing-eating competition along with one hundred dollars is Lavin Saint!”
Bianca screamed so loud that my ears rung. She jumped up and down like I’d won the lottery, and then did a little dance, twirling in a circle. “Wait,” she said, stopping as if she suddenly thought of something. “Who came in second?”
The manager checked his sheet. “You. Bianca Santos. You ate sixty-five wings.”
FALSE 9: Red Card Series Page 6