Top Secret

by Sarina Bowen

  LobsterShorts: I’ll tell her this week, if that makes you feel better?

  I’m not sure if it does or doesn’t, so I don’t answer. I just let him keep typing.

  LobsterShorts: As for when… Her birthday is right after Christmas break. January fourth. It’s even on the weekend. Does that work?

  Weekends are tricky for me, because that’s when I dance. But if this really happens, I’ll make it work.

  SinnerThree: Sure. I’ll pencil you both in for mind-blowing sex on January 4.

  LobsterShorts: Perfect. She and I will chat this week about everything.

  SinnerThree: Don’t forget to tell her about my massive cock.

  LobsterShorts: Snort. It’ll be the first item on the agenda. Now how bout you pull it out and send me that dick pic?

  SinnerThree: Soon. Talk to your girl first.

  LobsterShorts: Will do.

  A Success by Any Measure

  Keaton

  “Pledges!” I growl toward the bar that’s set up in corner of the big tent. “You have ten minutes to tap those kegs.”

  “How many of ‘em to start?” asks Jimmy in his southern drawl.

  “Three. No—four. We’ll get this party started right when the doors open in ten.”

  The last week has been sheer hell, between football practice, studying for finals, and planning this party. But I came through, damn it. It’s going to be great.

  “Keat?” Tanner calls from the entrance to the tent. “Are you expecting a florist?”

  “Oh, shit. Yes. Will you handle it? You’re getting a hundred leis.”

  Tanner’s forehead wrinkles. “Like, the potato chips?”

  “No! Jeez. It’s like a flower necklace. In Hawaii.”

  “Uh, sure.” He disappears.

  “Flowers?” Luke Bailey says dryly. He’s standing in the middle of the tent, surveying my work. “That couldn’t have been cheap.”

  I ignore him, although he isn’t wrong. The flowers did cost me a mint. I don’t care, though. There’s some kind of budget for the party, but I’m sure I overspent it. The only way to plan this thing quickly was to avoid looking at price tags. Besides, my father won’t mind. Not if I’m spending it to secure the presidency.

  “Keat!” Tanner returns, carrying a giant box of leis into the tent. “There’s, like, a hundred and fifty sorority girls outside, waiting to get in.” His grin is ear to ear.

  “Only a hundred and fifty?” I tease. But if we’re grading on attendance, this is a slam-dunk. “Keep those near the door. You’re handing one to every girl who comes in. And don’t forget the rule, okay? The dress code is bathing suits only. No—make that beachwear,” I say, changing my mind. Not everybody wants to wear a bathing suit in public. “It just has to seem like they tried.”

  “We gonna freeze our asses off?” Jako complains. He’s standing next to his buddy Luke, and they both look disgruntled.

  “You think I haven’t thought of everything? Well, I have.” I snap my fingers at the pledges in the corner. “It’s time, boys. Turn on the heat lamps.”

  Jimmy scrambles to do my bidding. A moment later, the warm orange glow of heat lamps illuminates our faces.

  Both Luke and Jako tilt their chins upward, admiring my handiwork. Jako actually whistles.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Bailey complains. “Try not to look so impressed.”

  His friend laughs. “Dude, we’re at the beach. In December.”

  “How fucking original,” Luke says with a smirk. “A beach party at a fraternity house. Who would have thought?” He rolls his obnoxious eyes.

  He’s half right. Lots of frats have beach parties—in the spring. Filling our yard with two dump truckloads of sand isn’t a new idea. But doing it at this time of year? Super fun.

  “Look, Bailey. Thanks for the helpful feedback. But this is going to be a rager, the only winter party on campus with half-naked guests dancing till dawn. And it won’t even mess up our house, like most winter parties do. You’re welcome.”

  Luke glances around, anger flickering in his expression. But I also glimpse a hint of envy.

  And he should be envious. I’ve thought of everything. Besides the high-quality beer, there are punch drinks with little umbrellas in them. The steel drum band I hired is warming up, giving everything a tropical sound. When they finish their set, my DJ will step in and get the place rocking.

  The brothers are already impressed. And because I know everyone so well, I chose my details carefully. Half those kegs are full of Paxton’s favorite ale. And the other half are full of Reed’s. The punch has rum in it, which Owen and Zimmer both love. And the DJ is Munsen’s favorite. I even got a bunch of hula hoops for a contest later, because Mithani loves to shake his hips around.

  The best part is that I put this whole thing together in three days. Once I stopped panicking about how to throw a groundbreakingly original fete, and began asking myself what my friends like, it got easy.

  Who doesn’t like the beach, right?

  Everyone except Luke Bailey, apparently. But that dude doesn’t like anything, and I knew better than to try to impress him.

  “You better get ready,” he threatens, “because you’ve got a hundred and fifty women outside.”

  “I know.” I smirk.

  “In their bathing suits,” he adds. “In the cold.”

  Oh, fuck. I check my watch. “Tanner! Open those doors early. I can’t keep my public waiting.”

  “Sure, dude,” my friend agrees. “But, uh, you’re not ready.”

  “What?” I look around again. I am ready. The sand is perfect. The heat is cranking. The drinks are ready, and the music has begun.

  “You made a big fucking deal that we all had to wear our bathing suits,” Luke says, stripping off his T-shirt to reveal that eight-pack he’s so fond of flashing around. “Where’s yours?”

  I look down. I’m wearing track pants and running shoes.

  Fuck.

  “Be right back,” I say, and then jog toward the back of the tent.

  I can hear that asshole Bailey laughing as I go. Whatever. This party is awesome, and he’s just a sore loser.

  “Bathing suit?” Annika asks as I trot past the spot where she and her friend Lindy are hanging the last strand of chili pepper lights around the perimeter.

  “Yup!” I call. “Back in a jif!”

  “Great party, baby!” she calls. “Save me the first dance?”

  “You know it!” I rocket across the lawn and then vault up the stairs, two at a time.

  It’s like this for every big party I’ve planned at Alpha Delt—there’s always one little detail that gets lost in the shuffle. Even as I’m hastily unlocking the door to my room, I wonder where my swim trunks are. I haven’t worn them since the summer.

  The moment I’m inside, I open the top drawer, pushing the boxers aside, looking for the red lobster print. But it’s not there. I open the next drawer, frantic now. And the next.

  Nothing. But then all of a sudden it hits me—I’m looking for the wrong thing. That suit is at our Hamptons house. I yank the top drawer open again and pull out my other favorite pair of trunks on the first try. They’re blue, with yellow and white sailboats all over them.

  I drop trou, yank on the blue suit, and heave a sigh of relief.

  My party is a success by any measure. I come in fourth in the hula hoop contest, because the host has to make a good showing. The DJ is in a groove, and the pledges do a great job of serving everyone, and the compliments I’ve received tonight just keep piling up.

  By one in the morning, I am cheerfully drunk, with sand between my toes. The punch is gone, but the beer is still flowing. The dance floor is packed, with Annika and me at the center.

  “Look,” she says, squeezing the arm that I have wrapped around her. “Tanner is having a good night.”

  After a quick look around, I spot him sprawled against an inflatable shark, making out with a cute, bikini-clad girl. Go Tanner! Sometimes he lacks conf
idence. But not tonight, apparently.

  See? My beach party is good for the soul. I’m feeling very presidential.

  The music slows down, and I pull Annika against my chest, one hand on her hip. I survey my domain, taking in all the happy partygoers.

  “What do you see?” Annika asks over her shoulder. “Which animal are we behaving like tonight? None, right? Animals are too smart for that.” She points at some drunk pledges trying to arm wrestle on the bar.

  “Heck no, they’re not.” I kiss her temple. “There are these monkeys on St. Kitts that steal cocktails and get hammered. Their tolerance for alcohol is distributed among the community just like in humans. You have your social drinkers; they make up the bulk. And then you have a few who don’t like alcohol, and a few wasted frat boys.”

  Annika turns around in my arms and smiles at me. “You are endlessly fascinating, Keaton Hayworth the third.” She puts her body against mine, and dances closer. I rest my chin on her shoulder, and we rotate slowly, our bare feet in the sand.

  She’s soft and warm against me, her perky tits brushing my pecs. We haven’t had sex in more than a week, as my libido tends to retreat underground like a frightened groundhog when I’m stressed out. I haven’t sexted with SinnerThree, either. We’ve exchanged a few messages here and there, but it sounded like he was as busy as I was.

  Annika was swamped, too, and since we’ve been together for five years, one week without sex isn’t something we really freak out about. We’ve gone through much longer dry spells, and neither of us ever complains.

  The party rages on around us. My gaze snags on Dan Zimmer, the only Alpha Delt brother who’s openly gay. I’ve never witnessed him on the prowl before. But—holy shit—he’s got his tongue in some guy’s mouth. As I watch, their heads tilt for a better angle.

  The other guy, some blond dude in bright yellow board shorts, wraps a strong arm around Dan’s bare waist. They’re chest to chest as they devour each other’s mouths, kiss after hungry kiss.

  When Dan’s conquest slips that hand onto Dan’s ass and gives it a dirty squeeze, my cock begins to feel heavy and full. I know I should look away. I drop my lips to Annika’s neck and kiss her warm skin.

  But I can still see them. I’m openly staring as they make out, their bare chests bumping. And I wonder how that feels—hard pecs against your own. A happy trail, maybe.

  Goddamn it. I force myself to close my eyes, but the image is still there, taunting me. This curiosity of mine is getting really inconvenient. And my exchanges with SinnerThree have only intensified it.

  I’d promised him I’d tell Annika about him this week, but I’ve been putting it off. With arousal thrumming in my blood at the sight of Dan’s PDA and the feel of Annika’s full tits crushed against my chest, I decide now might be the time.

  “I may have found us a candidate,” I hear myself whisper in Annika’s ear.

  “What do you mean,” she murmurs back, lazily stroking the nape of my neck with her interlaced hands.

  “Your birthday present?” I prompt.

  My girl leans back suddenly and looks up at me. “You mean…?” Her breath hitches, and I can’t quite decode the look in her eyes. I think it’s anticipation?

  And yet the moment she asks, “Who?” I find myself clamming up.

  For some messed-up reason, I don’t want to tell her how awesome SinnerThree is. Annika and I have been a team since high school. We did—do—everything together. We share friends, food, experiences. This app connection I have with Sinner…right now, it’s just mine. I know that soon it won’t be. Soon I’ll need to share him with Annika.

  And I just… No. Not yet.

  I’m not sure what I’m going to say when I open my mouth, but luckily I’m spared from speaking at all.

  “Hayworth,” comes Luke Bailey’s grudging voice.

  I was rocking a semi-erection, but it disappears the moment Bailey approaches. He probably has that effect on lots of people.

  “Yeah?” I arch a brow. Is he going to tell me how much this party blows? That he’s having a terrible time? Because last I saw, he was flirting with one of Annika’s sorority sisters underneath a huge inflatable palm tree.

  “You might suck, but this party doesn’t,” is what I get.

  I can’t help but snicker. From Bailey, that’s high praise. “Does that mean you’re conceding? If so, I humbly accept this presidency.”

  He snickers back. “Fuck off. Nobody’s conceding here. A good politician is gracious to his opponents even when he’s about to crush them.”

  I wave a hand at the elaborate party I expertly planned. “Crush me? Dude, look around. I owned you tonight.”

  Bailey smirks. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  He saunters off, and Annika and I stare at his retreating back for a moment. His sinewy muscles flex with each step he takes, and…fine, maybe his ass looks damn good in those snug blue trunks.

  Beside me, Annika sighs softly. “That guy might be a prick, but he is built.”

  I tweak a strand of her hair. “Don’t get any ideas. Neither one of us will be fucking him.”

  Her head tips in surprise, and it takes a moment for me to realize that she’s startled by the smoothness of my words, how casually—and easily—I’d just spoken about sleeping with a dude.

  One delicate eyebrow lifts up slowly. “Hmmm. You really have been thinking hard about this birthday request…” She hesitates. “Maybe we should go upstairs and do some warmups.”

  “Warmups?”

  “Familiar drills,” she says, pinching my ass. “Just to limber up before the big event. We can’t go into the big game cold.”

  I kiss her neck. “I think I take your meaning. Okay, let’s go. The coach needs you to blow his whistle.”

  Annika giggles against my chest, and then I turn her toward the exit and we head upstairs.

  Et tu, Judd?

  Keaton

  Bailey’s party is on Sunday night.

  No, that’s not the start of a bad joke—Luke Bailey is the joke. Because…

  Who. The. Hell. Plans a party. On a Sunday night?

  And I haven’t even gotten to the punch line yet. Not only has Bailey scheduled his Dance-off event for Sunday (two nights after the dopest bash, courtesy of yours truly), it’s not even a real party. It’s a dinner. And he didn’t let us invite guests.

  Yeah… I’ve got the presidency in the bag.

  Judd and I exchange an amused look as we take our seats. The dining room isn’t big enough to seat all the brothers. So Bailey has set up long rented tables in the living room. And while there’s enough seating for everyone, it’s not exactly the roomiest of setups.

  “Sweet sausage fest,” Judd cracks to Bailey.

  Luke just winks. He’s clad in a dark-blue dress shirt, with a blazer over it, and crisp trousers. He requested that we all show up in semi-formal wear—suits, dinner jackets, the whole shebang. So we’re crammed like sardines at this dinner table, dressed like a group of young Republicans. Par-tay.

  As Bailey settles at the head of the table, I notice a few other dudes sharing glances. Looks like my opponent isn’t scoring any points with his constituents. I literally brought the beach to Darby in the middle of winter. He planned a dinner party.

  Checkmate.

  “Two-buck Chuck?” Owen gripes loudly, reaching for one of the wine bottles on the table. “You’re seriously serving us this shit? You couldn’t spring for something better?”

  Once again, Luke appears unfazed by the criticism. “Best I could do on the budget we were given.” He gives a small shrug. “And I’m not serving you anything. The catering staff’s got that part handled.”

  As if on cue, the door separating the dining room from the living room swings open, and two pretty blondes saunter out. They’re followed by two brunettes wielding trays of hors d’oeuvres.

  “Oh,” Owen blurts out.

  I’m not sure if he’s responding to Bailey or voicing his surprise, which only li
ngers in his expression for a nanosecond before his eyes darken with appreciation.

  The four chicks are gorgeous, greeting everyone with dazzling smiles. Two of them begin pouring wine into each brother’s glass. The other two—no, make that four. Four hot girls are now serving delicious-looking finger foods, while every dude in the room looks on in awe. Even Dan, who isn’t into chicks, seems intrigued by our servers.

  I furrow my brow, shooting Bailey a what-are-you-up-to look, but he offers another careless shrug. Then he flashes that arrogant grin at a dark-haired bombshell whose tits are so huge they’re actually straining against the front of her white button-down.

  All six—oh for fuck’s sake, make that eight. Eight waitresses are now sashaying around the tables, smiling as they serve us. All of them wear identical uniforms: white shirts tucked into short, black skirts. And they’re all in black heels, some of which seem way too high for caterers. But as Annika always tells me, high heels belong at any occasion.

  My Alpha Delt brothers are digging into the appetizers. I slide a garlic shrimp off its little skewer and pop it into my mouth. Oh, that’s good. Bailey might’ve sprung for cheap wine, but he did a decent job with the apps.

  With that said, there’s no way a dinner party is going to top my beach party. I don’t care if this shrimp was flown in from the Gulf and prepared by Thomas Keller. Beach trumps dinner.

  “Mmmmfhfhg,” Judd mumbles as he stuffs a cheese ball in his mouth. He’s trying to talk even as he keeps chomping.

  “What was that?” I ask in amusement.

  He swallows and becomes intelligible. “I said, ‘try the cheese balls.’ They’re fucking excellent.”

  “Thank you!” comes a pleased female voice. One of the blondes touches Judd’s shoulder. “I prepared these myself.”

  Judd peers up at her, grinning lewdly. “A woman who knows how to handle balls. I dig it.”

  I expect her to be horrified, but she just winks and moves down the line to take care of Ahmad. I guess this company has catered enough college events that they’re used to horny frat boys saying inappropriate things.