Hard Stick

by Paige North

  Gabe nods, though I can tell he’s starting to wonder if he should have told me this after all. “Calm down, Lucy. It’s fine. I was trying to make you feel better and you’re freaking out.”

  “Thank you. Really,” I say, though I’m not entirely certain I mean it. I put my laptop to one side. “I spoke with my dad too today, actually. I have to go to a dinner thing tomorrow night. You know, a fundraising thing.”

  “Okay,” Gabe says, looking confused as to why I’m telling him this. It’s not like we have a standing date night or reservations. Either of those things would require being able to go out in public, after all, which we’re never in a million years going to be able to do…

  “It’s with the Harrisons. I really, really don’t want to go. Especially because it means I won’t be back here till late,” I say with a meaningful smile in his direction. Getting back here late doesn’t mean we’ll abstain from having sex all night, it just means we’ll both be exhausted the following morning.

  “They’re the reason you’re getting VIP tickets to the games though, aren’t they? Play nice. You’re good luck for me,” Gabe says, smiling back.

  “You’ve gotten thrown out of two games that I’ve been there for!” I laugh. “I’m bad luck if I’m anything.”

  “I’d have gotten thrown out of those games either way. But I probably would have been thrown out of all of them if I hadn’t known you’d give me the look you’re giving me right now afterward,” he says, lowering his brows, and I laugh again, flushing.

  “Well. I wish you could go with me,” I say. “It’ll be like that party at the alumni house, only even more stuck up, if that’s possible.”

  “I can meet you in their wine cellar, if you’d like,” Gabe says smartly. He rises and walks back over to me, then tugs me to the edge of the bed, so my legs wrap around his waist. Gabe places his palms on my thighs, presses firmly on the inner sides with his thumbs. It sends shivers through my legs and up to my shoulders, and I feel myself pulse toward him a bit.

  “Another break in? So soon after breaking into your own father’s house?”

  “I break into the homes of rich jackasses professionally, now, apparently,” Gabe says, smiling and squeezing my legs a bit harder, till I scoot closer, my hips now lightly against his. I can feel his cock beginning to harden, a hint of what’s to come.

  “Well, getting caught by my father against doesn’t really do it for me. But I have to admit I sort of like the idea of Chandler Harrison catching us…” I wonder aloud. That’d serve him right— lie about having sex with me, see me having amazing, intense sex with someone he looks down on. Plus, there’s no way Chandler’s cock is bigger than Gabe’s. That’d be a nice little knife to the whole—

  “Chandler Harrison?” Gabe asks, frowning. “I thought the guy had some sort of bro name. Chuck, or—”

  Shit. “Buck. Buck is his father’s name,” I say quickly, then scoot a little closer, trying to get Gabe back on topic. Gabe doesn’t really know about Chandler, and even though there really isn’t anything to tell, it’s still not exactly something I want to bring up.

  “Chandler’s the guy. The one you were with at the alumni party. And in the car. I remember his name, now— one of the other players knew it,” Gabe says, shaking his head. “He’s a Harrison?”

  I force a smile. “Yeah. He is.”

  “And you’re going to a family dinner at his house?” Gabe says, voice growing testy.

  “He’s the worst,” I say quickly. “I only went on those dates with him to get my father off my case.”

  Gabe doesn’t look convinced. “Two dates?”

  I hinge. “I went to a party at his house once, too. But then I found out he’d told all his buddies he and I had sex, and so now I basically hate him.”

  Gabe exhales, looking disgusted. His hands clench into fists and his eyes flame with rage. “Punk ass dick. Does your father know he did that?”

  “Yeah,” I say, glancing down. “I told him.”

  “And he’s still making you go to this kid’s house?” Gabe asks in disbelief.

  “He really, really wants it to work out with me and Chandler. I think he expects it’ll be good for his campaign,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Wow,” Gabe says, and suddenly takes a step back. The void where he was is vast and powerful, suddenly cold. “So you’re not only going to a family dinner at this guy’s house, but you didn’t ever mention going to a party at his house, and your father, who probably hates me, desperately wants you to end up with him?”

  I try to recover, talking too-fast. “Yeah, but Gabe, I don’t care a thing about Chandler. It’s all just for show.”

  “Sure,” Gabe says, shaking his head, voice lowering. “It’s all to protect your reputation, right? That’s why we sneak around. That’s why you’re pretending to be available to someone else. It’s all just for show. Can’t let anyone know you’re sleeping with Gabe Forest.”

  “It’s not like that,” I try.

  Gabe shakes his head, looks away from me, his shoulders tense and hard. “Except it is, Lucy. I figured you were going to eventually stand up to your father once you realized I wasn’t just after you for the sex. But I guess I’m just too embarrassing for you to admit you’re with me. Too embarrassing for my father to admit I’m his son, too. Rich people don’t want to get too close to me— some of that poor trouble might rub off on you.”

  “That is really unfair,” I say, voice rising. How did this conversation go so wrong so fast? “It’s way more complicated than that.”

  Gabe’s voice rises. “It isn’t, Lucy. I’m not ashamed of you.”

  I open my mouth, but stop myself from saying it just in time, because I know it’s horrible: There’s nothing to be ashamed of.

  Because I mean, if I said that, it would mean I think there is something to be ashamed of when it comes to Gabe. And I don’t.

  “I see,” Gabe says, nodding, and I realize that my pause, my parted lips, have made my swallowed words come to life.

  “Gabe, no, I’m not—”

  “Maybe Chandler will be someone you’re not so embarrassed to be seen with,” he says, and starts for the bathroom door.

  “Gabe! I don’t want to fight with you! Why do you have to make everything a fight?” I jump up from the bed. But he’s gone— into his room, and before I can get to the front door, I hear him slamming into the stairwell. I don’t even know where he’s going. The alumni house? The locker rooms? A friends’ place? Does Gabe even have any friends here, really? Other than me, it feels like he’s a loner.

  Like I was his person, and he just left thinking I’m ashamed of him.

  Chapter 13

  Chandler seems like the kind of guy who likes classic makeup— like my own parents. Red lipstick, black eyeliner, glowy skin. Knowing this, I layer on pale lavender eye shadow and go with plain lip balm. I feel smug about my choices for a little bit, but then they seem so stupid and small and useless.

  Oh, what a badass you are, Lucy. Wearing lavender eye shadow instead of taupe! Rebel! I snap to myself as I head out the door. Gabe hasn’t been back to his room since our fight yesterday, so far as I can tell. Curiosity is destroying me, so I swing by the resident director’s office, trying too-hard to act casual as I play the RA card.

  “Hey— Gabe Forest hasn’t been around all day, has he? Because there’s an alarm going off in his room,” I say. “I’m gonna key it, but only if no one’s seen him.”

  The RD looks up from his desk and shrugs. “I have no idea. Aren’t you still suitemates? Just go turn it off.” The RD doesn’t care what I do, even though he’s technically my boss. Besides a few roommate fights over loud music and a girl’s asking for help getting the morning after pill, my floor has been pretty quiet so far. I’ve done a good job as an RA this semester, but that’s only because I haven’t had to deal with that much trouble.

  “That didn’t seem professional,” I say.

  “Key it then— no one else has co
mplained, and I haven’t seen him come in. Hard to miss a guy that big. How does he even fit into that room? I can’t believe he hasn’t jumped to move into the football dorms,” he says, shaking his head over the stack of papers he’s sorting through.

  “The dorms aren’t finished yet, I thought,” I say, frowning.

  “They were finished like three weeks ago. I guess he’s too busy to move out. I don’t know. Look, I’m sort of in the middle of something—”

  “It’s cool, I’ll key the room,” I say swiftly, and turn to go, taking the long way to the parking lot so the RD can’t notice that I didn’t go back upstairs to turn off the “alarm”. I walk to my car, unsure how, exactly, to process all that news.

  Gabe could have left weeks ago to live in the super cushy football dorms, but didn’t. For me? It’s very possible he really was just too busy, though. Still…I wish I could ask him. I wish I knew where he was, where he’s been for the last day and a half.

  My mind is spinning as I drive to the party.

  The Harrisons’ house is in Buckhead, the oldest, richest, and most ridiculously over-priced part of the city. It’s the sort of place where a tiny little fifties ranch will run you a million bucks, easy— which means the mansion the Harrisons live in has got to be several million at least. There’s an enormous gate and lawn stretching out along the drive, manicured and lit like it’s the White House. The home itself is only two stories tall, but I can see stretches out and back deep onto the lot. It’s that multicolored brick that I think people intend to look old and rustic, but really just looks like new money.

  I park my car alongside my father’s which, like mine, has been freshly washed and waxed. I didn’t get it done— my father sent one of those mobile detailers to the dorms. I guess showing up in a car that looks like it actually gets driven is a social faux pas. A butler opens the door for me and escorts me inside with a few pleasantries, which I remind myself that this is nothing. It’s a stupid dinner. Once it’s over and my dad has the Harrisons’ money or whatever, I’ll apologize to Gabe and we’ll figure it out and we’ll stop fighting. I mean, I’ll have to find him first, but then, we’ll figure it out—

  “Lucy!” my father says, grinning as I walk into the wide, marble-paneled foyer. I see the smallest flicker of disdain when he notices my eye shadow, but he masks it instantly, sweeping me into a broad hug. “We were starting to wonder where you were.”

  “Sorry— I got a bit turned around on one of the one way streets. I never drive here,” I say, smiling as I shake each of the Harrison parents’ hands. No sign of Chandler, just yet.

  “Oh, don’t I know it. I take a driver if I need to go out in the evenings because frankly, I just don’t want to deal with the parking,” Mrs. Harrison says seriously, eyes wide, like this is the biggest scandal since Watergate. I nod in agreement, and my mother chimes in with a few complaints about how even drivers can’t really drop you close enough, these days, since the valets double-park everyone right in front of the restaurants—

  “I see she’s arrived,” Chandler’s voice says, oozing through the foyer with such viscosity that I think it might physically stain their posh-looking rugs. I force a smile at him.

  “I wondered where you were!” I say by way of dodging any sort of “good to see you” type of opening. He’s emerging from one of the side rooms, where I see an elaborate bar and a half dozen exotic animals’ taxidermied corpses.

  “Just grabbing a drink,” he says, swirling his rocks glass at me. “Would you like anything?”

  “Let’s let the girl get her purse down,” Mrs. Harrison says kindly, chuckling in that “oh, boys!” way of hers. She links her arm in mind and escorts me through the foyer, toward a library, where I know from experience that my mother will have one too many drinks before dinner even starts.

  The room smells like fancy cigars and is lined in old bookshelves, with an expansive Tiffany chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Mrs. Harrison slides my purse off my arm for me; when she does, the butler reappears and sweeps it away wordlessly. The Harrisons and my family are seamless in the way we all move around the room, each interaction rehearsed with a hundred other wealthy people over the course of our lives— Buck talks to my father, my mother and Mrs. Harrison talk to me for a bit like kindly nannies, then they slip away together so Mrs. Harrison can show ostensibly my mother a painting or piano or something, but really so Chandler can fall into conversation with me.

  “Still no drink?” Chandler asks, sitting down a few feet from me in a burgundy leather club chair. I know the drill, and know I can’t avoid it, so I take the one across from him.

  “Just not interested,” I say politely.

  “Well, hold one, at least, so my father knows I offered?” Chandler says. His voice is still oozing and bitter, but it’s not as angry as I expected— he doesn’t seem mad at me, but rather, annoyed. Almost sullen.

  “Alright,” I say, and as if summoned by Chandler’s words, the butler appears again. Chandler sends him off for a glass of red wine, which is perfect. You can sort of swirl wine around for half the night, and no one will even realize you’ve barely taken a sip.

  “So are we okay?” Chandler asks after my wine arrives, once we’ve sat in silence for a few moments.

  The question catches me off guard for its sincerity— the guy told his buddies we hooked up, and now he sincerely wonders if we’re okay? I lift an eyebrow at him. “Are you asking me if I no longer care that you lied about sleeping with me?”

  “I’m asking you if you’re going to make a big deal out of fighting with me and fuck this situation up for our parents,” Chandler says plainly.

  Ah, that makes more sense. “No,” I say, and shake my head. “There’d be no point.” If I was going to do that, I’d have already done it, and I’d be somewhere with Gabe right now. The thought makes me take a long sip of the wine that I’d sworn I wouldn’t actually drink.

  “Good,” Chandler says. “If we just pretend we’re dating for about two months, both our parents will get what they want out of this whole thing and then we can be done—”

  “Wait, no—” I say, almost spitting a second gulp of wine out. “I’m not pretending to date you, Chandler. One, you were a total creep with that whole ‘we had sex’ lie. Two, I’m not interested in you like that, okay? I’ll fake being your friend, we can go to games and hang out, but I’m not pretending to date you.”

  Chandler scoffs. “Oh, so, you can go to games and keep using our VIP box, but you don’t want to actually do anything for the privilege?”

  “Did you think I was going to trade box seats for dating you?” I ask, astounded. “This isn’t a business deal.”

  “They’re all business deals,” Chandler says dismissively, waving a hand at me. I finish my glass of wine at this, and the butler is quick to pour me another. Chandler takes a long breath, waits for the butler to vanish, then continues. “Are you a lesbian?”

  My jaw drops. “Because that’s the only reason I could possibly not be interested in you?”

  Chandler shrugs. I can’t believe I ever thought he was an acceptable human being.

  “No, I’m not a lesbian,” I snap. “Look, I’m dating someone else, okay? I’m seeing someone, but it’s new, and I’m keeping it quiet, okay?” I probably wouldn’t have said that if I wasn’t steadily feeling the effects of that first glass of wine, but I’m glad that it’s out there— since obviously without a stone cold reason, Chandler isn’t going to give this up.

  Chandler’s eyes lift. “Who? And since when? My dad vetted you. He said you were single.”

  “I’m not telling you. It’s none of your business. You’re certainly not my boyfriend, and based on the shit you’ve pulled in the last few days, you’re not much of a friend either,” I say tartly.

  Chandler sits back, studying me for a moment, quiet and intense. He tilts his head to the side. “It’s that football guy, isn’t it?”

  “What?” I sputter.

  “The walk on
football player. The one who’s always getting into fights on the field. I’ve seen the way you watch the plays— you follow him, not the ball. Forest, right? Gabe Forest.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, rolling my eyes. The truth is, my entire body just lit up in fear. He can’t know. He can’t know for sure. He’s just fishing.

  “Uh-huh,” Chandler says, but there’s a gleam in his eyes— he knows. He’s certain. And he’s livid, but masking it with cruelty in a way only people from my social circle can. He inhales. “You know, I heard something from my father about Forest. About where he’s from— about why he didn’t play his senior year in high school, about where he’s really from— stuff that would destroy his playing at Harton if it got out. Good thing I’m a fan of the football team.”

  “Wow, lucky for him,” I say, rolling my eyes. I admit that I’m curious, but there’s no way I’m taking any bait that Chandler casts out.

  Chandler nods. “And there’s rumor is that he’s Steve Wright’s illegitimate son from some waitress he knocked up in Florida at a fundraiser. You know, the guy who owns that alumni house in Ansley Park? He’s the one that donated Football House, too. Though, if Gabe’s your secret boyfriend, I guess you already know that.”

  “He’s not my secret boyfriend, and I don’t much care who Gabe Forest’s father is,” I answer.

  “His father didn’t give a shit about him until Forest turned out to be good at football. It sounds harsh, but smart move, if you ask me. What was he going to do? Bring that trash woman from Florida here? That’s not how we work. You can’t just bring some redneck into your family. You oughta take a lesson from that guy, if you think this thing with Gabe is going to work out,” Chandler says coolly.

  It’s as if something in my chest that has been pulling taut for years and years and years suddenly, powerfully, breaks. It tears me in two, my heart and brain going in opposite directions, a lifetime’s worth of frustration and privilege and anger spilling out at the burst seam.