The Slam

by Haleigh Lovell

  “Well,” someone spoke up. “What are your true intentions?”

  Ryan gave a snort of laughter. “To shower her with love and semen.”

  A rumble of guffaws broke out.

  “I intend to go spelunking in her glorious caverns,” came a rough voice.

  Another roar of laughter echoed through the walls.

  I cut a deadly glare in my brother’s direction. “Where the fuck did you find these assclowns?”

  Meanwhile, just outside our door, it was suddenly deadly quiet.

  Moments later, the door creaked open and Adelaide sauntered in. “Hi, guys,” she said cheerfully.

  I frowned. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  This was our frat house and she had no business being here.

  “Don’t be mad.” She sent me a smile that lit up her face and lingered in her eyes. “Edric told me you were interviewing candidates to go out with me. I just wanted to meet the guys.”

  “You’re not meeting them until I decide who goes out with you.”

  “But.” She looked from me to Edric. “Shouldn’t it be my decision?”

  “You asked for my help,” I reminded her. “And I’m your legal guardian, so it’s my decision.”

  “Well,” she amended. “Technically, Camille is my legal guardian.”

  “Camille transferred that responsibility to me. So I decide what’s best for you.”

  “Gosh.” She let out a clipped sigh. “You’re always so bossy.”

  “And why are you dressed like that?” I demanded.

  Adelaide sent me a quizzical look. Then she turned the quizzical expression to her outfit, glancing down at her tennis skirt.

  It was probably the only thing I’d seen her in that didn’t hang over her body like a loose potato sack. And goddammit, she looked good. Her physique was stunning and with her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, she possessed a sort of schoolgirl charm.

  “I’m going to play tennis.” She seemed confused over the anger in my voice.

  “Tennis?” I frowned, irritated that I found the sight of her in that short skirt so fucking hot. “With who?”

  “With you, of course.” She said it like it was a given. “You’re going to practice after this, aren’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I’m joining you,” she said. “I want to hit some balls, sweat, get some exercise. It’s been weeks since I’ve—”

  “Shhhhhhh!” Edric shushed us. “Lower your damn voices! I’m trying to listen here!”

  “To what?” She looked at me with questioning eyes. “What are we listening to?”

  “To what those guys are saying about you.”

  She blinked a couple times, then her eyes widened with comprehension. “Oh, so we’re eavesdropping. But why are we—”

  “Shhhhhhhh!” Edric shushed us again. “Be quiet! They’re talking now.”

  Adelaide bit down on her lower lip and didn’t say another word.

  “Fuck me. Was that her?” Ryan spoke first. “Dear God, that woman has a spectacular rear end. I would sexually disappoint her in less than thirty seconds.”

  “HOT DAYUM!” said another. “I would do unspeakable things to her.”

  “I’ll tell you what I wanna do to her,” came another voice. “Bend her over and show her the fifty states.”

  Coarse, raucous laughter rumbled through the walls.

  “I swear,” said another guy. “The stiffy I got from staring at her ass gave me a fucking hernia.”

  “Man, that girl’s got a nice bubblicious bubble butt. I’d like to eat a bowl of cereal off of that ass!”

  “That chick’s got a big ol’ Buick! Ol’ Joe wanna put a can o’ peaches on there and knock it off with mah privates!”

  “DAT ASS, THO! I would bury my dick so deep in that juicy butt! Whoever pulled me out would be crowned the next King Arthur.”

  Adelaide’s eyes widened like saucers. “Are they… are they talking about me?!?”

  “Well…” Edric said carefully. “At least they’re saying nice things about your ass.”

  For a moment, her gaze turned inward and she became thoughtful. “I can understand why they’re objectifying my bum. Generally speaking, people are quite realistic and they realize that the rail-thin supermodel look is unrealistic. And subconsciously, men will always look at a woman’s hip to waist ratio, which indicates their suitability for child bearing.” She shrugged. “So really, evolution is to blame.”

  I scowled. “You’re telling me you’d actually date one of those dicks out there?”

  “Of course not.” She looked mortified. “They’re so… crass. Is that how guys talk about girls?”

  “Not at all,” Edric assured her. “Most of those horndogs out there are rushing our fraternity.”

  She blinked. “Rushing?”

  “They’re considering becoming pledge members of Sigma Chi,” he explained.

  “Oh,” she said. “Are most frat guys horndogs?”

  “Almost exclusively,” I said without expression.

  Adelaide managed a weak smile, and for once she looked a little uncertain.

  “Now you see why we’re trying to weed them out and—” I stopped mid-sentence when I heard someone in the other room say, “I wonder if Ender has tapped that smokin’ ass.”

  “Ender?” Ryan gave a derisive snort. “That’s his name? I wonder if his parents named him Ender ’cause his mom liked it in the rear ender.”

  I clenched my jaw. All that pent-up anger that had roiled inside me when they were talking smack about Adelaide simmered to the surface and with an explosive lunge I was up and out of my chair when a large hand closed over my shoulder, restraining me.

  “Let go, Edric.”

  “The dude’s got a rainbow Mohawk with frosted tips,” my brother said calmly. “You can’t insult him any more than he already has. I mean, look at the guy. He looks like he screwed a peacock and seriously, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone with frosted tips since the nineties.”

  “Actually,” Adelaide remarked. “I saw a couple guys in Germany a few years ago with frosted tips.”

  “Hah!” Edric laughed, but he kept a firm grip on my shoulder. “The elusive frosted tip man, once a dominant species, has receded back to the heart of Europe, it would seem.”

  “It would seem so.” Adelaide nodded.

  With an impatient growl, I jerked out of my brother’s hold. “Tell all ’em fuckers to fuck off. I’ve heard enough!”

  “Look,” Edric said calmly. “They’re not all dicks. I can promise you that. In fact, I know for sure that two of them are… erm…” He seemed to be struggling to find the right word. “Decent?”

  “Fine!” I began pacing back and forth. “Send them in and send the others away.”

  Edric left and five minutes later, he returned with the two ‘decent’ guys out of the group.

  Without preliminaries, I asked, “Names?”

  “Miguel,” said one. “Hank,” said the other.

  I presented the same scenario and posed the same question. Then I added, “Now don’t give me a bunch of bullshit. I want to hear your real answers.”

  Hank was the first to speak. “Well,” he said. “Until I’m earning good money, my intention is to avoid vaginal sex in case she gets pregnant.”

  “Calm down, brother,” Edric said dryly. “Your forehead veins are popping out.”

  I drew a deep breath. Exhaled. “And what about you, Miguel?”

  He was wearing a shirt that had been dyed to match his eyes. “Oh, it’s my turn?” Miguel said exuberantly. “Ay, Dios mio,” he murmured before launching off into a long spiel. “First, I’ll take her out for a fabulous brunch at this darling French bistro I just found on Main Street. Then we’ll goss about our besties, our summer plans, the best of the Paris runway season, and who’s staying at whose place in the Hamptons. And then I’ll take her shopping!” Turning to Adelaide, he flashed her a smile and said, “I found these adorable wing-t
ips at Christian Louboutin that you’d totally DIE for.” Pursing his lips, he tapped a finger against them. “Let’s see… and after that, we’ll probably get some mani-pedis. My regular place has this Thai-style lemongrass, herbal body wrap that’s infused with raw sugar and Himalayan salt. It exfoliates and moisturizes and it’s supposed to be an absolute miracle for tired skin so we must try that. Oh, it’s gonna be so fab!” he gushed. “And then if I feel like violating my CrossFit trainer’s instructions—all Atkins, no dairy and no sugar—I’ll take her to Cold Stone for some good old-fashioned ice cream.”

  A beat passed.

  Then another.

  I stopped short. I opened my mouth to respond but nothing came out. Finally, I cut my gaze to Adelaide and said, “I think I’ve just found you a date.”

  After she and Miguel had exchanged digits, Adelaide said, “I’m so excited. I’m really looking forward to our date.”

  “As am I,” Miguel said theatrically. “I’ll call you, but for now, vaya con dios, mi vada!” Then he did a triple zigzag finger snap and sashayed away.

  While Adelaide seemed happy with my choice, Edric stood staring at me. His eyebrows came together with an almost audible snap. “Nooooo.” His voice was grave with disbelief and disapproval. “You did not just do that.”

  “Do what?” I challenged.

  A disheartened smirk lifted the corner of his mouth, but he only answered with a shake of his head.

  Chapter Ten

  ADELAIDE

  “Ay, Dios mio!” Miguel said disdainfully. “It’s not that she was a horrible saleswoman. Her pitch was good but it just did not have the effect on me as it should have.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Why?” He let out a melodramatic sigh. “Because she was wearing the shittiest, weirdest, purple eyeliner I’ve ever seen in my life. It looks like something a child would draw on my face—with her eyes shut.”

  “Hmm,” I said, nodding absently.

  As we breezed to the next counter filled with perfume samples and makeup testers, Miguel picked up a black eyeliner pencil and said, “What do you think of this color?”

  “It’s nice.” I managed a weak smile. Miguel was so sweet and he was having so much fun that the last thing I wanted to do was put a damper on our date.

  “It’s so Jared Leto, isn’t it?” he carried on merrily. “I mean, I wouldn’t wear eyeliner with daily wear or casual clothes, but with a nice suit… I think it’d add an edgy touch, don’t you think?”

  “Uh-huh.” I willed my smile to remain.

  “You know…” Miguel stopped and sprayed a tiny bit of perfume from the tester. “There are only four men I’d fuck and one of them is Jared Leto.”

  “Hmm,” I considered. “He’s a little androgynous for my taste.”

  “It’s okay if he’s not your type.” Miguel spritzed his wrist with more perfume. “Not everyone has good taste.”

  I chuckled, but my laughter quickly subsided when Miguel suggested I try on some makeup.

  “C’mon,” he implored. “You have to try on some eyeliner.”

  “No, no.” I shook my head so hard I feared it would snap off. “Makeup makes me want to claw my face off.”

  “But you have such gorgeous eyes. And your eyebrows! They define your large cat eyes, your delicate face…” Tilting his head, he studied my face. “Gurrrrl, you’ve got Cara Delavigne’s eyebrows.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No!” he said fiercely. “It’s good! BIG! BOLD! BUSHY perfection! Don’t ever touch them! I love your refusal to pluck them into the ridiculous slither many women feel obliged to have on their foreheads.”

  “But kids used to say I looked like Sam the Eagle from the Muppets. And Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street. One girl even called me Peter Gallagher, and this really mean kid called me Mark Ruffalo.”

  “Oh, sthaappp it!” he said, waving my words aside. “Like I said, not everyone has good taste. They’re glorious! Dark, strong, trendsetters in their own right!”

  I beamed at him beatifically. No one had ever complimented my eyebrows before.

  “So.” Miguel let out a resigned sigh. “You don’t wear makeup?”

  I shook my head.

  “Ay, Dios mio, mi cara. I’m terribly sorry,” Miguel said contritely. “And here we’ve been browsing the makeup aisles for the past hour! Where are my manners? I’ve been boring you to death with the banalities of my daily life, haven’t I?”

  “Correct,” I said. “You have. But it’s not your fault. Shopping for makeup is not really my thing.”

  “What about shopping for clothes?”

  “Well,” I answered truthfully. “I find it awfully hard to shop for clothes. I dress for comfort before style. I can’t sacrifice comfort—I just can’t. And if I find something that fits and it’s comfortable, it’s like finding the Holy Grail.”

  “So…” He gave my outfit a quick once-over. “T-shirts and jeans are your Holy Grail?”

  “Pretty much.” I gave a helpless shrug. “I like soft, loose-fitting clothes.”

  “Humph.” His gaze became thoughtful. “I know exactly what would look good on you.”

  “You do?”

  “Most certainly,” he said. “And it’ll be my treat for boring you to tears. You just promise to let me know if I’m boring you. I don’t ever want you to feel bored because being bored is boring. All right, chica?”

  “All right.” I flashed him my brightest smile. “I promise.”

  I wasn’t bored. But I was frazzled to bits. Forever 21 was a stuffy, chaotic, and disorganized mess of clothes, platform sandals, fringe rompers, ruffles, bows, flower crowns, oversized sunglasses, and eighty metric tons of plastic jewelry.

  Squeezing through a tight aisle, I began flicking through the racks of clothes. I held up a dress, examined it and deposited it back to the rack.

  It would barely cover my bum, much like every piece of clothing in this store.

  Finally, I came across a long, billowy, black dress. It was practical. I liked it. Plus, you can’t go wrong with black, right?

  “Miguel,” I said, holding up the maxi dress. “What do you think of this one?”

  “Honey,” he drawled. “This isn’t Boko Haram, okay. You don’t have to wear a burka.”

  With a weary sigh, I put the burka away and went back to the daunting task of finding another dress.

  Moments later, Miguel yelled, “Adelaide!”

  I turned at his exclamation.

  “BOOYAH!” Miguel said with a flourish. “Raise your emoji hallelujah hands in the air! I have found the dress!”

  I stared at the dress, my head ringing with doubt. Before I could protest, Miguel was already pushing me toward the fitting room. “Go, go!’ he insisted. “It’s boho chic and it’s gonna look perfy on you! Try it on and let me see.”

  When I came out of the dressing room, Miguel was wearing a self-satisfied grin. “Oh, my little Boho Princess, I knew it would look good on you,” he gushed. “You look like Kendall Jenner at Coachella.”

  “Huh?” I stared at him blankly.

  “Coachella,” he repeated. “You know, where all the girls dress like they came from the reject section of Urban Outfitters and Anthropologie with their fringe vests, fringe skirts, fringe moccasins, fringe bikinis, fringe hats, fringe shorts, fringe everything. It’s basically a fashion vomit of fringes! But not Kendall!” he said fiercely. “She keeps it simple and chic. Just like that dress you’re wearing. It’s light, airy, ethereal,” he remarked. “Low maintenance, yet stylish. Not frumpy. And best of all, it’s comfortable, am I right or am I right?”

  I had to agree, Miguel was right.

  Smiling, I spun around so I could see myself in the mirror. “It is really comfortable.”

  “Fantastic!” he said. “You’re getting the dress and it’s on me!”

  “Are you sure?” I said a little uncertainly.

  “Of course,” he said without missing a beat.

 
We walked up to the register and as I slid the dress across the counter, Miguel handed his Visa over to the cashier. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “The dress is gorg and it looks fab on you, but everything here is made of crappy, cheap fabric so don’t be surprised if it falls apart after one wash.” He gave a careless shrug. “In the trendy world of fast fashion, styles aren’t made to last.”

  “Thank you, Miguel,” I said as we strutted out the store like two happy friends having a wonderful shopping day.

  “Always a pleaj,” he said.

  Hmm. I noted that Miguel abbreviated a lot of his words. For instance, pleasure was condensed to pleaj. Perfect to perfy and so on. I ought to try that sometime.

  “So.” Miguel gestured in the direction of Cold Stone Creamery. “How about some ice cream?”

  “That sounds delightful!” I grinned broadly.

  We sauntered over to Cold Stone, ordered our ice cream and sat around the mall, chatting and laughing and eating our frozen dairy treats.

  “Tell me some goss,” I said, trying to speak in Miguel’s vernacular.

  He chuckled. “Why don’t you tell me some goss?”

  “What would you like to know?” I asked, spooning some ice cream.

  “I’d like to know all about your cousins.”

  My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth. “My cousins?” I stared at him, perplexed. “I don’t have any cousins.”

  Now it was Miguel’s turn to look flummoxed. “Ender and Edric aren’t your cousins?”

  “No,” I said. “Why would you think they’re my cousins?”

  “Edric said so.”

  “Is that so?” I fell into ponderous silence. “I have no idea why he would say that.”

  “So if they’re not your cousins,” Miguel went on, “what are they?”

  I spooned another mouthful of ice cream. “Just long time friends.”

  “Here’s what I don’t get.” He licked the back of his spoon. “Why are you on a date with me when you could be on a date with one of them? They’re so fuckable.”

  “Date Ender or Edric?” I wrinkled my nose. “Well for one, Edric is dating Natasha, and I’ve always thought of him as my little brother. And Ender has always been my bosom buddy. Our relationship is platonic at best.”