“Of course they were the first ones here. They’re always the first to arrive to a party. Them and losers.”
“A lot of them are already shit-faced. I got our group down in the basement for later on tonight.” Each year the varsity football team always did some kind of initiation for the freshmen players, and the new varsity team always tried to outdo the preceding one. The year Jason had been a freshman, he had to run naked across the football field with a cookie clenched between his butt cheeks. If he had dropped the cookie, he would’ve had to eat it. This year the freshmen would not be getting off so easily.
“Where’s Andy?”
“Andy said he won’t be able to make it until about midnight. He has to work until closing.”
“Ugh, don’t mention work to me. My dad’s been up my ass about getting a job, says I need to learn about working and responsibility. I’m one of the most sought-after quarterbacks in the country. My future is pretty much—”
“Hey, Lisa! Wait up!” Eric, having found his next prey, sauntered off.
“—set.” Jason finished his sentence, feeling unheard. He looked back to where Emily had been standing, but she was nowhere in sight. Damn. So not only had Eric not listened to him, but he had cockblocked him from getting with the hottest girl at the party. Some best friend he was. Or maybe Eric distracting him had been a clever ploy to keep Jason from winning the bet. Nah, Eric wasn’t that smart, Jason told himself.
Jason searched all over the house for Emily, from the den, where he took the time to participate in and win a raucous game of beer pong, to all the upstairs bedrooms, where he caught the belated Andy getting a blow job from some girl. It wasn’t until he desperately needed to take a leak that he found her. She was in one of the upstairs bathrooms, holding back a girl’s hair as the girl regurgitated into the toilet.
“We’ll be done in a sec,” Emily assured him, smiling.
Jason returned her smile. “That’s okay. Take your time.” He backed out of the bathroom slowly, maintaining his cool visage, then he hauled ass down to the other end of the hall once he was out of Emily’s view, hoping that the other upstairs bathroom was free, and thank God, it was. He undid his fly and let out a soft moan from the pleasurable sensation of emptying his distended bladder. He washed his hands and hurried back to the other bathroom to continue his seduction of Emily, but she was nowhere around. Again. Damn! I should’ve asked her to wait for me. Frustrated, he pounded the wall with his fist.
“Jason?”
He turned around and saw Emily standing in the doorway of one of the bedrooms. Jason hoped that Emily wasn’t in the bedroom with another guy, and if she was, he hoped it wasn’t Eric. “Emily? Are you—what are you doing in there?”
“My friend Kim, she’s not feeling well, she had a little too much to drink, so I had her lie down until she feels better. But I’m happy you came back. I was hoping we could catch up. I feel like we hardly talked this summer.”
“You wanna go sit somewhere and talk?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
Jason took her by the hand and led her to a dark, empty bedroom. A flick of the light switch revealed a bed with black sheets and covers. Jason smiled. Perfect. They took a seat on the bed.
“So, friend, what’s new?” Emily asked coquettishly.
“Just preparing for the football season. Been thinking about which college I wanna go to. You?”
“Well, I just got back from cheerleading camp. It was really cool. And I broke up with Brandon, don’t know if you heard. He didn’t really wanna do the long-distance-relationship thing.” She shrugged and gave a dejected smile.
Jason knew this was the perfect moment to pounce. “His loss.” He smiled at her. “A lot of guys would give their right arm just to have a chance at a long-distance relationship with you.”
“You think so?”
“I know so, because I’m one of them.”
“Really?” Her eyes twinkled. “I never knew . . . you never said—”
“Well, you were Brandon’s girl, and Brandon was my boy, so . . .” He licked his lips, drawing Emily’s attention to them, as planned.
She slid closer to Jason. “Well, I’m not with Brandon anymore, and if I had known how you felt . . .”
Jason leaned over and kissed her. Her lips were soft, like downy pillows, and they tasted like raspberries. He put his hand on her leg, stroking it gently, before moving it up her skirt to touch between her legs. She was a wearing a thong! Score! He moved it aside and began working his way inside her, at first with just one finger, then two, and then three, her legs squeezing together, tighter and tighter, as he fingered her.
The constriction his boxers and jeans put on his erection proved to be too irritating, so he stopped pleasuring Emily to remove them, and she followed suit. Jason finished undressing first, so he decided to take the opportunity to place his phone on the dresser while Emily finished taking off her clothes. He angled it toward the bed and then turned on the camera.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Jason thought quickly. “Well, I was gonna put on some music to help put us in the mood,” he said, turning to face her. A sweet, lustful smile planted itself on his face as he took in her naked body, “But seeing the way you look is more than enough for me.”
Emily blushed from the compliment. It wasn’t a lie. Emily sans clothes was enough to make Jason come, right then and there: she was curvy in all the right places and fit and trim everywhere else.
He crossed over to her and threw her onto the bed. She gasped and gave Jason a smile that let him know she liked that move. He climbed on top of her, kissing her lips and flicking her tongue with his. Jason inserted a hand between Emily’s legs to continue the work he had started, and after a minute of stroking, she was moist and ready to go. He slid his penis inside her and began thrusting. A moan escaped from Emily’s lips. She wrapped her arms and legs around Jason, pulling him closer to her. The sound of Emily panting heavily in his ear and the sensation of her digging her fingernails into his back drove him wild. He began thrusting harder and faster. A tingling sensation in his penis came soon after, and he exploded inside of Emily. He rolled off her and collapsed on the other side of the bed, spent. Alarm climbed the walls of his belly as he felt Emily reach over and hold his hand—he was so not in the mood to cuddle.
“I’m really happy we did this.” She was looking at him and smiling.
“Me too,” Jason said, insincerely returning her smile. He had a bad feeling about where this was going, and he hoped that he was wrong.
“I better go see how Kim’s doing.” Emily climbed out of bed and got dressed. “I’m not seeing anyone right now, and I know you’re not seeing anyone right now, so . . . give me a call sometime, okay?” She lingered in the doorway, looking at him, her face as delicate and vulnerable as a porcelain doll.
“I will,” he lied.
“Okay.” Emily, seeming more self-possessed, smiled at him again and left.
It was as Jason had feared. Emily wanted to date. Emily was a nice girl, and she was hot, but he didn’t want a girlfriend. Emily seemed like the clingy type, and he had gotten enough of that with his first and only real girlfriend, Kat. Every time he turned around, Kat was starting fights with him and accusing him of cheating when he hadn’t, and then she’d break up with him and then want to immediately get back together the next day. It just got to be too much. That’s why he had broken up with her for good last year (he had done it before Christmas, so he wouldn’t have to buy her a present). Now that he had gotten a chance to experience what it was like to fuck whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted, however he wanted, there was no way he was ever going back to a monogamous relationship (well, maybe after he graduated from college. No, after he retired from the NFL; he didn’t want to miss out on all the groupies). Emily would be good to have on his arm for homecoming though.
He rose from the bed and picked up his phone. He did a cursory scroll through the footage of his
tryst with Emily: it could use a little more kink, but it was good stuff. He couldn’t wait to show it to the guys tomorrow during breakfast; they were going to be so fucking jealous! Winning the bet, with Emily Bulstride as his trump card, allowed Jason to fall asleep easily.
The pleasant smell of pancakes and eggs stirred Jason. He put his boxers on, grabbed his phone from the dresser, and bounced down the stairs to the large eat-in kitchen. Eric and Andy were already seated at the table, eating.
“Hey, loser, we were wondering when you were gonna show up. You missed a good time last night.” Eric shoved a strip of bacon into his mouth.
“That’s okay, because I was having a good time of my own.” Jason took a seat and proudly placed his phone on the table.
“No fucking way! Not you too! I can’t believe both of you douchebags got laid last night, and I didn’t. And it was my fucking party! If I had known this shit was gonna happen, I wouldn’t have thrown it. So who’s the unlucky girl?”
Jason pointed at his phone. “Read it and weep. Or watch it and weep. Whatever! Just watch the last video I recorded.”
Eric unlocked Jason’s phone and hit the camera app. He selected the video recorded last night. Jason watched as Andy and Eric leaned in to watch the video, smug satisfaction written all over his face.
“Holy shit!” yelled Eric.
“Oh snap!” cried Andy.
Their reactions made Jason grin from ear to ear. This was even better than the sex. Well, almost.
“You and Emily? You and Emily?” Eric repeated, Jason’s booty having stupefied him. “Man, I can’t even be mad. You won the bet, fair and square, and you did it with Emily Bulstride. I tip my hat to you, J.” He and Jason dapped.
“Yeah, good job, bro.” Andy also congratulated him with a dap.
“So what was she like?” Eric wondered. His eyes were still on the video. “Is she good? She looks like she was good.”
“Man, she was so, so, so, so, so, so good,” Jason said, going into raconteur mode. “She let me manhandle her, she let me come in her—man, she didn’t even ask me to put on a condom.”
“Ha! Slut!” Eric laughed and shoved another piece of bacon in his mouth.
“Her pussy has no hair on it,” Andy grizzled.
Jason just looked at him: what a fucking weirdo.
“Sascrotch fucker!” Eric yelled.
“Fuck you, Eric,” Andy retorted.
“Dude, look at her tits. Could they be anymore perfect?” Eric was practically drooling. “Can you make me a copy of this, J?”
“Yeah, me too.”
“As soon as you guys pay me my money.”
“Done. I just need to stop by the bank,” Eric said.
“Yeah, me too.”
“So what did you guys do last night while I was busy getting busy?”
“Freshmen initiation,” Eric told him. “We got all the freshmen so drunk they couldn’t even stand, then we tied them up, and pissed and jizzed all over ’em. You should’ve been there, J. That shit was wicked. It was my most epic idea ever.”
“So the only action you got last night was with dudes?” Jason chuckled and shook his head. “Fag.”
“Fuck you, man.”
“I’m sure you’d like to. Or do you only like freshmen? Is that like a prison thing, where you like the smaller, younger guys because they remind you of a girl?”
Eric threw a strip of bacon at Jason; Jason threw one back, and an all-out food fight erupted among the three boys, taking place all over the house.
CHAPTER TWO
Sara Krason pushed the button to bring the target to her. Once it came, she pulled it from the hanger to examine her marksmanship: from behind her protective goggles, she was able to see that she managed to get all but one of her bullets inside the innermost ring. She put another target up and pressed the button to send it to the end of the forty-yard lane. She put another magazine into her Glock twenty-six, nine-millimeter pistol. She raised her gun and fired at the center ring of the target. (The earmuffs she wore protected her from hearing the ear-splitting sounds of her shots.) She brought the target to her and was pleased that she managed to get all her shots in the innermost ring this time.
That was enough for today. It was almost four, and she still had to stop by Harold’s to get groceries for later on tonight. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with a hand towel.
On her way out, she stopped by her dad’s office. Her father, Marvin, owned this and two other gun ranges in Pennsylvania, including one in Philadelphia. He had gotten Sara involved with shooting and hunting about three years ago, after her mother had died. It was the only time they spent together, besides the occasional dinner. Marvin was a good man, and he tried to be a good father, but he and Sara had never been close, though he did try to make more of an effort after Sara lost her mother.
“Hey, kiddo, you heading out?” he asked from behind his large wooden desk, his meaty palms resting in his lap.
“Yeah. I’m stopping by the store on the way home. Do you want me to grab you anything while I’m there?”
“Uh, no. I’ll have whatever you’re making.”
“Okay.” As she walked out, Sara turned her head and accidently caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror embedded in one of the walls. Horrified, she turned away immediately. She hated practically everything about her appearance, from her double chin to her cottage-cheese thighs. And then there were the mounds of flab drooping from her arms like straw on a scarecrow and the rolls of fat encasing her stomach like a donut with filling. The only thing Sara liked about her appearance was her long dark-red hair. It was the only physical attribute she had received from her mother. (Why couldn’t Sara look more like her? She had been as gorgeous as an oil painting before cancer had ravaged her.) She got her size and everything else from her dad.
Harold’s was a supermarket chain that populated the northeast. They had pretty much everything lining their shelves: food, clothing, electronics . . . Sara wasn’t sure, but it wouldn’t surprise her if they carried the proverbial missing kitchen sink.
The store was extremely busy, even for a Saturday afternoon. Sara filled her cart with hard taco shells, ground beef, lettuce, shredded cheese, tomatoes, green onions, taco sauce, and sour cream. She was lucky enough to meet an empty lane when she was ready to check out her groceries. She rushed to put her stuff on the conveyor belt before anyone else came along.
“Hello. How are you doing today?” the cashier greeted her.
“I’m fine and—” Sara stopped speaking when she saw that her cashier was Andy Abbott, one of the assholes she went to school with. Her first thought was to put her stuff back into her cart and go to one of the other lanes—even though it would require her waiting awhile to check out her groceries—but she stopped herself, refusing to let this jerk scare her off. She flattened her voice and did her best to remain cool, calm, and collected. “I’m fine.” She finished putting her food on the conveyor belt. While Andy was scanning her groceries, Sara demanded to have them double bagged.
“Sure thing.” He looked as though he was sniggering at her. Sara would have called him on it, but she could feel beads of sweat forming on her forehead, partly from the heat and partly from nervousness, and she wanted to get the hell out of there before the beads started to drip far more than she wanted to confront Andy. She had a phobia about sweating in front of other people: from kindergarten until she had started high school, her classmates had taunted her for sweating through her clothes during the first couple of months of school—when the weather was still warm—and during the last couple of months—when the warm weather returned after winter hibernation—from doing absolutely nothing but sitting at a desk. A teacher had even gotten in on the fun once, remarking a few weeks into the beginning of the school year, “You got sweat all over this!” in a disgusted tone, after a thirteen-year-old Sara had handed in a worksheet dappled with perspiration. The entire class had howled with laughter, and Sara—shoulders up, head down�
�had lumbered back to her seat. She now carried a hand towel and a change of clothes at all times during the spring, summer, and fall, but she didn’t feel comfortable pulling her towel out at the moment: she didn’t like sweating in front of other people, but she didn’t like to wipe the sweat away in front of them, either; it only called more attention to her problem.
Andy handed her the last of her groceries before stating, “That’ll be thirty-two dollars, even.” Sara handed him two twenties, and he gave her back a five and three ones, along with her receipt. “Thank you, have a good day.”
Sara walked away without replying. She heard chuckling once she got a few steps away.
The ground beef sizzled in the frying pan as Sara moved it around with the spatula. She pushed and flipped the meat until it was dark brown. She scooped it into the four hard taco shells she had on her plate and sprinkled the toppings she had gotten from the store on it.
Moving from the kitchen and into the living room, Sara set her plate and drink (Mexican Coke) on the coffee table. She pressed play on the remote control to the blu-ray player. The first horror film up was Scream, Sara’s favorite. It had been a tradition since sixth grade for her to watch horror films and pig out on Mexican food the weekend before school started. Her mom had done it with her when she was alive, because Sara didn’t have any friends, and Sara had been doing it alone since then.
Her mom had passed three years ago on May twenty-first. Sara was about to graduate from junior high and would turn fourteen in a month. Her mother had been battling B-cell prolymphocytic leukemia for two years at that point, and she had suffered through chemotherapy and multiple trips to the hospital for drug administration before the illness finally took her. The morning of her mother’s passing, Sara had awoken early to make her mom’s favorite breakfast: blueberry pancakes with turkey sausage links and eggs over easy. Her dad, disheveled from the previous night’s sleep and distraught from his recent discovery, came into the kitchen while she was whipping the pancake batter and told her that her mother was gone.
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