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ty cali-bro lmao pls bring plates
Leon Harp
I want to order buffalo chicken pizza. Neigh-sayers be damned. You can go hungry :)
Maybe inviting the Horror Enthusiasts Club to one of the frat’s regular movie nights was the worst idea I’ve ever come up with.
Which is saying a lot, because I’ve made some horrendous split-second decisions in the past.
Everyone is having a mental breakdown about purchasing something, and all I said was “potluck.” Who cares if two people bring pop? There’s going to be over fifty of us in the TV room, all crammed together for two hours.
I pour the melted and seasoned butter over the assortment of crunchy goods, then dump the whole thing on a sheet pan.
Thirty minutes to garlic-cheese-flavored bliss.
Snack mix is a requirement during all movies. No exceptions. Popcorn is the less desirable equivalent. One texture and one flavor. It’s a straight-up salt lick when you get to the bottom of the bag. Not to mention the kernels that always end up stuck in my throat. The last thing I want to do is start choking in front of Ira.
Speaking of—
Dusting off my hands, I switch from the group text to the one with only Ira.
pls pls pls cum help downstairs
Last sent over twenty minutes ago.
It’s marked as read so I know he saw it.
Then again, it’s Ira. He probably got distracted watching a dog do cartwheels or a bird documentary, and he’s stuck inside his blanket fortress as usual.
We’ve only “officially” been together for two weeks, but I almost feel like an old married couple. The honeymoon phase lasted exactly forty-five hours—I timed it. I’m not counting bathroom and shower breaks, even though he swears they’re viable evidence. Now, I ask him to do something, and he flakes. We argue for ten minutes before he makes me laugh, then we forget until it happens all over again.
Oh, well.
My music comes back in through my earbuds for all of ten measly seconds before someone’s calling. I really hope it’s Leon; I don’t want buffalo chicken pizza.
I tap the left earbud as I slide the pan into the oven. “Go for Colby.”
Ira’s hyena-laugh rolls from one ear to the other.
“Is that how you always answer your phone?” he asks, breathier than usual. He sounds like he’s been running a marathon, when I know he’s upstairs doing absolutely nothing.
“Doesn’t it make me sound professional?” I wipe down the counters and toss the empty bags and crumbs into the trash.
“Mm… no.”
“Stop ignoring me to watch videos. This is too big to do by myself.”
His quiet moan stops me dead in my tracks.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “I could say the same thing.”
Suddenly, I’m less concerned about logistics and the group chat, and more concerned about what the fuck he’s doing. I lean my hip against the oven, keeping my voice even.
“Ira—”
“Don’t get angry. I have—” His voice breaks, and my dick twitches against my leg as I listen to his heavy breathing and whimpers for what feels like forever. “I have an idea.”
“What’s the idea?” I murmur, glancing out the door to make sure no one’s going to waltz in at the worst possible time.
