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CAMDEN
Boobs. Boobseverywhere.Small boobs, large boobs, perky boobs, saggy boobs—hell, there are even a few fake boobs thrown into the mix. Although, I’m not a huge fan of hard tits. Oh well, still makes for a great sight.
It’s the first party of the year and since the weather here in sunny Braxton, Florida, is perfect, what better way to kick off the new semester than a pool party? And of course, it hasnothingto do with getting dozens of fine-as-hell coeds in as little amount of clothing as possible. That would be downright shameful of us, and we here at Braxton University are nothing but gentlemen.
The party is at the house I share with four of my teammates: Levi, Mateo, Conrad, and Maddox. We all play for the Braxton U soccer team and, if I do say so myself, we totally kick ass. Our team went undefeated last year, but barely came out winners with only one damn goal ahead at the championship. With us being upper classmen this year and losing some of our best players after graduation, we have to keep our heads on straight and focus.
“Heads-up,” someone yells, right before a beach ball comes flying toward me, almost knocking the beer out of my hand. They’re lucky I have fast reflexes, or I would have been pissed that a perfectly good beer was wasted.
A familiar-looking blonde chick with an obvious fake tan comes strutting up. She bends down, a little too slow if you ask me, and retrieves the ball at my feet. When she stretches back to her full length, I notice a barely there, bright pink bikini covers her inflated tits.Hmm, inflated tit girl coming to collect the inflated ball. Seems ironic to me.
After staring at her boobs for far too long, she must get the impression that I’m impressed by them. I wish I had the heart to tell her I’m an all-natural type of guy. Real boobs, even if they’re smaller, are much more fun to play with than hard, fake ones. It just doesn’t…feel right to me. Someone should really tell these girls before they spend thousands of dollars on something most guys aren’t a fan of.
Someone yells out “Chloe” again and over the chick’s shoulder, there is a group of guys in the pool staring at her, including a few of my teammates. She rolls her eyes and turns around to launch the ball in their direction. I’m about to make a quick run for it when a hand latches onto my forearm. Fake boobs, or as I’ve just learned is Chloe, runs her nails up my arm and starts rubbing my bicep. Most of the time, when a girl shows interest like Chloe obviously is, I’d take them up on the offer. You won’t see me turning down no strings attached sex. I’m just not feeling it with this one. First, the attraction isn’t there on my part. Once again, natural is my type. The fake tits, unnatural spray tan, unnatural blond hair with purple highlights, and fake nails are actually having the opposite effect on me than I’m sure she thinks. It may be possible that my dick just went into hiding at the thought of going near one of Willy Wonka’s employees. Second, I’m not looking to catch any kind of disease that’ll have my junk out of commission for an unseen amount of time, and by the looks of this girl, she’s a predator on the hunt for her next victim.Good try, honey, but I’m smarter than you’d think.
She leans in close, making sure to press her barely covered boobs up against my arm, and begins rubbing my bare chest. It’s a struggle to hold back the eye roll at her obvious moves. Do girls have this shit scripted now? I’m sure this is what Chloe does to every guy she wants to bed. The slight arm touch, then the hand roaming, and I’m sure what comes next is the lip biting while looking up at me through her eyelashes. Then she’ll probably say something like ‘What do you say we head somewhere andtalkfor a bit,’ and we all know she has no intentions of actually talking.
Chloe licks her lips, then gazes up at me through her long eyelashes. Running her long fingernail down the center of my chest to the waistband of my shorts, she says, “Camden Collins, what a nice surprise it is to run into you. I’ve never been with a forward before. I’m sure you know all about scoring. How about you show me that big old house of yours and we can have some alone time in your room?”
My body runs cold, despite the ninety-degree weather, when I realize who this is. While I haven’t met her in person, every guy on the team knows who Chloe Stevens is. She’s the most known ball chaser and has been making her way through Braxton U soccer players since her freshman year. She usually goes for upperclassman, although I remember her and Maddox having something going on last semester. Rumor has it she is trying to land a player who will make it past college ball and play pro or for a club team. All she wants is the money and status that come with it.
Ball chasers are what we call girls who go after guys on the team just because of our status as soccer players. Since we’re one of the best college teams in the nation, a lot of us go on to play for overseas pro or club teams, and women see that as instant dollar signs. I can tell Chloe sees me like that by the sparkle and excitement in her eyes. No doubt she has plans of trapping a player and making him her sugar daddy. Really, she should have bigger dreams than becoming a gold digger.
Plucking her hand off the string of my board shorts, I take a step back, separating myself from the pro ball chaser. “Sorry, doll, I’m not feeling it tonight.” By the look of shock on her face, I’d go ahead and say that Chloe isn’t used to rejection. I’m sure most guys here, including my roommates, would jump at the easy lay, but I’m getting tired of easy. I’m starting to wonder if there is a girl out there who doesn’t throw herself at a guy just because of his status. Sure, I was all for it my first two years here, but it’s starting to get old. I would rather a girl want me for me, Camden Collins the guy, and not Camden Collins the soccer player and team captain.
“I’m sorry, but are you saying you don’t want any of this?” Chloe says, motioning to her body, making sure she points out the parts that are hidden behind the tiny fabric of her bathing suit.
I shrug my shoulders, seemingly unimpressed. “I’m sure you can find another guy for the evening.” And with that, I walk away before I have to deal with the aftereffects of this chick’s rejection. For some reason, I don’t think she would take it too well.
Heading toward the back door, I pass by an intense game of flip-cup where a young girl is being shouted at by one of the football players because she can’t get the red Solo cup to land right. Poor thing, she should have known better than to join a game with the big dogs. Those guys take anything with a winner at the end very seriously. I think it’s them trying to make up for being one of the shittiest college football teams. Winning games like flip-cup and beer pong make them feel a little better about themselves.
I’m too lost in the game going on in front of me that I don’t notice my teammate and best friend, Maddox, come up in front of me and almost walk right into him. “Hey, man, I need you for the next game of beer pong. Levi is a lightweight and’s about ready to pass out and you know Mateo’s gone for the weekend,” he says, shoving me in the direction of the beer pong set up.
There are four white tables set up with different levels of difficulty on each of them. When you have guys as good as Maddox and me playing, the standard ten-cup game isn’t enough of a challenge for us. We like to make it interesting, so at one end there’s six-cup beer pong, which is usually for the freshman girls who haven’t played before, and then two tables of ten-cup games in the middle, and leading up to twenty-one-cup beer pong. The last table is much more of a challenge that most people avoid because with that amount of beer, you start to feel the effects of the alcohol before you’re even halfway in. Fifty cups filled to the middle with beer will make any man weak. That is, except for Maddox and me. We’re the only ones on campus who have won the fifty-cup beer pong challenge. Did we pass out after and spend most of the night puking cheap beer into a toilet? Of course. We drank a shit ton. But it was totally worth it to have that title under our belts.
Two of my other teammates, Rodrick and Aaron, are filling the fifty cups with beer from the nearby keg. Maddox is beside me, bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying to get pumped up like he does before a game.
Maddox has always been an energetic guy. While not as competitive as some of the guys on our team, Maddox plays for the love of the sport, like me. We’re both forwards, and since we’ve played together for so long, the two of us are in sync when we are on the field. That bond works when we’re off the field also, which is the reason why we’re undefeated in basically any drinking game we have at parties. Flip-cup? No one can touch us. Quarters? Not a fucking chance. And beer pong? I think being the only ones at any party to win at fifty-cup speaks for itself.
Usually, Maddox isn’t this excited about a game of beer pong, so his bouncing around and rolling his shoulders is unusual. When I turn to see who we’re playing against, I know exactly why he’s acting this way. Ben and Luis Moore. Seniors and twin brothers who are safeties for the Braxton football team and grade-A assholes. While most guys on the football team are chill, these two are hated by pretty much everyone. They’re self-centered jerks who don’t give a shit about anything or anyone. We’ve tried to distance ourselves from the twins after I caught them trying to bring a passed-out freshman to one of our bedrooms last year, but it’s difficult to keep people out of an open party.
I grab Maddox’s arm and pull him aside, ignoring the yellow-toothed smirk on Ben’s face. “What the fuck are you thinking doing anything that involves them? Actually, why the hell are they even here? You know what pieces of shit they are.”
“Don’t worry, man,” Maddox reassures me. “I was sending the douchebags packing, but then fuckface over there”—he points to Luis, the uglier of the two—“started spewing shit and talking about how great he is at life. I had to bring him down a few notches and remind him of the football team’s losing streak. One thing led to another, and they challenged me to a game. I couldn’t turn it down. It’s you and me against the sleazy Moore brothers. We got this in the bag, bro.” He holds up his fist, waiting for me to give him a knuckle punch, but I just roll my eyes and turn to face the table.
A small crowd has started to circle around us, waiting for the game to start. I’m sure seeing who the teams are, people are expecting some drama. While I’d love to do nothing more than knock these jerks on their asses and make them look like fools in front of everyone, I’m too frustrated by the fact that they’re even here. I won’t be taking my eyes off them until they’re driving away from my house.
“Are we going to start this or what? Or are you pansies afraid to lose your precious beer pong champ title?” Luis smirks, showing his crooked, yellowing teeth. Just the sight of this guy has a chill running up my spine.
Grabbing both ping-pong balls, I throw one of them in their direction and get ready for the toss-up to see who throws first.
Ben and I go head-to-head, making sure we don’t break eye contact when we try to make a shot. With little effort, I come out the winner.
The game starts off pretty evenly. With this many cups, it is easy to make the first few shots. Once you start taking away the ones you’ve made, though, the challenge really begins with how many holes there are. I can see the struggle on Luis’s face as he focuses on making one of the island shots. I just sit back with a cocky smirk on my face, already having made three of these this game.
He tosses the ball up into the air, letting it sail across the table and…completely misses the target and hits Maddox in the thigh.
