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A pair of hazel eyes regard me coolly. “It’s fine.” He sidesteps me and keeps walking—and yeah, I’m the guy at fault here, but damn—I’m not sure I deserved the death glare. I feel sorry for whoever has to room with that ray of sunshine.
I shake my head, shrugging off the encounter, and the three of us make our way to the student union where there are half a dozen fast food options so no one has to eat something they don’t want. And after putting away a shit-ton of calories, off we go to–as Jagger put it–the party of the year.
It’s in this massive three story house with a large porch that’s already full of people, music blasting from the open doors and windows as people jostle to get inside.
“Who’s place is this?” I ask as I follow Jagger through a sea of bodies that seem to part just for him, though if he’s aware of people stepping back to stare as he passes, he doesn’t let on. Wrinkling my nose as the scent of cheap beer and sweat hits my nose, I follow him through the front door.
“I think it’s Bennet’s. Or at least it’s his fraternity.” He leads us straight to the keg as if he somehow knew where it would be, taking three cups from the girl distributing them. The moment she sees who she’s handing them to, she freezes in place, her gaze sliding down his body one inch at a time. By the time her eyes travel back to his face she nearly drops the stack of cups she’s holding, though with his attention on the keg Jagger doesn’t even notice.
Cameron huffs out a breath that I’m pretty sure is supposed to mean ‘told you,’ although I never doubted his claim that women would fall at Jagger’s feet. A few guys too, if I’m reading the room right. His looks are so enthralling. I think people stare just to see if he’s real.
Full cups in hand, we wander a bit, taking in the scene. Furniture is pushed against the wall to create a dance floor, and a group of ten or so move to the beat in one corner of the living room. Beer pong has a crowd gathering in the dining room, and smaller groups are scattered about flirting, laughing, and drinking the night away.
“The nice thing about hanging out with Jagger is I never have to be the wingman,” Cameron says as we weave through the house, catching the eye of pretty much every female on the premises. “Of course, that means I get the girl he doesn’t want, but since I’m not looking for anything serious it works.”
“You do this a lot then? Hook up with the friend of whoever he reels in?”
“Makes life easy.”
“What happens if you want more?”
Cameron shoots me a curious look. “Who has time for more with football?”
“Yeah. Makes sense.” I sip my tasteless beer and follow along, although truthfully, I don’t fully understand the casual sex thing. Hooking up for the sake of hooking up seems like a chore instead of something pleasurable, but after what happened with Xavier and Piper, I’m happy to support my new friends in their endeavors. They’re too young to hitch themselves to another person, particularly if it might be the wrong one.
After meandering around the house to take in the scene, we finally reach the beer pong table. A few of our other teammates are gathered there, and the three of us take turns playing as teams rotate based on who lost the round and who needs more beer.
My first game is sub-par, and the second is just as bad. By the third, I’m clearly the guy you don’t want to partner with.
“Seriously, Cruz.” Jagger rolls his eyes when my ball goes way off target. “The object is to get the ball in the cup, not bounce it off my chest.”
“Maybe I’m going for the ricochet.”
“That’s not a thing,” Cameron snorts.
“How are you so bad at this?” My teammate Kyle asks. “You’re a football player. You should have better aim.”
“I’m a tight end, not a quarterback,” I reason as the ball lands in the cup in front of me. Again.
I’m booed off the table after that, which is fine since I’ve had more than my fair share of drinks, and since I can’t play anymore Jagger and Cameron make room for new players. We’re mingling off to the side, cheering and jeering the guys who replaced us, when a trio of girls who have been following us all night finally work up the nerve to approach Jagger.
“Told you.” Cameron slaps the back of his wrist against my chest. “He’ll go for the blonde. It’s his type. You want the brunette or the redhead?”
“Oh, I uh…”
“I sort of dig brunettes if that’s cool with you,” he says as he winks at said brunette, saving me from having to respond. “Come on.” Cameron tugs me closer to where the girls are gathered around Jagger, and while I’m aware introductions are made, I don’t register any of their names. I tell myself it’s the beer making my head foggy, but that’s only partially true. I’m more interested in the plausible excuse I can make to leave than remembering new names.
Feeling tired, feeling drunk, having to pee–that last one makes the most sense–and I’m just about to use it when our new friends suggest we move outside. Perfect.
I’m the first to the door–fresh air sounds like a great idea–and stretching my legs on a walk might clear my head a bit. But a few minutes into the walk, I realize two things: Jagger and Cameron aren’t with us anymore, and if I focus my eyes on the trees, I can see them moving. Or more accurately, I see bodies moving against those trees.
The backyard is like lookout point or something, the muffled sounds of heavy breathing and…other noises floating in the air. Just before the girl next to me stops I catch sight of two men writhing together, the blond one backed up against a tree as his partner’s arm moves rhythmically back and forth.
The girl beside me places a small hand on my chest, though it barely registers. I can’t tear my eyes away from the male couple, a deep-rooted curiosity taking control.
I’ve never seen two guys make out. The only gay guy I know is my cousin, and I don’t want to see him doing that with anyone. I would’ve expected the sight to be weird, mostly because it’s unfamiliar, but strangely it doesn’t seem weird at all. Well, no more so than a hetero couple doing it anyway.
Actually, something about the blond seems familiar.
