“Fantastic,” she says, blue eyes sparkling back at me.
I raise an eyebrow. “Fuck around with Reyn a lot?”
Her cheeks turn pink, even though she throws me a playful scowl. “We spent a lot of time together, yeah.”
Those two. Cute as a tragic button. All hot and scarred. A perfect fucking match. If I can manage this whole intermittent dick fasting thing, then I’m probably going to need to live vicariously through Vandy’s sex life.
“What about you?” she asks. “How was the Caribbean?”
I flap a hand. “Oh, you know. Daddy was all about the sailing. Mommy was all about the shopping. I was all about the—”
“Hooking up with cute surfer guys.” Even though she laughs, I can hear the tension in it. She worries about me. Ever since she found out I was the girl in the video, she’s looked at me differently. That’s the worst part, to be honest. It’s exactly what I always feared. The sex with Heston was rough. Hard. Fast.
Snap!
Either people see me as a victim of assault, or they think I’m a sex freak. Neither is the whole truth, just two mangled halves of it. No one would really understand, anyway.
“No,” I correct her, giving her a nudge. “I shopped. I ate. I read a lot of books and got sunburned.” I look down at my still pale skin. The curse of being a redhead. “George and my dad fished constantly. It was fun.”
Vandy’s nose wrinkles at the mention of my twin brother, George. He had a crush on her junior year—until Reyn swooped in and marked her as his own. Literally. She has his Devil’s mark tattooed on the inside of her thigh.
“Have you heard from Sugar?” she asks, looping her bag over a delicate shoulder. “I got a few postcards. It looks like she and Sebastian had an awesome road trip. I’m kind of jealous.”
Sugar Voss was my transfer roommate from the year before. We became good friends, and then she started dating my other good friend, Sebastian. Wilcox. Brother of Heston.
Yeah, things around Preston tend to get a little incestuous after a while.
“Yes, I got some too,” I reply, thinking of the stack of cards up in my dorm room. “And according to ChattySnap, they’re snug up at Yale, far, far away from the drama of our little school.”
Vandy bites down on her bottom lip. “Come on, after last year, don’t you think maybe the drama is over for a bit? Sydney’s parents forced her to transfer. Sugar and Bass are happy. Emory is at college. Heston is…well, wherever he is. Jail, I hope.” She grins slyly. “And we’re going to initiate a few new Devils to make up for the ones that graduated. It’s our senior year. It’s going to be epic. I can feel it!”
Oh, Vandy. She’s so fucking optimistic, sometimes I wonder if she’s still popping pills.
“So what are you doing here?” I ask, the two of us ambling slowly across the courtyard. “You didn’t move on campus, did you?”
She snorts. “God, like my mother would let me move out of the house. It’s going to be hard enough getting her to accept me going to college.” Vandy survived a wicked car accident right before our freshman year. It took her a long time to recover, and she still has a significant limp. Her parents and brother, Emory, have been a tad overprotective ever since. But now Emory has graduated, she has a sexy boyfriend who’s taking a gap year, and I see the flicker of determination in her eyes as she clutches the notebook against her chest. “I’m trying to get inspiration for an expose for the paper. Again. Unfortunately, nothing feels right.”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
My phone vibrates, and I look at the screen.
You’ve Been Matched!
I freeze, feeling myself vibrate at that special frequency. It’s no surprise that I feel like this—wound tight, trapped inside my skin, nerves firing on all cylinders—knowing that it’s so close.
Because my last hook-up was on the final day of my junior year.
Three months ago.
I’ve spent the entire week approaching this—who I want to match with—as the sophisticated operation it should be. I had an easier time choosing which car I wanted my dad to buy me. I’m not just picking any random Preston guy to break my dick-fast with.
In fact, I refuse to fuck a Preston guy ever again. I’m over all high school guys, actually, with their petty drama and all the shitty comments behind my back. I’m over the way they all fuck, more concerned about getting a quick nut than actually having good sex. I’m over their inexperienced fumbling, completely lacking in assertiveness. I’m so over feeling like I have to ask for it harder.
I’m humming so strongly with excitement that I briefly consider telling Vandy about everything. The temporary celibacy. How good I’ve been. About the fact I’m going to go hog fucking wild on some dick tonight.
But then I remember the tense sound of her laughter before.
I don’t want her to worry about me.
“I’ve got to go,” I tell her, sliding the phone back into my pocket. “I have a ton to do before school starts tomorrow.”
She waves and I walk off, pulling out my phone once I’m far enough away. I open up the notification and it takes me straight to the app; AcadaNeeds. It’s a hook-up app, not a dating site, and it’s hard as hell to get verified. This is the better way—vetting someone carefully instead of caving to an impulse.
“Wow,” I mutter when I see the attached photo. Over course I’ve seen the picture on his profile before, but it’s no less blood-stirring. It’s one of the primary reasons I’d swiped him. My eyes skim over the broad, well-defined chest. It’s not one of those cheesy bathroom pics, either. He’s waist deep in a clear blue swimming pool, revealing a ladder of impressive abs and a delicious happy trail. He’s got a long, lean, well-toned swimmer’s body that’s already been featured in my late-night relief sessions a dozen or more times.
His screen name is admittedly the epitome of cringe.
HotWetCox
But that photo alongside his bio was a sure seller.
Not looking for any weak bitches. If you can’t take a good rough fuck, then don’t bother wasting my time. I fuck hard and I make it hurt.
The photo was good, but it’s the bio that got me. I’ve been waiting—hoping, praying—that he’d swipe on my profile, too. I’m not stupid enough to think that one lay will get me through the next three months, but a good, rough fuck will certainly be as close as I could get.
I pause, staring down at the photo, feeling warm heat spread through my limbs. One dick to get me through the next three months, and this is it.
Looking around me to make sure no one is watching, I swipe across the screen. Like I told Mrs. Gilbert, I’m ready to make this my best year yet.
Meet me at Underworld. 9pm. You’ll be on the list. Wear something red and short.
I tuck the phone into my purse, adjusting the short hem of my dress. Underworld is a shady, lame-ass club that no one at Preston would ever deign to step within five blocks of.
Or, at least, it used to be.
Last time I saw this place, it was full of tweakers and rollers, shitty rave music pulsing from the cracks in the windows. It’s been completely overhauled, repainted, new lights, a distinct class of cars parked out front. I step out of mine, gaping up at the glowing ‘Underworld’ sign hanging over the entrance.