Top Secret

by Sarina Bowen

“Dumb” and “selfish” will definitely be the descriptors I use if I decide to run a smear campaign against Mr. Jockface. “Seriously hot” also works, although it kills me to admit that. Still, even though the guy’s good-looking, he’s not my type at all. I don’t go for preppy jocks. When I’m in the mood for a guy, I like ‘em a little rougher around the edges. But, hey, if you like handsome rich dudes, Keaton is your man.

The thing is, I usually avoid these thoughts. Group sex is hot as fuck to me, but I don’t fantasize about guys. That’s like a dangerous, war-torn country that I stay clear of. But SinnerThree told me I have to. So that makes it a little less weird.

What does cheating look like? Because I think it might look like this—sexy talk and shared confidences. Late-night chats and jokes. I’m not a cheater. I sure don’t want to be, anyway. And since her birthday is only a week and a half away, the point will soon be moot.

It is cheating at this point

“Oh, Keaton.” Her voice trembles slightly. “I really do love you.” “Love you too.”

I'm getting uncomfy

“Fuck you⁠—” “Fuck me, yes,” I interrupt, laughing darkly. “That’s exactly what you wanted to do, remember, Keaton? You wanted to fuck me. You wanted me to fuck you. You wanted me. You wanted this⁠—” I grab him by the back of the neck and kiss him.

But the problem with hitting Send is, the other person still gets the message, because you fucking hit Send. LobsterShorts: Is that a dare, Bailey? Oooh boy. He used my name. Shit just got real.

Maybe it’s a side effect of the complete destruction of my life, but I am attracted to Luke-fucking-Bailey.

If letting your fraternity brother touch your cock is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

The whole setup is irresistible. Hot frat brother who wants to be fucked? They make gay porn like this because real life doesn’t actually work this way. Except tonight it does.

And although I’m pleased that Bailey accepted my help, I find it incredibly telling that he only agreed to it when he thought I was using him. Someone helping him from the goodness of their heart is completely inconceivable to him, and damned if that isn’t one of the saddest things I’ve ever encountered.

“You’re a yellow lab.” “I’m…what?” “A dog. A big, happy dog chasing Frisbees on the beach with his pals. You’re a pack animal.” I snort. “And you’re…a pit bull?” “Not even. I’m a tomcat in the alley,” he says. “Just passing through. No collar. Not very friendly. No good at catching Frisbees…”

It would kill me, though. Because when I look at Keaton Hayworth III, I see the kind of man who can never be mine. Whatever he thinks he sees in me will eventually get old. One day soon he’ll wake up and wonder what the hell he’s doing with a punk who nobody else ever bothered to love. His obsession will fade. Maybe it’s because he gets sick of my bullshit. Or maybe another, badder bad boy catches his eye.

But you can’t make someone get over their issues and love you. I know that he’s never had anyone trustworthy in his life, and I really want to be that person. But what if he’s just too broken to let me?

So why should I be the one to fight for us? And is there even a point in fighting for someone who doesn’t want to love you?

I’m just a guy, standing on a beach in nothing but his favorite pair of lobster shorts, waiting for the right man to love me.