Streams and Schemes

by Rebecca Kinkade

This book is dedicated to anyone who fucks as a coping mechanism. You do you. Keep coping your brains out.

But in my defense, I saw a poster outside Starbucks announcing the return of the pumpkin spice latte at the end of the month, and everyone knows the return of the PSL means cuffing season is around the corner. So really, if anyone’s to blame for my mistake, it’s Starbucks and the motherfucker who invented the PSL, not me.

Somehow—I’m not exactly sure how—the inventor of the PSL is to blame for this too.

“Hey,” Lander interrupts, speaking over my shoulder. “Don’t touch her. If you put your hands on her one more time, I’ll rip them off and then sue you for getting blood on my suit. Am I fucking clear?”

I mean, fuck—it’s phenomenal. I’m not even sure I should be touching it because this ass feels priceless. It should be insured and guarded by 24/7 security.

And fine, I volunteer: I’ll be the one to guard it. I’m selfless like that.

Damn. If I had known getting this girl would require Spanish fluency and regular cardio, I would have started training months ago.

I face her, but I can’t answer. I’m borderline catatonic, stuck in a tit-induced stupor.

(I hate you, you man-child, and if you ever talk to my father about me again, I’ll beat you so badly that your dead ancestors will prune you from the family tree out of sheer embarrassment. They will replace you with a birdhouse and a tire swing and thank me for making the space),

“Funny?” Cora scoffs. “Your big deal, big law neighbor is funny? I don’t buy it for a minute.” “I know. He seems so intimidating, but he’s an oddball. Half of what he says to me sounds like the edible just hit.”

And yeah, I know she told me to back off yesterday, but I have no plans to obey. I’m shamelessly persistent. If it takes a little scheming to get her, I’m down to scheme. It’s either that, or I’ll have to smash through the drywall separating us like the Kool-Aid man.

I’m wrong. I am, in fact, getting nowhere. My coping abilities? Nonexistent. I can’t stop thinking about Valeria. It’s a sickness.

I do know Lilith Lace is an edgy goth chick who gives off vibes like she belongs to a coven and has surreptitiously planned a hostile takeover, but is waiting for a full moon to make it happen.

“And national security, Ev? At the EPA? What, are the plants going to rise up and pollinate us to death?”

“‘Meet’ is a loose term for what we’re doing,” I confess, tilting my head side to side. Immediately, Everett’s eyebrow shoots up. It does that a lot. He surveys me, his stare harsh but harmless, before he lets out a slow exhalation. “God, are you stalking her, Lander?” “Stalking is also a loose term for what I’m doing,” I admit,

“This feels deeply maniacal,” he decides. “Since when are you maniacal?”

“If anything, I’m doing you a favor. I’m introducing you to a beautiful woman. That’s practically a gift. A great one. If we were living in an ancient civilization and you were a god, my offering of a beautiful woman would warrant ten goats and water for my barley crops.”

“This is not an ancient civilization, Lander. We are not on the Tigris-Euphrates river system, Lander. I’m not a god, Lander.”

“You remember when I learned to rock climb so you could hook up with that girl in Colorado? I’m afraid of heights, Everett.”

“We’re good on drinks,” Essie replies before she reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze—the unspoken girl-code for I’m so sorry I almost bailed on you for this sequoia of a man, which is a hard thing to pass on because I’m a total size queen.

She squeezes my hand—the unspoken girl-code for thanks for taking one for the team and giving me a chance to convince this arrogant little tree hugger to take pictures of my nipple piercings.

“Everett,” Dalton interjects, brow knotted, “you got scared of a dildo? These women are camgirls. Dildos are, like, entry-level fuckery. Get used to it.”

“Go for it, señor presidente,” I taunt. “That’s ‘Mr. President’ in Spanish.”

Good boy. There’s something about a woman five years younger than me calling me a good boy that has me torn between finding enough rope to wrangle the moon for her or using that same rope to bind her and prove I’m neither good nor a boy.

I want him to grow physically sick at the thought of being touched by any woman but me. I want to own his brain and his fucking soul.

I mean, if shit keeps up, I’ll be devastatingly handsome—but nothing is certain.

Dalton Cavendish Making out with a tree. Trudging through the woods with a bag of organic baby carrots, trying to befriend deer. Going into coffee shops and berating the managers to get rid of their condiment bars. Everett Logan I should. Condiment bars are a haven for single-use plastics and corporate treachery.

I’m photographing Cora. Naked. Dalton Cavendish Oh shit, Lan, did you hear? Everett is photographing a hot naked girl. Fucking martyr. Selfless as fuck. Me How is that a favor for me? Everett Logan In the immortal words of the Spice Girls, ‘If you wannabe my lover, you gotta get with my friends.’ Me …I’m pretty sure they meant having civil conversations, not naked photoshoots.

“You drunk?” “I’m a few degrees past drunk and I’m dancing in the general range of a blackout,” he answers. “You?” I run my tongue over my teeth and feel like I just soaked up enough bourbon to prolong—and simultaneously worsen—my inevitable hangover. “Sober as a judge.” “So…you’re slightly drunker than I am.” “Undoubtedly.”

The bed creaks as he rolls onto his other side. “You know what I like most about you? I’ll give you a hint: It’s not how you get talkative when you’re drunk.” “Is it my good hair? Because it’s genetic. I can’t take credit for it.” “You get shit done,”

I’m a junkie now because I’d literally cut throats if they were in the way of me getting my lips on her plump, wet pussy.

New rule: I don’t date lawyers unless they’re closet oddballs on a mission to redefine the word “worshipful.”

She pulls away. “Are we good? Because I really don’t want to motorboat your boobs if we’re fighting.”

“Ladies, you were incredible as well,” Lander offers, altogether too cordial for someone who just watched my two best friends come their brains out.

she answers before glancing at Cora and then me with both eyebrows up, the girl-code for: This guy has more green on his flag than Brazil, Nigeria, and Saudi Arabia combined.

“Fine. You’ll be discreet about my career, and next Thursday, I’ll fuck myself with a giant dildo on my stream.”

That’s all it takes to be a great lawyer: decent reading comprehension and the ability to be scary as fuck.

“She’s a camgirl. She’d let me die before letting her phone die.”

Dalton waves me off. “Yeah, yeah, you’d marry me if you weren’t clinically and terrifyingly obsessed with Valeria. Now go,”

Less than a minute later, Dalton and Everett are standing on the side of the road with their luggage, and I can’t believe I just left two guys whose trust funds could buy a small European principality on Highway 50. While I watch them grow smaller in the rearview mirror, two thoughts cross my mind: Number one: Dalton and Everett are, far and away, the best friends a guy could ask for. Number two: I really should have at least left them in a Cracker Barrel parking lot or something.

Then she’s sucking my cock and it’s the point of no return. I’ve crossed the line from casual Reddit nudist to full-on internet fucker.

And frankly, if the holy grail were, in fact, a ten-inch dildo, the world would be a better place. If people spent less time trying to live forever and more time fucking each other in the freakiest ways possible, I imagine we’d all be happier.

Sure, after tonight, hundreds of strangers will have seen my asshole get fingered, but I don’t care.

“What stream?” I inquire while taking a seat on the end of Valeria’s bed, sort of wishing I had given him more time to call me. My body is still tingling from sex, and he’s really ruining the vibe.

“Plus, I had fun. Too much fun. Hey, did you know I was an—” “Exhibitionist? Yes, Lander. I knew.” I squeeze his shoulder. “I knew you’d figure it out eventually.” “Seriously? Baby, throw a guy a bone and list out his kinks for him.”