Page 3 of Beg for It

CHAPTER THREE

ELI

No one ever knows how awkward it can be to create thirst traps alone in your room on a casual Thursday morning.

Streaming video games and playing competitively with gamers and esports players across the world is easy.

Feeding into the frenzy of thirsty men, women, and everyone in between is a whole other ballgame.

There is a fuck ton of pressure in creating thirst traps, and half the time they feel cringe as fuck.

But they make me a shit ton of money. So, who am I to complain?

I rip off my balaclava, tossing it on my desk where my sick PC setup rests. Wearing that mask for too long gets too fucking hot, especially when I have to talk. I own five or six of the same design at this point, rotating them out between filming.

My phone buzzes from where it is still hooked up to my tripod, and I unscrew it to see who’s bothering me so early in the morning.

NightBlade32: yo you cringe fuck

I let out a scoff. Dude always has to be an ass.

Blade is a fellow masked video game streamer but with over triple the number of followers I have. We crossed paths at a convention a few months back, and I’ve been linking up for streams with his crew ever since.

I swipe the Discord chat open and type back.

Phantom: what asshole?

NightBlade32: u kiss ur mom with that mouth?

Phantom: nah but I bang urs

NightBlade32: jokes on u. my mom’s dead.

Phantom: boohoo. So’s my dad.

NightBlade32: way to make it morbid dude

Phantom: UR THE ONE WHO STARTED IT

NightBlade32: whateverrr

NightBlade32: Wanted to check ur still good for the VERTEX stream tn?

Phantom: yeah yeah

NightBlade32: sick

“ELI!” My roommate’s shout breaches the confines of my room. “ELI, brO, EMERGENCY.”

I pocket my phone in my sweats and trudge from my room. My feet pound on the steps as I descend to the ground floor of our shared apartment.

“What?”

My roommate turns around, beer in hand, and gives me a shit-eating grin.

“’Sup, emo boy.”

“You’re fucking hilarious.” I roll my eyes.

It’s not the first or last time Evan has used that lame jab. He loves to poke fun at the smudged black eyeliner I wear as Phantom. But the fans find it hot, so joke’s on him.

“Want a beer?” He grabs a second can out of the fridge, shaking it side to side.

“It’s ten-thirty a.m.”

Evan shrugs, popping the second can back inside and opening the one in his left hand with just his pointer finger. “It’s Halloweekend. Never too early to start drinking, bro.”

“Dude, it’s Thursday. Halloweekend doesn’t start until tomorrow.”

He takes a swig of the beer. “Tell that to Kappa Theta. Kylie invited us to the Girls and Ghouls party the guys of Beta Delta are throwing tonight. It’s going to be lit.”

“Are those Greek letters supposed to mean something to me?”

“Your inability to remember the Greek houses but ability to memorize cheat codes is something that will always astound me.”

Considering I don’t really attend college, I don’t see why I need to memorize Greek life.

I am pursuing all my classes online, half-assed if I am being honest. I make most of my money as an online gamer, streaming and uploading videos for millions of viewers under the masked persona known as Phantom.

Tack onto that the sweet side gig I have with my carefully curated masked thirst traps, and I’m not hurting for cash in the least. The comp-sci degree is more a Plan Z, if anything.

“Whatever.” I snag an HP energy drink from the fridge and crack it open, downing half in one go. “Is that what you wanted to bug me about? A frat party.”

“No, what I wanted to bug you about was that I heard a certain someone is back in town.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t want to try and guess?”

“I’d rather stick my dick in a power socket.”

“Fucking knew you were a masochist.”

“I’m leaving.” I turn to exit the kitchen, throwing my hand up in a half-hearted goodbye.

“Blair Hanes.”

My feet stop.

I crane my head, narrowing my gaze. Evan’s stupid grin is back, wider than before.

Little shit knows when he has me.

He walks around the island, throwing his arm over my shoulders and leans in.

“Teia saw her at the salon on Bluebell like thirty minutes ago. Here, I screenshot the pic she sent.”

It’s a crap quality photo, but there’s no denying it’s Blair.

Fuck. I’d be able to recognize that girl in any crowd.

I’d been obsessed with her from the moment I met her in ninth grade when I’d transferred to the town’s private high school after my mom got remarried.

My new stepdad wanted me to attend the same school as his son, and my mom thought it was a great idea to get a fancier education.

Little did she know it would be one of the worst decisions we ever made.

My stepbrother hated me because he said my mom “broke up” his family—even though it was technically his mom who cheated on his dad first. But the kids at school rallied around Brett because he was one of those popular kids, and I was just the guy from the shit side of town.

Honestly, I’d never really given much of a fuck what they thought about me growing up.

I’d had my gamer friends online and my best friend from middle school, Bash.

Once we found our third musketeer, Felix, the three of us became the scariest motherfuckers in town by the time we reached senior year—most of that thanks to Bash and his hit-first, ask-questions-later tendencies.

Fitting in with the preppy kids had never been top on my to-do list.

Blair Hanes, though? Now, she was top of my to-do list.

At first, she’d looked like every other vapid chick at school, caught up only in herself and what the social circles deemed worthy.

But I saw the cracks, the goodness that bled out of her when none of her shitty friends were watching.

She was the perfect pageant princess, surrounded by bitchy cheerleaders, bonehead jocks, and stuck-up student council members.

The flower among thorns.

At least, that was the case in high school.

According to the comments Blair leaves on my videos, it seems Little Miss Perfect isn’t as prim and proper as she pretended to be…and that makes my dick even harder.

It’s not like she knows it’s my account she’s thirsting over or my videos that she’s leaving what are basically come fuck me comments, but that’s just semantics.

Blair Hanes has spent the last twelve months unknowingly revealing her darker side to me.

Taunting me with her words of desire and deprivation with each subsequent video.

BlairFlair: Forgot how to breathe for a second

BlairFlair: I’m in a lecture, sir, leave me alone

BlairFlair: Ur just sitting in a chair and I’m barking

BlairFlair: The things I’d let him do to meeeee

BlairFlair: Why is this video three hours long?

BlairFlair: Okay now tell me to crawl

BlairFlair: Choke me plssss

BlairFlair: I need therapy

The little princess doesn’t always comment, but when she does, you sure as fuck bet I see it. I still remember the first time I noticed one of her comments. It was during a live stream, and I just about lost my entire cool.

While her handle is different than her other socials, Blair doesn’t really try to hide that it’s her account.

I also don’t think it’s ever occurred to her that one comment among five thousand would be easy to spot.

Once I knew of her twisted little side hobby, I had Felix set up a code that alerted me to any of her comments without me having to follow her back. I couldn’t give in to her that easily.

I’ve been tracking each of her comments, filing away every one of her desires.

There is a monster inside me counting down the days until I crack and take her for myself.

I try to restrain that beast because he has his own sick and dangerous kinks, and I don’t want to break Blair before she’s on her knees begging me for it.

Fuck. Now I’m thinking about Blair on her knees.

“So, this mean we’re going to Trent’s Halloween bash Sat?”

Evan wiggles his phone an inch from my face, and I bat it away, shrugging out from under his arm before dumping myself on our sofa.

“You know she never shows up to those things.”

That is the issue. Even with her hidden thirst, Blair is still a good little girl.

I could count on one hand the number of parties I’ve seen her go to.

Trent’s annual bash that he’s been throwing since freshman year of high school is not one of them.

The fact that he still throws them even though everyone has graduated is a question of its own, but small-town rich kids are a weird fucking breed.

I don’t try to understand them even though I had to live with one.

Short of kidnapping Blair, I didn’t really see how I could possibly get her to go to the party, and kidnapping isn’t my M.O.

“This could be the year.” He flops down next to me. “Come on, bro. Please.”

I give him side-eye.

“Why do I get the feeling that there is more to this?”

“There’s nothing more.”

Evan’s a shit liar. Has been since I met him my third week at Almont Prep when the hall monitor caught him skipping class.

I managed to get him out of a demerit point, and the guy has stuck to me like glue since.

Everyone thought we were an odd pair because he’s your classic class clown that every social group loves and I was the guy everyone hated and then feared.

But it turned out that he is a pretty decent gamer, and more than that, he has mad video-editing skills—thanks to his famous filmmaker dad.

Evan’s been with me since I started gaming as Phantom, and even though he’s a bit on the soft side, he’s a good guy and he keeps my secrets in the vault.

Still, he hasn’t improved his ability to lie over the past seven years.

“Either fess up or fuck off.”

“Fine, fine.” He raises one hand in mock defense. “I heard Wes is going to be there.”

“Ah.”

This makes more sense. Wes is the dude he’s been crushing on the last couple of months after meeting him in one of his college classes. He didn’t go to high school with us, but he is rooming with some guys we vaguely know—well, that I vaguely know.

I can’t exactly piss in his cereal. Evan is one of my brothers, and I have to do him a solid where I can.

“Fine. We’ll go.”

“Fuck, yes!” Evan chugs the remainder of his beer and crushes the can, lobbing it across the room in a perfect arc that has it landing right on top of our trash can.

Now, I just have to find a way to make my night just as fun.