Page 1 of Loosened Up for My Bud

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“You want me towhat?—”

I stare at Stone, sprawled across his bed with his arms behind his head, wearing that shit-eating grin that always means trouble. The same grin he had when he dared me to shave off my eyebrow, when he convinced me the campus lake was warm enough for a swim in November, or literally every other time he’s cooked up something ridiculous in that twisted brain of his.

“You heard me,” Stone says, kicking a dirty sock off the end of the bed. It lands in a half-empty mug on the floor with a soft, wet thud.

I drag a hand through my hair. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever come up with.”

“What happened to ‘Jay never backs down’? Thought you were a daredevil.”

That’s the thing about Stone. We’ve been going at it since freshman year—pranks, dares, bets, you name it. It’s like this constant game that started the day we got assigned as roommates and realized we were both on the football team. We clicked right away, became best buds within the first week. Oneof the first things he did was draw a dick on my forehead in permanent marker, and I got him back by swapping all his socks for glitter ones. Things only escalated from there. This one, though… this one is a different breed of stupid.

“A buttplug,” I say slowly. “You want me to wear a buttplug during practice tomorrow?”

“Yup.” He pops the p. “Make it through the whole thing, and I’ll do your laundry for a month.”

My laundry. God, the thought of free laundry for a month—of not having to haul my stinky gear down three flights of stairs and pay seven bucks just to have my jerseys come out smelling of wet dog—that’s almost enough to make me consider it.

Almost.

“No way,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not shoving something up my ass, dude. I ain’t gay.”

Stone snorts. “It’s got nothing to do with being gay. It’s about having balls. And no one has to know.”

Right. Like Stone can keep a secret. The entire team would probably find out during our warm-up lap.

“How am I supposed to run drills with a thing up my ass?”

“Who cares? It’s just practice. Not like it’s a real game.” He shrugs. “Besides, they wouldn’t know the difference since you’re always running like you got a stick up there anyway.”

“Fuck you.”

“Think of the laundry, Jay. The free, fresh, clean laundry…” He wiggles his eyebrows.

I scoff, but the idea worms its way into my brain, sinking its nasty little teeth in. A month. A whole month of clean laundry. Plus bragging rights. The smug satisfaction of proving Stone wrong. Because he’s right—I’ve built my reputation on never backing down from anything. It’s my entire brand. The daredevil. The wildcard. The guy who says yes to every stupid challenge.

But a buttplug? In my tender, virginal, heterosexual asshole? During football practice? That feels like crossing a line.

“Alright, let’s sweeten the pot,” Stone says, finally sitting up. “I’ll throw in my gaming chair.”

I glance over at the blue chair sitting at his desk. “That one?”

“Yup.”

The thing’s a beast. I’ve been drooling over it all semester. We’re talking lumbar support, adjustable armrests, built-in speakers. The only reason Stone got it is because his folks are loaded and buy him whatever the hell he wants to keep him from flunking out. Meanwhile, I’m sitting on a rickety old piece of crap I salvaged from the dumpster.

“Shit,” I mutter. “You’re playing dirty.”

“Always do.” He grins. “So, you in?”

I hesitate, my mind racing. I think about the looks on the guys’ faces when they find out. The humiliation. The utter and complete degradation.

Then I think about the chair. And the laundry. And the satisfaction of wiping that smug look off Stone’s face for good. The daredevil in me takes the wheel. The wildcard throws caution to the wind. The guy who says yes to every challenge opens his big, stupid mouth.

“Fine,” I hear myself say. “I’m in.”

Stone’s grin widens into a full-blown shark’s smile. “Excellent. I knew you had it in you. No pun intended.”