Page 9 of Necessary Roughness

Sloane

I was interested!

Wait a minute. I was interested?

As he explained everything, my first instinct was to say no. It was all crazy. The kind of thing that only happened in a bad movie. Women didn’t just agree to be sex objects unless they had, like, zero self-esteem. I could never agree to this.

But that’s not what came out when I opened my mouth.

Both Knox and Logan seemed just as surprised as I was. They stared at me as if they were waiting for the punchline to a very corny joke.

I had a chance to change my mind. To tell them I wasn’t serious, that this was a bad idea, that I was flattered but didn’t want to see them again. But none of that was true. As soon as I said I was interested, I felt a rush of excitement.

After all, this was what I wanted. The thing I had subconsciously been hoping for since Troy broke up with me. Sex without any strings attached. A simple physical relationship to blow off steam, allowing me to focus on my ever-growing amount of schoolwork. It was the perfect arrangement.

Beyond that, the thing that made this offer intriguing rather than insulting, was the fact that I felt like I could trust these two guys.

That night at the party was fuzzy, but I distinctly remember them trying to slow me down.

Halting our make-out session because I was drunk, and then making sure I got home safe.

That kind of thing was rare. Especially at college.

“Are you sure?” Knox said, like he didn’t believe I was agreeing to it. “You’re interested?”

“Honestly? I’m not a hundred percent sure. I’m at seventy-five percent, maybe .”

“Same,” Logan said with a laugh.

“But I’m intrigued,” I added. “How did you phrase it? Our priorities align.”

“All right,” Knox said, relaxing back into the couch. “Let’s discuss logistics, then.”

“Well,” I said without missing a beat, “in my experience, a penis usually goes into a vagina. Logistically speaking.”

Logan barked a laugh, but Knox only smiled.

“I meant schedules. What’s yours look like?”

“I’m taking eighteen credits,” I explained. “A full class load. I have three classes Monday-Wednesday-Friday, and three more that meet Tuesday-Thursday. I’m always done by three in the afternoon.”

“Do you have a job or any other hobbies?”

“I wish,” I muttered. “I barely have enough time for my schoolwork. Six of my credits are graduate classes. Although I shouldn’t complain—I’m sure it’s a lot worse for you guys.”

“A-fucking-men,” Logan said. “They work us to the bone.”

“We have conditioning at six in the morning,” Knox explained. “Then classes until noon. The afternoon starts with study hall, then we have team meetings at two.”

“Then the real day begins,” Logan chimed in. “Football practice from three to seven. That includes warm-ups, drills, scrimmages, and ice baths.”

“Team dinner is at seven,” Knox continued. “Coach is real strict about everyone eating together. Then we have study hall or tutoring until it’s time to pass out.”

“And then we do it all over the next day,” Logan finished.

I stared at each of them in turn. “You do that every day?”

Knox nodded. “Fridays are more relaxed. Instead of practice, we have team meetings to discuss the game on Saturday. Or we travel if it’s an away game. Plus curfew.”

“Coach is real strict about curfew the night before a game. Everyone has to be in bed by nine.” Logan grinned. “Although now that I’m saying it out loud, he never told us what we’re allowed to do once we’re in bed.”

I felt my cheeks grow hot. Which was silly, considering his joke wasn’t any more sexual than the actual topic of discussion.

Fuck buddies. Friends with benefits.

“So based on your schedule,” I said, “Saturday nights are good?”

“Thursdays, too,” Knox said.

“Thursday night is good for me,” I replied.

It felt strange discussing this so formally. Like we were discussing when to meet up to study. Based on the wry expression on Knox’s chiseled face, he saw the absurdity in the situation, too.

“Meet here Thursday night, then,” Logan said.

We all exchanged glances, then nodded.

“And if anyone changes their mind or gets cold feet before then? It’s no big deal. We can all just pretend like none of this happened.”

“Deal,” I said.

We spent a moment exchanging phone numbers.

“There’s that time traveler phone again,” Logan joked.

I frowned at him. “Time traveler?”

“It was a joke I made at the party.” He grinned. “Drunk Sloane would remember it.”

“I’ll ask her to explain it the next time I see her.” I got to my feet. “Okay, then.”

Knox and Logan stood up. “All right.”

None of us seemed to know how to say goodbye. What was the courtesy after arranging your first fuck-date with your new fuck-buddies? After a few awkward moments, Logan stuck out his fist. I bumped mine against it, then did the same to Knox. It was wild how much bigger their hands were than mine.

I cringed on my way out the door. Fist-bumping felt so silly. They probably thought I was a loser.

They still want you .

It was such a foreign feeling, knowing that two of the most popular guys on campus wanted to have sex with me. Disbelief mixed with the thrill of anticipation. I had never been a popular girl. Not that I was a loser , but I definitely wasn’t in the upper echelon of popular cliques.

I’d never done anything like this before. Up until now, I’d lived an extremely boring life. When my friends went to raves and took molly, I always abstained. I wanted to be a school teacher!

Trying to initiate a threesome at the party was, quite literally, the craziest thing I’d ever done in my life. And I was drunk when it happened, so it’s not like it was a super deliberate decision.

Now Sober Sloane was behind the wheel. And I still agreed to their offer. What had come over me? Deep down, was I desperate for a new level of excitement before college was over and I became a teacher? Was this something I had always subconsciously wanted?

Yet as I walked back to campus, I felt a firm sense of certainty about my agreement.

I was nervous, but this was absolutely something I wanted.

It helped that I felt a unique sense of trust for the two star football players.

I had made an ass out of myself at the party, and they still took care of me and made sure I got home safe.

Chatting with them for the last five minutes helped, too.

I actually liked them. They weren’t like other football players—or the stereotype that I pictured, at least.

There was no use overthinking it now, though. I had three days to wait before we met.

Three very long days.