Page 4 of Show Me

I put a hand up. “I swear to fuck, if one more person says I’m too sweet, or something about boyish charm, I’m going to lose my shit. Yes, I had a boyfriend freshman year. Yes, I very much enjoyed holding hands with him and…and, cuddling in the quad and giving him heart eyes or whatever.” I’d had many of them after Reid. One every two weeks that I’d done all of these things with, and when it inevitably fizzled, I mourned briefly and then moved on to the next like a fiend. I’d gone through boyfriends the way some people went through Lay’s potato chips—because you truly couldn’t eat just one. “But Jesus, a guy’s allowed to change. I’m not about that life anymore. I just want the hard-core action now,thank you very much. No relationships, no strings. I just want a guy with a big dick—because yes I’m a size queen and—”

“I have a big dick.” Sam wandered in and inserted himself effortlessly into the conversation with a shameless grin. He was our newest roommate and one of Nate and Mark’s fraternity brothers. Just in case his massive size and charmingly crooked smile weren’t enough, he also happened to be one of the U’s best tight ends. And let’s just say the position designation was fitting. Once I’d gotten past the embarrassment of him bearing witness to my dildo-flinging meltdown freshman year, I’d decided I liked him. Not right now, though.

“Anyone who has a big dick doesn’t walk around claiming it, you know.”

Sam shrugged, attention shifting to Mark and Chet. “I know you.” He narrowed his eyes at Chet, taking in his naked torso, then gestured between them. “Wasn’t he the guy who—”

“Yes,” Mark answered resignedly.

A couple of months back, Chet and Mark had gotten into a fistfight at our friend Nate’s party, which made it all the more annoying that they were bare-chested canoodling in the kitchen right now. I mean, I couldn’t even move out of the friend zone with anyone lately, and these guys had legitimate beef with each other and still ended up suckered to each other’s sides like barnacles on a pier.

“Why’s he in our kitchen?”

“He slept over.”

“He slept—” I threw my hands up in exasperation. “Does anyone else want to come out? First Nate. Now Mark. Is someone running some fucking crazy effective psy-ops experiment in that frat? Sam?” Though, when I thought about it, that was the only possible enticement I could think of about a frat. I’d never been tempted to join one and knew little about them. I suspected they were a little different from the vids I’d jacked off to on Pornhub with a twinky little pledge being taken by a big oafish dude. Now that was something I could actually get behind. The reverse, too, because size differences were fun. But when I’d once asked Mark what went on during the chapter meetings, he’d said, “Well, we vote on various things and plan mixers and community service projects.”

What a waste. I’d lost interest immediately.

Sam reached around me, one big-ass bicep that probably came from lifting Mini Coopers brushing my shoulder as he grabbed a juice from the fridge and twisted off the cap. “I’m all set. I sucked a guy’s dick once on a dare,” he said as amiably as if he was sharing that his favorite color was yellow. “Haven’t been inclined to do it again.” We all stared at Sam as he chugged his juice and then wiped the back of his mouth. “What, did I fuck up? Break some sort of code?”

“You sucked a guy’s dick on a dare?” No fucking way. Sam looked like the kind of guy who’d fist-bump his bro after he banged a hot girl and probably took pride in the decibel level of his burps. But shit, I had to ask out of professional curiosity. “To completion?”

“Rimshot!” Sam pumped a fist in the air as his empty juice bottle arced into the trash can, and then he turned back to me, nodding guilelessly. “Yeah, turned me into a manscaping convert. And I also make sure to eat a lot of pineapple now, too, if I know I’m gonna get some action.” He leaned back against the counter and eyed me. “So are you making breakfast today?”

Unbelievable.

“Not for you. Not for any of you.Ugh!”If I’d had a cooking utensil handy, I’d have thrown it at him.

“So these are my roommates,” Mark said to Chet with a mock flourish, continuing their get-to-know-you lovefest. I wished they’d just disappear back into Mark’s room with their sexy naked chests and palpable…feelingsfor each other.

Gross.

Mark bumped me to one side. “Move over. I’m making eggs.”

Now we were talking. I scooted to one side, gladly ceding the stove to him. I was usually the one cooking because I was actually good at it, opposed to the other guys who thought stir-fry qualified as a feat of cuisine. And, okay, secretly I didn’t actually mind being the resident chef. I took pride in seeing my roomies’ eyes roll back in their head when I made something tasty. I could elevate a fucking grilled cheese to art. I could make hipster avocado toast with goat cheese that’d put stars in your eyes. And my roommates appreciated it. Except maybe Sam. The way he wolfed things down, I wasn’t sure he tasted anything.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Sam grinned. “I’ve got practice in an hour. Make enough for me?”

“And me, too.” I batted my lashes at Mark. “I’m grabbing a shower.” Otherwise I’d have taken over, because Mark always did his eggs a little too runny for my tastes. But beggars and choosers and all. I needed the shower more; all that true love unfolding in the kitchen clung to my skin like stink.

I kept pondering Sam’s confession as I undressed and stepped in the shower. I mean, was it even true, and if so, who the hell sucked a dick on a dare? Even I would hesitate at that. For at least a handful of seconds.

I shampooed my hair, scrubbed it vigorously, then soaped up my shoulders.

Objectively speaking, Sam was pretty cute. Sexy, even. But if I was being soul-deep-level honest—the kind of honest that made me feel a little shitty—I’d always pegged him as a bit of an airhead. No one that happy-go-lucky was sparing a brain cell for global warming or the difference between an adverb and adjective.

So I was a little perturbed to find myself with a boner and my sudsy hand gliding over it absently as his name floated around my head.

Go away, I told it silently as I shifted gears and washed between my toes. I was done with crushes in general, but especially on anyone who was my roommate. Or straight. Anyone would agree that was a doomed combo, far worse than Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber. And no way was Sam crush material anyway. He was a straight football player, after all, pretty much the antithesis of me.

My dick was responding purely to stimulus. To the vision of beefy pecs and big round shoulders. Shoulder blades that could crush beer cans. Quads like sequoias that would cinch around me and an ass that would—goddammit. I growled in frustration and sucked in a breath. Okay, if I was going to do this, I’d keep it general. Big guy fantasy. It could beanydude.

I thought of a random meathead I’d spotted in the gym a week ago when I was doing cardio and focused on him as hard as I could while I poured more body wash on my hand and lathered up my cock.

That…wasn’t too shabby. I tugged on my balls, imagining sitting on the edge of a weight bench, nameless Big Boy towering over me with a sexy smile before he dropped to his knees and pulled down my shorts.

Fuck yeah, this would do nicely. I’d always been told I’d had a vivid imagination. My teachers probably hadn’t anticipated what I’d use it for most frequently.