Page 3 of Slick & Spooky

I frown, but he keeps going.

“Maybe that’s not the version he wanted.”

“And what… he was into the tragic, repressed virgin act?” I toss a pillow at his face. He bats it away, grinning.

“Maybe,” he says, “but maybe he wanted someone real. Not the show. Not the politics. Just…you.”

“Hate that,” I say, rolling my eyes, even if Joey’s words hit so much harder than I’d admit.

“Being myself didn’t exactly get me very far. I smiled, played nice, did everything right and he still walked away. It’s Halloween. One night to rewrite the script. I’ll be who I’ve gotta be to get another shot.”

Joey chuckles, “The dick was that good, huh?”

It was.

God, it was.

How do you explain that to a straight man? Letting someone split you open, not only with their body but their whole existence.

“What’s your end goal here?” Joey asks, arms crossed like he’s bracing for a bad idea.

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He tilts his head, skeptical. “Is this just about sex or… are you trying to date the guy?”

I hesitate. “Do you think he’d even want that?”

Joey studies me for a beat, then shrugs. “With the way he looks at you? Maybe. But it’s not gonna be easy. You’d have to convince him.”

I groan, dragging my hands over my face. “Yeah, well, convincing someone who’s actively avoiding eye contact isn’t exactly a strength of mine.”

“Probably can’t look at you too long cause he’s so busy thinking about bending you over a twin XL in your summer dorm room.”

There it is again. The clench low in my gut, heat sparking down my thighs, humiliating in how fast my body remembers him.

“I don’t believe it,” I mutter. “The man came inside me and then acted like it never happened. Like I’m some experiment he regrets.”

“Maybe he’s just… following protocol. Pledge rules or whatever.”

“Please. Half the actives are raw-dogging across Greek Row and nobody’s writing them up.”

Joey shifts. Then, quieter, “Your family doesn’t make it easier. You know that, right?”

My head snaps toward him. Not because I’m surprised, but because he said it out loud. He gave voice to the thing I keep trying to perform my way out of. The thing that shadows every look, every smile, every step I take into a room.

“It shouldn’t matter,” I say, softer than I mean to. “Who my dad is. What people expect. That shouldn’t factor in.”

“It shouldn’t,” Joey says, gesturing loosely at me. “But you show up already wearing a story. And people, especially people like him, read it before you ever open your mouth.”

“A coward,” I mutter.

“Maybe,” Joey says. “Or maybe he liked it and he’s smart enough to know the Finleys don’t come without fallout.”

He lets that sit, then adds, “But you know what’d really mess him up?”

I glance over.

“If you stopped waiting for someone to choose you. Quit pretending and take what’s yours before someone else does.”