Page 8

CHAPTER 8

ELI

Bea, Courtney, and I step into the campus café after practice. I have my pom-poms hanging out of my bag that’s slung low on my back. Zeke’s are there too, so it looks like I have a tail of frilly purple and silver halfway up my back. That’s fine. The alternative is that I stuff them into my bag where they get smooshed and make it look like I have a humpback.

Nah. I’ll take the tail. Besides, if you’re into furries, tails can be cute.

“I’m really excited about this routine,” Bea says.

“Is it wrong that I kinda love that Kels is failing?” Courtney asks, frowning.

“Nah. She only puts in half the effort and thinks she should excel because of it. Hopefully, she gets replaced as a flyer. Maybe that’ll make her pull her head out of her ass,” Bea says.

“What I hope is that Joelle has a plan for one less cheerleader for this routine. She’s going to rebel if she’s removed as flyer. I don’t want her to fuck up the whole thing.”

I listen to them contemplate Kelsey as I consider the menu. There’s an entire board that changes almost daily, though they have two boards that remain the same. I both love and hate it. It’s really cool how they experiment, but when I fall in love with a sandwich, I get incredibly disappointed when it’s no longer offered a day or so later. It’s frustrating. Give daddy what he wants!

I think I’m set on the pesto turkey wrap when I tune back into Courtney and Bea’s conversation. It’s not that we don’t like Kelsey. She’s… all right. She’s a damn good cheerleader when she applies herself. The problem is, she becomes hyper-focused on outside things, like her boyfriend.

Don’t get me wrong. Nolan’s a great guy and a pretty good friend. But, like… her goal is to be recruited by a pro team. That’s not going to happen if you fuck around so much that you’re removed from the squad.

Joelle will do it, too. Our job is to win competitions. That’s why we’re here. And if someone is consistently keeping us from a perfect performance, she will remove them. She has before and there’s zero question that she’ll do it again.

Courtney does a strange little squat and adjusts her Spanx with a grimace. “I hate how these hold my junk.”

“They’re not made for tucking,” Bea comments, shifting to examine Courtney’s problem. “Why don’t you just wear your normal ones and put the Spanx over them?”

“I’ve tried. I can’t find colors that match my Spanx perfectly, so they show. But fuck, these are uncomfortable.”

“Ahh.” Bea wraps her arm around Courtney’s shoulder. “The trouble with girl dick. It’s hot, but it’s in the way.”

Courtney snorts. “Thanks for your sympathy.”

I grin as I turn my attention to looking around the room. My stomach jumps when I see Edin at the other end of the counter, waiting in line for his order. “Hey, I’ll be right back. Place my order if you get to the front, please.”

Without waiting for their answer, I cross the café until I’m standing beside Edin. He’s not watching me. He’s staring absently at the counter where his food will come out. Though his gaze is far away, it’s a different kind of absence than what I see at Confessions. He’s not disassociating here, he’s just lost in thought while he waits.

“Edin,” I say.

He jerks, blinks a few times, and then looks at me. I try not to smirk when his eyes widen slightly with recognition. But then I fail miserably when I see his cheeks flush. “Hey,” he mutters, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

“You play hockey,” I comment, referring to his shirt. He’s wearing a Longwood U hockey tee. I already knew this, of course, because I’m a bit of a creep and needed to check him out when I first began my obsession.

Edin looks down at his shirt and nods. “Yeah. Defense.” He looks at me and his head tilts. “You… cheer?”

I laugh. “Does that surprise you?”

His eyes skate down my body. I’m wearing short shorts to cover my own shapewear garments keeping my shit in place. However, I have some fine-ass legs, so I’m not ashamed to show them off. Also, I’m quite proud of my abs and arms, so the crop tank is super cute. Both of which are cheer-related.

My shorts have a little megaphone on them. My shirt says ‘Suck My Cheer Dick’ between two pom-poms.

“Yep. Today, I’m a flyer.” Edin nods, though I’m convinced he’s not sure what that means. “I get thrown in the air.”

“Oh,” he says, and his eyes move over my body again. This time, I think it’s to figure out if that makes sense. I’m not a small guy. I’m not quite six feet and I’m likely not going to get there at this rate. Science says I’m done growing, which is frustrating.

However, I already have to have some tall bases, so it’s probably a good thing.

“That’s cool.”

I nod. “We’ll be at your first game, shaking our asses in the crowd. Try not to get distracted.”

This is probably the first time I’ve seen any true expression on his face that gives a hint of his personality. Amusement flashes in his eyes while his lips quirk. “No problem,” he deadpans.

“I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be an insult. Cheerleaders don’t do it for you?”

“Edin!”

He steps forward to take his bag from the server. When he turns to leave, he says, “No offense meant, but no one does it for me.”

My eyebrows knit together as I watch his fine ass walk away. He doesn’t look back. I quietly chant in my head for him to turn around. Give me just one more glance; he doesn’t.

That is, until he steps outside. Then he looks back in and meets my eyes. Quickly, before he ducks his head and disappears from sight.

I grin, crossing my arms. My grin fades as I contemplate his last remark. No one does it for me. What does that mean? Asexual? Weird business to be getting into if you’re not into sex. But that might explain why he’s never in the moment, right?

Huh.

Courtney and Bea flank me a minute later. “We ordered. Six bucks.” Bea holds her hand out with a smile.

I nod. “Yep.”

“Who’s the guy?” Courtney asks.

“Just a guy who’s determinedly not interested in me,” I comment and turn to face them. I pull my bag off my shoulders and reach around inside until I find the little pouch that I carry $10 in. I never carry a lot of cash on me when my bag’s going to be unattended for any length of time. Sure, it’s safe enough piled with everyone else’s, but who wants to risk it?

I hand over the cash.

“I don’t have change,” she says.

Shrugging, I say, “Consider it a tip to alleviate the inconvenience of ordering for me.”

Bea smirks. “Thanks.”

We eat in the café and then go our separate ways. I head back to the frat house to shower and change. I, for one, don’t like my dick trying to be pushed back into my body as the damn shapewear makes me feel like it’s trying to do. It needs to breathe and have the freedom to swing between my legs like a rope that you’d ride off the side of a cliff into the waiting water below.

The thought makes me grin. It’s not that big. But I like the metaphor for how I prefer my cock to be swinging.

One of our prospects, Cole, is standing at the door wearing nothing but a Speedo. He looks good. Since he’s not incredibly put out, I’m guessing he knows he looks good.

“Hey, hot stuff,” I say in greeting as he scans my ID.

He gives me a grin. “Hey. How was practice?”

I shrug. “It’d be better if people would get their heads out of their ass and pull their weight, but I suppose there are people like that everywhere.”

He grunts in agreement.

“How’s door duty?” I ask.

“Meh. A little slow.”

“Initiation is soon, right? Not too much longer.”

“If I’m invited.”

I don’t tell him one way or another. In reality, I have no idea whether he’s on the list. That’s not my concern. But I can’t think of a single reason he wouldn’t be. Giving Cole a wink, I head into the house.

The hall of dicks is to the right. I rarely head that way unless I’m going to Rumor or Confessions. There’s a whole half of the house in that direction beyond the hall of dicks and the turnoff to head into the basement, but there are also other ways to get there.

However, I’m not interested in going anywhere but to find an empty bathroom and shower. When I find an empty one close to my room, I duck inside. It’s early afternoon, so not a busy time for showers, but it’s frustrating when you have to search for one. You’d think in a house this size, it wouldn’t be such a big deal. It’s not really. But the fact it happens as often as it does is telling of how many bodies live under this roof.

When I make it to my room with a towel around my waist and my clothes and bag in hand, I find my brother sprawled across my bed.

“What’s wrong with your own bed?” I ask.

“Nothing,” Zeke answers. “Where’ve you been?”

“Lunch.”

He turns his phone to me, and I see what he’s showing me. Edin signed up for another three-shoot day next weekend.

No one does it for me.

I drop my clothes and bag on the floor as I stare at the screen. There are a whole lot of questions flashing through my mind as I grab Zeke’s phone. The names he’s paired with are others who regularly come in to film. None of them are my frat brothers, so I bump all their names and take all three spots.

Zeke laughs when I hand him his phone back. “Really?”

I shrug. “Why not?”

“I hear your video from last weekend went over well. You going to be able to mix it up a bit?”

“Did you watch it?” I ask as I pull on some shorts. Totally going to be freeballing for a while.

He snorts. “Nah. I love you. More than anyone, but that’s more than I need to see of you, Eli.”

I grunt. I definitely don’t disagree. Zeke and I are close. I’d even venture far enough to say that we’re closer than even close siblings. I’ve always imagined that twins tend to be that way. But yeah. Besides the occasional jerk off sessions in our rooms growing up, we keep all that stuff separate. There is a line for us, and we don’t have any interest in crossing it.

The jerking thing lasted only until we realized we were into different kinds of sex. I only want to see dicks, while he needs a vajayjay in the mix. Yeah, I’m good. We go our separate ways.

I drop on the bed beside him and he shifts so his phone is between us before hitting Play.

“Okay, I did it! I talked to her. I said hi, and she smiled. She smiled at me! I’m freaking out. What do I say next? What do I do?”

Our little sister’s voice sounds almost panicky. I laugh.

Gracie is two years younger than us. She’s also as opposite to us as one could possibly be. No, wait. That might go to our baby brother, Jude. Gracie is high-strung and high energy and bounces constantly. She’s nervous, excited, and outgoing, with a very strong shy side when it comes to people she likes.

We’re fairly certain she’s pan. There are days when she’s all about men and days when she’s disgusted by them. Frankly, I can understand that seesawing. Lately, she’s been drooling over women.

I say pan as opposed to bi because of how she talks about people. Pronouns are all over the place and she has a difficult time keeping them straight unless someone outright corrects her. I think she’s of the mind that gender is stupid, and it’s far too confusing, but she’s under societal pressure to use pronouns, and she flounders hardcore. The fact she’s attracted to all genders confuses her even more when it comes to labeling someone.

“Which girl is this?” I ask.

“I don’t remember,” Zeke admits, shaking his head. He presses the record button to respond. “Take a breath, Gracie. Just talk to her like a normal person. How would you talk to a guy? Compliment her. Say something interesting. Don’t be neurotic yet.”

“Poor girl,” I say, chuckling.

“Dads called,” Zeke tells me. “They’re coming down for your first game.”

“Because it’s also a hockey game?” I ask.

We exchange a knowing smile. One of our dads was a professional hockey player, so he really loves how the school has us cheer for all our sports teams. I don’t think he actually cares that hockey teams don’t have a cheer squad attached to them. He’s literally never brought it up.

It was a shock to them when we chose cheer instead of hockey. In the same way he always said he took to hockey, we were instantly drawn to cheer. I think it was being thrown in the air, and the crazy flips like they’re controlled by a remote that captivated us.

If I had to guess, Dad was bummed. We always joke and say our dads kept having kids until one showed an interest in hockey. Gracie doesn’t care about any sports. I think she’d rather play Go Fish than participate in a sport of any kind. However, Dad One is psyched that Gracie has an interest in fashion since that’s what he’s made his career doing.

Jude is our Dad Two’s wish come true, though. He’s already in the NHL playing for Dallas. He’s pretty good, I guess.

And yes, we call our dads Dad One and Dad Two. To be fair, we invert the numbers and sometimes Dad Two becomes Dad One and vice versa. Yep, confusing for anyone but our family. That’s fine. No one needs to understand but us.

Zeke hits the play button when another voice message comes over. “Oh my god! I just told her I’m neurotic. Then I didn’t know how to recover, so I ran to the bathroom. I’m horrified. Why did you have to say that word? It kept flooding my mind until it shot out of my mouth like vomit. Help me properly!”

“Oh jeez.” I shake my head.

“Poor girl,” Zeke says, repeating what I had earlier.

It’s something that we say at least a dozen times every time we have a conversation with her. Our sweet little sister is a hot mess. We always say we hope that the person who falls in love with her will see how incredibly big-hearted and sweet she is because they’re also going to be wading through a lot of silliness and nervousness.

She’s worth the effort, though.

“Hope you don’t have plans for the afternoon,” Zeke says. “Looks like we’re coaching Gracie on how to talk to girls.”

“No,” I correct. “You’re coaching her on how to talk to girls. That’s not something I can help with.”

He huffs. “Honestly, I think you talk to girls far better than literally anyone in this house.”

That’s true enough. I’m not thinking with my dick when I do. I suppose that’s the difference.