"Maced, huh?"
Above the loud music beats that pounded in my ears and vibrated my bones, Evan tipped his head back and laughed heartily. Our standard, rotated party gatekeeper policy never changed, no matter what the hour was, and he greeted me with a wide grin from his position behind the front door he held open for me.
Before I asked how he knew, he circled one finger around his forehead and eyes. "Your eyes, bro," he offered lamely. "Unless you got a hold of some really bad -"
"Fuck off." I resisted the urge that I palmed my forehead, since I knew just from the sting and tension that lingered in my swollen skin that my forehead, eyes, and nose looked pretty bad. And yet, a twisted part of me was impressed by Harper's reflexes, which pointed out one obvious fact.
I still stand by what I first told Ellie, Harper doesn't need extra help from anyone.
"I like her," Griff offered, once again, nothing of value to a conversion except his own personal commentary from where he stood, arms crossed and back leaned against the staircase railing as I pushed past sweaty body after body. With the same raised eyebrow he'd given me when I'd earlier raced out of the house after Harper like my ass was on fire, he joked, "Wish you chased us down in games as fast as you did that girl's pussy, bro."
My only response to Griff was a raised middle finger, which I shot up right between his eyes and an inch from his nose. Gossip news that I was single reached USC's campus before I'd gotten back from breaking up with Brit at UCLA and my entire week afterwards was flooded with unsolicited attention. From eye stares in each of my three classes to additional practice attendees, and locker room jersey-chasers, indirectly I was labeled USC's most eligible bachelor. The pile of shredded papers in my trash that I passed on the way to my bed every night showed the number of phone numbers shoved in my pockets and backpack was laughable.
And yet, I can't get one particularly difficult, challenging girl to text me back.
"Speaking of pussy..." Evan's blue eyes narrowed at me. "Your girl ran interference on my threesome tonight. So I need a replacement... or two."
The arrogance in his voice was supported by the attention the three of us drew. At this late hour of the party, the number of hungry, girl-horny eyes on me, Griff, and Evan was beyond fair and I quickly stepped upstairs because the three of us together meant I only had a few moments before someone -
"Hi Jake," a soft, familiar female voice called out to me. "Oh gosh, your face! Are you okay?"
I walked up the last step and frowned down at the familiar short, thin blonde who leaned against my locked bedroom door. Her blue-gray eyes beamed up at me as I casually greeted her, "Hey Emily. I'm fine, thanks."
An unsettled feeling came over me at the sight of her small frame, dressed in a tight black shirt and skinny jeans that gave away swells and curves in all the right places, but did nothing for me after the night I'd had behind that door. My mostly satisfied cock had swelled back up to full mast the more I shamelessly grinded Harper into her own car. The fact I knew she was bare under that fucking temptatious red dress borderline tortured me, I was one thrust away from sliding it up and railing her in the back seat.
I didn't though... but fuck, I wanted to. Still do.
Since I hadn't fully sealed the arrangement with Harper as my cock wanted, it deflated in self-pity as I walked back with only my thoughts as my company. The entire conversation replayed in my head over and over during the otherwise quiet walk home, namely past the part where Harper tried to burn off my eyeballs. The biggest grin had spread across my face at how easily she'd caved, sucked right under the predictable tricks I'd laid out in front of her.
I honestly didn't give a fuck about appearances or my reputation on both USC and UCLA's campuses. That was only a lame excuse so I won her over. Fuck, Harper could've tied a dog collar around my neck and paraded me on my hands and knees naked through UCLA's entire campus if she'd agreed to this arrangement.
And fuck, she sure did with far less convincing than I thought I'd need.
I smirked as I remembered how my fingers raised goosebumps over the soft skin on the side of her neck, the faintly sweet taste of her arousal still on my tongue, and reminded her of the obvious, "We have chemistry."
"I won't lie, I still hate your guts, Jake.," was the breathy response as she slapped my hand away in a power play move that made me want to grip her hands overhead while I reminded her angry sex was the hottest version. "But it's only sexual."
"Then I have a proposal." As with all things Harper, direct and to the point was the best approach. "You and me. Friends with benefits."
Despite how I pretty much dry humped Harper against her car, I might have looked bold when I threw that arrangement at her, but knew the worst response was she laughed or flipped me off. Instead, her light blue eyes sized me up and down, her full lips pulled into a thin line, and she jutted out one of her hips.
"We're not friends, Jake." While the dislike was mutual, the indignant satisfaction in her voice poked into my nerves like a fresh bruise.
"Fuck buddies?" My eyebrows raised, which only warranted a frown that crossed her face. All of her obvious signs of arousal were there, blown out pupils, a flush of pink over her skin, short pitches of her chest with her elevated breathing, and tempted me like candy a child who wanted even after they were told no.
"W-we're not buddies." Yet again, Harper's body contracted her words and the tension that laced in her voice pulled a wide smirk across my face. I knew I had her, just needed the right words before she was as convinced as I was that, in our own fucked up way, we fit.
She attempted her best 'no' effort when she insisted, "We're not even acquaintances, I told you in Canada -" but I cut her off before she finished that painful reminder.
Once I mentioned rules, Harper's walking contraction, she caved as I both expected and hoped. Excited was an understatement for how I felt when Harper released that breathless, "Okay."
A rush of adrenaline and lust, combined with her one word of consent, flooded my mind with all the possibilities I took her, over and over until we were both sweaty and completely satisfied. My fingers twitched, my muscles strained, and my body flamed warm from how desperately I wanted her, even after the explosive blow job she'd given me.
As Emily's eyelashes fluttered as she blinked up at me, I pounded the side of my left fist on London's door until it rattled on the hinges, and tipped my head slightly sideways. "Wrong room, Em. This one is Drake's."
"Oh... London," she started, looked up at me from under her lashes, and rolled her lower lip inward in a move I'm sure some guy found attractive. While I sure found her attractive, contrary to Brittany's fuckery, I did value my friend's feelings and thankfully the very guy who liked her cracked open his door and peered at me through the crack.
Emily's head snapped in London's direction and she tossed me a fleeting smile. "Y-yeah, that's right."
"Jake?" Like the anti-social troll he was, London called out from behind his closed door and made no further attempt until I stepped down the hall, grabbed Emily's shoulders, and led her to the spot where I'd just stood.
"Here he is." I patted Emily's upper back, who hadn't hidden the confusion in her eyes but smiled politely when Drake flung open his door and gaped at her like she stood there completely naked.
I threw London a thumbs up, then unlocked my bedroom door, and quickly locked it behind me. Fully aware that the next few hours involved interruptive knocks from hopeful randoms, I deadbolted the top lock, and chuckled at the slips of names and numbers that had been shoved under my door and now crinkled under my feet. With a quick bend over, I picked up the open invitations from girls downstairs and chucked them into my trash without a second glance.
After I quickly stripped down to my boxers, which were now partially tented from my earlier mental reminders of Harper, and sank down onto my bed, I was painfully aware of the challenges ahead of me. Unfortunately, I couldn't have been completely honest with Harper tonight and she'd have still agreed to be fuck buddies again.
But at least I can be honest with myself.
The way I'd worded my proposal was mostly just about sex, but the sex was also my way in. I knew Harper too well and one moment where she literally fled from the house showed that, under her hardened exterior laid the biggest fear of abandonment I'd ever known.
She wouldn't have initially let me in any other way.
Truth was, I more than happily started with monogamous sex but longer-term wanted more from Harper. For her sake, not mine, she needed more in her life than her current status quo of detached one-night stands. I didn't want a mushy, love-filled relationship with her like Ellie and Logan since I could have had that potentially with Brittany. The strings attached and annoyance of sitting through multiple hours of shoe shopping, back rubbing through PMS, and 'relationship building' activities, fancy dinners, clubbing at the LA hotspots people went to so they were noticed, hot yoga classes, none of it held any interest for me.
I don't have the time or effort during football season for that shit.
But still, Harper deserves more than detached, warm cocks... Assholes who think they can handle her.
Harper was so different from any girl I'd ever met and a wide grin spread across my face at the shred of possibility that she, or at least part of her, was 'mine' for as long as she'd have me. On the surface she was crass, sharp-witted, sarcastic, and had no filter. Despite her softer-toned voice that was usually laced with sarcasm and disdain, her actual word vocabulary rivaled any of the shit my team talked about in the locker room or during practices.
In the past seven years, I'd noticed a quiet storm stewed under her sarcastic, biting surface. Any and all guys with working nutsacks flocked to a girl that was as beautiful and confident as Harper. Obviously her sharp mouth, which personally was like an aphrodisiac in my ears because no subject was off-limits for her, was her superficial filter that fended back guys that she had no interest in. I'd known her long enough that I saw straight through her smokescreen and recognized how the humor in her eyes showed that she liked the attention and infatuations, despite her words otherwise.
The guys she ended up with though, for lack of better words, were just not on her level. Not that football players were the most attractive guys but nearly everyone on my teams had seen a rare sighting of Harper from my or Ellie's social media and asked me about her. In person, guys flocked to her like vultures to a carcass like they'd done tonight but she hadn't batted an eyelash until she baited me with Evan.
I'd asked Ellie about Harper more than once after our ski trip disaster and pretty much any time I'd physically seen Harper in passing back in Santa Cruz. Every time, Ellie vaguely mumbled something about ridiculous rules. With no idea what Ellie meant other than Harper was the queen of rule-breakers, and despite her physical cues, the best interpretation I came up with was that she had no further interest in her best friend's brother and tossed me onto her reject pile.
The last time I saw Harper in person, six months ago during spring break, she was nothing but cold and silently passed by me in the hallway between my and Ellie's bedrooms.
"Ellie." I'd grabbed her elbow just before she and Harper went downstairs on their way out. My eyes shifted to Harper's tall, slender frame and the icy glare she sent me while she waited at the front door for Ellie.
"What?" Ellie's impatient eyes shifted between my and Harper's face. As she looked back at me, the corners of her mouth turned slightly upwards.
"Is she okay?" I asked in a low voice. At this point Harper's arms were crossed over her chest and a scowl furrowed her entire face.
"Honestly?" Ellie's smile faded and her voice dropped to a whisper. The same words she'd voiced when she called me before this semester started escaped her mouth, "I'm a little worried."
The news struck a rare, thin thread of sympathy inside me. "Really?"
"Yeah." Her dark eyes flooded with concern as she admitted, "With anyone else, she's really distant. The guys she's dating, well..."
"Is she okay," I reiterated in more of a statement than a question and felt surprised at the insistence that slipped into my voice, as well as the way my jaw clenched tight at the idea Harper dated anyone.
"Nothing she can't handle." Ellie patted my arm reassuringly. "At least... she thinks so."
Ellie's words, which she'd basically repeated when she informed me Harper was at UCLA, bothered me more than I comfortably admitted, even to myself now with my bedroom door shut and locked out of my own house's party.
Especially because I deserve a lot of the blame for her feeling like that.
Despite my proposition, I wanted Harper to have more than meaningless sex. Again, while I wasn't interested in a mushy, clingy relationship, she deserved to be with someone who at least knew and appreciated what she had to offer beyond her first-rate sexual skills.
Someone who's finally mature enough to recognize a pure, innocent heart that I'd crushed selfishly under a front of anger and guilt that blocked my insecurity that there was no way she felt that way about me.
Harper never fooled me anymore. After our ski resort experience and a lameass attempt she shoved me away instead of admitted that she was affected by me more than physically, she was now an empty, emotionless shell of self-preservation. Her strings of one-night stands, which included how quickly she flew the scene away from me tonight, proved I was right.
Whether she likes it or not, I'm the right guy to prove her wrong.
Fuck, it's not going to be easy though.
Even though I was the last person who judged anyone for being promiscuous, I fully acknowledged how I was a large contributor to Harper's detached emotional state and probably the instigator since I was an ass to her freshman year of high school. In hindsight, I was young, stupid, and didn't know how to deal with my anger about what happened to Ellie.
But now our situation was different. Now I wanted to crack into Harper's rockhard exterior and see if her softer side still existed. With just one conversation, I knew she'd never have accepted an open apology from me but maybe she accepted the idea that intimacy wasn't terrible.
That she's not like her parents and incapable of a deep, meaningful, intimate connection that's just as important as skin slapping on skin.
I wanted Harper to feel something, anything. Even if we started with mindless sex, she deserved more, even if she refused to see that herself.
And I'm just the guy to give her more.
Starting with more than what we did tonight.
My phone buzzed with the first message I'd gotten from Harper herself and I grinned at what she asked.
HER: So... How exactly does this work?
I groaned quietly since we hadn't discussed the logistics, but couldn't resist with a sarcastic response.
me: Easy. My dick, your pussy.
me: Preferably sooner than later because I'm already thinking about ways I'm going fuck you senseless.
A few moments passed where mentally I saw both the middle fingers she shot at my sarcastic response.
HER: No dumbass. Logistics?
me: Every Saturday after a home game.
HER: Figured. And away ones?
"Fuck," I cursed at that suggestion, which honestly hadn't crossed my mind because we often got back pretty late from away games.
me: I was going to give you an out on those, if you wanted.
me: But if you ask my opinion, I'd fuck you every day.
HER: We'll see.
HER: And in between, do I send up one of these? 🍆 or 🌭?
My stomach clenched at her suggestion because whatever Harper wanted more than once a week, my dick was willing and able.
me: You do whatever you want, firecracker. My dick is at your disposal.
HER: That's what I'm afraid of.
Before I answered with the exception that I actually wasn't available on Tuesday nights, she reminded me of our first rule.
HER: Tests first. And no cheating, dickhead.
"Wouldn't have it any other way," I muttered down at my phone with a grin.
"Jake..." A kind pair of brown eyes looked up at me. "I don't normally say this... but you don't really need to be here."
"I know," I assured Dr. Johnson. "But I want to be."
"Jacob..." she removed her glasses, rested them on the top of her gray-haired head, and squinted up at me. "Do you know what I'm doing?"
"No." My lips curled up into a smile because I really didn't and humored her with, "What?"
"Just like you, I'm operating in denial," she quipped, pulled back down into place, then extended one of her small hands towards me. "Your notebook."
When her eyes dropped to the worn, black spiral notebook I clutched into my chest, I handed it over. She flipped to the last few pages, then worked backwards with nothing other than silent reads alternated with a few 'hmmm' sounds.
My head tilted sideways like one of those confused dog memes. Not that I looked at them.
"You realize we work mostly in a ten-week program environment, right?" Dr. Johnson sighed, shut my notebook, then held it in front of my line of vision. "You've been here for two years, Jacob. And this is more than enough evidence that you haven't had a single anger problem since your incident more than three and a half years ago."
Hesitation filled my voice and I swallowed hard. "Yeah, but -"
"No buts." She pressed the notebook right into the center of my chest. "Why are you still coming here, Jake?"
I dropped my chin downward, to the frayed edges on my notebook paper, and mumbled, "Anger management, Dr. Johnson."
"Sit down, Jake." She gestured towards the closest empty plastic blue seat from our weekly shared session classes at Anger Detox, the organization I'd been with since my second year, when the USC counselors had suggested I concluded my on-campus anger management sessions.
Once Dr. Johnson pulled another chair, she sat down with her knees pointed at me, cupped her hands over her lap, and stared right at me. "Open up."
"You're kicking me out," I stated, not asked. Once she nodded, I rolled my lower lip inward and caught it with my teeth for a few moments.
One of her hands enclosed warmly around mine. "That's a good thing Jake. Since you're not willing to open up, let me enlighten you. Nod for agreement and head shake no, right?"
I nodded silently, she withdrew her hands, and sat back in her seat. With equal parts scrutiny and kindness in her eyes, she started, "You know when your anger is useful, when it can fuel you forwards to be successful in football, and when it's not."
My head bobbed slowly, although the game on the field had always been the one area my anger hadn't touched. Instead, football had always been a much-needed outlet for pent-up aggression.
"You know that your triggers are guilt, or feelings of inadequacy, and how you physically feel when they're coming." I swallowed hard as she went right for the gut punch, which I'd always respected about Dr. Johnson until it was targeted straight at me.
My hands curled my notebook tightly into a cylinder between my palms but my head nodded again because I'd learned about my triggers within the first month of one-on-one anger management counseling at USC.
Her eyes dropped to my notebook, the weekly journal of writing assignments and activities she assigned that aimed at emotional regulation and quelling anger flares. "You have all the tools at hand to handle tough, stressful, high-pressured situations. You've practiced them, two years with us and more than a year and a half at USC."
I nodded again, although a heavy sensation filled my stomach at where I saw this evaluation headed.
She's really kicking me out.
The painfully huge difference between having the safety net of my counseling sessions, weekly reminders of the areas I still needed improvement within, and assurance that I wasn't alone in my fucked up anger issues and handling my issues solely on my own festered in the back of my mind.
"Jacob..." Dr. Johnson leaned forwards and rested her palm on my fists again. "I think your issues stemmed from being in a position where you didn't have control in your life or you exerted too much control. You certainly have no problems communicating clearly and assertively without the anger factoring in... And you've learned to separate out things you can control and things you can't, right?"
My head nodded through most of her words but my neck and shoulders froze at her last ones, since I wasn't entirely sure I believed them. I looked over her head to a motivational poster that hung on the light blue walls in the now-empty group session room. Despite my cocky, probably arrogant, projection, inside lingered a small level of uncertainty that I slipped back into the guy who abandoned common sense and logic and charged into situations fists-first. While I knew I wasn't that quick-flash anger guy anymore, I never wanted to be him again.
Never, ever again.
One warm hand squeeze drew my eyes down to Dr. Johnson's, which were so small they barely covered half of mine. "It's scary to feel like you're taking on everything by yourself but you can do it."
I pulled one of my hands out from under hers and raked it through my hair. "So... is this it?"
Her head nodded firmly and while the smile she offered was warm and friendly, it hadn't quelled the uncertainty inside me. Neither did her words, "I think you're ready, Jacob. I trust that you're ready, so does Dr. Sanz, now you need to have faith in yourself."
"All right," I mumbled and pushed myself up to standing, then reached my arms out and hugged Dr. Johnson gently.
"You're going to be fine," she murmured into my ear while her hands patted my upper back. "More than fine."
No matter how much I wanted to believe her, that I'd battled away my inner demons, I didn't answer her.
While the entire house knew where I was Tuesday nights, why I made and ate a quick dinner alone, I was never asked about it once I got home. Whether the guys weren't sure how to address my meetings, stopped caring, or silently offered space as a form of respect I wasn't sure, but appreciated the lack of questions as I nodded a few greetings and headed upstairs to my room.
"Nothing yet, bro," London greeted me in the hallway outside his room with an outstretched fist.
"Thanks," I mumbled and bumped it.
After Harper had sent me the audio file that Brit planned some kind of behind-my-back scheme, London put an online tracker on her updates. Thankfully, Brit's only online presence was how she collected any and all sympathy over being newly single. She hadn't posted comments like she was heartbroken but I wouldn't have believed her if she had.
Fucking girl drama.
Just another reason I sometimes agree with Harper on relationships being a bad idea.
While I'd showered after practice like usual, once inside my room, I grabbed a towel from my clean stack in the closet, and my Axe body wash off my desk. A hot shower after therapy nights always made me feel better, like I washed away the heaviness from the group sessions, and I lowered my head as the hot droplets splashed warmly over my tensed neck and shoulders.
The longer I stood, my palms clamped over my eyes and water washed over my body, the more tension my muscles released and the heavy sense of uncertainty I'd carried out of Anger Detox lightened the more deep breaths I took.
By the time my hand reached down for my body wash, which I poured onto a washcloth and scrubbed hard over my skin until it puffed up pink and sensitive, a calm sensation spread through me. As my fingers kneaded over a few knots in my neck and shoulders, the thoughts that swirled around in my brain slowed down. While I knew my life's challenges and anger triggers were far from over, I believed Dr. Johnson.
I can do this.