Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“He totally would,” Judd argues.
“Hey, we got class now,” Tanner reminds our sulking buddy. “We should book it over there.”
“Fine.” Judd scrapes his chair back and gets to his feet. His cloudy gaze meets mine again. “I’m serious, man. Bailey is bad news, and we need to kick his ass in this campaign. There’s no way I’m letting him be our president.”
“Don’t worry. He won’t be.”
Once my friends are gone, I let out a tired sigh. I don’t particularly care about Judd’s beef with Bailey at the moment. I have a football game to win, a campaign to plan, and a father to impress.
And a girlfriend to please.
I go up to the counter to get a refill, then settle in my cozy corner of the coffeehouse and open the app I downloaded last night. I hadn’t lied to Annika earlier—her birthday request is in the forefront of my mind. I just need to do some investigating first.
Welcome to Kink!
Add a profile pic.
Add bio.
I’d wanted to fill all this out last night, but my frat brothers suckered me into an epic session of Red Dead Redemption that lasted till three a.m. Now I quickly scroll through the camera roll on my phone until I find a suitable one. It’s of Annika and me, taken in Easthampton last summer. She looks smokin’ hot in a teeny string bikini, and my abs are looking tight, if I do say so myself. I crop out our faces and load the photo.
I skip the bio for now, because I’m feeling impatient. I want to see what this app has to offer more than I want to break my brain thinking of one hundred and forty-five characters to describe how my girlfriend wants to bang two men at the same time.
Actually, that’s pretty much the gist of it.
Still, I’m curious to check out the goods. Kink is more hookup app than dating app, and I’m pleased to discover it lets you search for users who’ve expressed interest in certain arrangements.
I click on the threesome box in the search section. There are an eye-opening number of options, combinations that hadn’t even occurred to me. Annika wants another guy, though, so I ponder the easiest combos.
m/f/m
m/m/f
My finger hovers over the m/f/m button. The other option means the men are allowed to touch, I think. It’s the moment of truth. Some guys would hate this idea. I don’t, though. I’m a scientist. Experimenting is what I do.
I even dreamt about sex with men once. Or twice. I never mentioned that to Annika. But why would I? I’ve also dreamt of meeting a dragon who smoked clove cigarettes. The things my brain invents while I’m sleeping aren’t newsworthy.
But I’d be lying if I said that Annika’s shocking birthday request turns me off. I’ll try anything once. And the app lets you click as many boxes as you want. So after looking over my shoulder once more just to make sure nobody I know is watching, I tap both options and usher in the possibility of taking a walk on the wild side.
The threesome has to be with a stranger, though. I’m certain that any one of my frat brothers would be down to help me give my girl a night to remember. Well, except Dan, who’s only down for dudes. And, well, Bailey, who thinks I’m an ass. I think he’s an ass, too, so I guess we’re even.
But I can’t do this with someone I know. What if the whole night is awkward as fuck? If it’s a brother, I’ll still have to live with him. If it’s a teammate, I’ll still have to see him in the locker room.
And then there’s the opposite scenario. What if it’s not awkward as fuck? What if I like it a whole lot?
Yeah, I don’t want my buddies judging me. A stranger for the win, then.
I lean back in my chair and start swiping.
Not Statistically Unlikely
Luke
I’m questioning all my life choices tonight. And all because of a vending machine.
Here I stand, starving in the student center at eight o’clock on a Thursday. I don’t work another shift at the club until tomorrow night, so cash is tight. So I put my last two singles in the snack machine and punch the button for the peanut butter pretzels. The metal coil turns, and the bag begins to move.
My stomach gurgles in anticipation. Skipping dinner to geek out in the statistics lab wasn’t my smartest move, I suppose. But I’m trying to save both money and time—two things in short supply in my life.
I’m not a lucky guy, though. So before my meager dinner has a chance to fall into my hands, the coil stops turning. And my pretzels are caught there, drooping from the rack, hanging by a corner of the plastic bag. Stuck.