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)
“You don’t like my idea?” he sneers. “Then give us the money, you little faggot. We both know you can.”
I try to control my anger. Only my brother would use a hateful slur while trying to convince me to give him cash. “I’m thinking, okay? Do me the world’s easiest favor and sit on the bike. I need to adjust the tension.”
He waits a beat, and I think he’s really so stubborn that he won’t do this small thing for me. But then he throws a leg over and puts his weight on the bike.
Grateful, I sink down and quickly apply the torque wrench to the bolts. “Look, it’s really not like I have five hundred extra dollars. I’d have to work some extra hours. And only if I can get the shifts.”
“So how about you do that?” he says. “If you don’t, I’ll tell Ma what it is you really do for most of your cash, and it ain’t tending bar.”
It’s a good thing he can’t see my face, because I do a poor job of concealing my surprise. How the hell does he know about my job at the club?
I take a deep, slow breath and then call his bluff. “I don’t care if you tell Mom. She doesn’t give a fuck, just as long as she can treat me like an ATM.”
But I’m bluffing, too. I care very much who knows about my job. If Joe told my fraternity brothers, that would be dangerous to my future. If they made a prank out of taking my photo or filming my ass on stage, that shit could wind up on the internet. And if it’s attached to my real name…
I can’t let that happen. Next year I’ll be applying for jobs all over the country. And “male stripper” cannot be the first thing that comes up when someone searches my name.
There’s nothing wrong with dancing. Stripping. Whatever. But I can’t afford to be the punch line of a joke.
“Make it six hundred, then,” Joey says as I fiddle with the bike chain. “One of those C-notes you pass to me privately.”
Fuck you! I want to shout. Fuck you, fuck Mom, fuck this entire fucking planet.
But I don’t.
“Okay,” I say instead.
Like I even have a choice.
Really, Lobsterman?
Luke
Interacting with my family never fails to put me in the foulest of moods, which makes it difficult to concentrate on studying later that night. Eventually I give up. My paper on economic history can wait until tomorrow. Really, all that’s left to do is tweak a few paragraphs, write the conclusion, and then proofread. If I try doing any of that while my brain isn’t sharp, I’ll end up having to work on it tomorrow anyway.
So I flop down on my bed and open Kink. Chatting with LobsterShorts always boosts my spirits. I click my inbox and grin when I discover a message from him already waiting for me.
LobsterShorts: Woke up this morning and jerked off to a pic of your abs. And then I thought—I’m jerking off to abs? Why hasn’t that bastard sent me a dick pic yet?
I snort out loud. Yup, in all of two seconds, this dude’s managed to get a laugh out of me. In my regular life I’m hardly ever laughing, and if I am, it’s usually sardonically. But Lobster evokes genuine amusement in me. He’s goofy and sexy and this is exactly what I need tonight. Forget about my paper. This is way more fun.
SinnerThree: Um. Why haven’t YOU sent ME a dick pic?
LobsterShorts: You never asked.
Yeah, I never asked because I thought it would send him back into hibernation. But if he’s feeling frisky again, I’m totally here for that. Maybe he’ll let me get him off again in real time.
SinnerThree: Tell you what. Quid pro quo. Dick pics will be exchanged. Also, if your girl’s down for it, I wouldn’t mind seeing some T&A from her.
Since his previous two messages popped up in seconds, the delay I encounter raises my guard a bit. Was my request out of line?
But no, it can’t be. Lobster proposed a three-way, and all I’ve seen of his girl thus far is a photo of her in a bikini. If I’m going to be sleeping with both of them, it would be nice to see pics—of both of them.
And yet not once have you sexted about this supposed three-way…
I stiffen. And not in the southern region of my body. My shoulders draw up tight as I let the unsettling thought sink in.
LobsterShorts: Let me see what I can do.
The vague response brings a frown to my lips. Something’s bugging me. Maybe my suspicions are completely ludicrous, but I can’t stop myself from asking a blunt question.
SinnerThree: Is there really a gf, Lobsterman?
This time, the long delay doesn’t surprise me. In fact, I’m convinced it might be more evidence to support my doubts. Lobster hardly ever mentions his girlfriend. Yes, his profile picture depicts two people, one of whom is clearly a hot chick. And I don’t think it’s a Photoshop job or anything—I’m sure he did have a girlfriend at one point. Or hell, maybe he still does and it’s only the threesome that’s bogus.