Top Secret

KEATON

A hot mouth suddenly latches onto mine.

Holy motherfucking shit.

He’s kissing me. Luke Bailey is kissing me, and my brain can’t make sense of it. Why is his tongue sliding inside my mouth like it belongs there?

Growling, I push at his chest. “What the hell—” But I stop talking, because his rock-hard body doesn’t so much as budge thanks to my shove, and now my palms are pressed up against the tightest set of pecs I’ve ever felt.

Hell, the only set of pecs I’ve ever felt.

Bailey’s body is unreal. And now the asshole’s tongue is in my mouth again. I groan in surprise as pleasure jolts through me, and I swear I hear him chuckle, or maybe he’s groaning too. I don’t know. I’m too out of it. Too turned on, and too confused.

I’m gasping for air by the time I manage to wrench my mouth away. It’s three in the morning and I’m drunk off my ass. That’s the only reasonable explanation for what just happened here.

“Why’d you stop?” Bailey pants. “Go get your girl and let’s go. You know you want to.” His gaze is a lust-filled challenge.

“She dumped me,” I blurt out. Or, rather, the vodka does.

His eyes widen. “Come again?”

“She dumped me. First she changed her mind about the threesome. And then after I sent you away, she said, ‘Keaton, I was only trying to spice up our sex life because I think it’s run its course. Let’s just be friends.’”

I feel a stab right in my heart just saying it out loud. Annika thinks we’re not hot together anymore.

“Jesus. I’m sorry, man.” Weirdly, he sounds like he means it.

And I still can’t shut up. “She said, ‘you weren’t supposed to get so excited about sex with other people. You were just supposed to get more excited about sex with me.’”

“That’s bullshit,” Bailey sputters. “Then why did she suggest it? I thought the whole thing was her idea.”

“It was.” I sit down on the edge of his bed, because standing up isn’t working for me so well. And, fuck. The plaid bedspread—it’s the one from the video he sent me. It was here all the time. I could have known it was him if I was a little more observant.

“That’s cold,” he remarks.

When I glance up at him again, he’s pulling on a pair of sweatpants. Which means I just missed a view of his bare ass.

Fuck me. I missed it.

“Maybe it’s just a fight?” he asks, pulling a T-shirt over his muscular torso. “Maybe you two will kiss and make up in the morning.”

“I don’t know. She did that thing where she implied that if I was really paying attention, I would have understood that the threesome was a cry for help. ‘I just wanted you to spice things up,’ she said. ‘I thought you would counter-offer the threesome.’”

“Counter-offer?” Luke repeats.

“Yeah, like bring in another girl instead. Or some role-play. I don’t know.” I stand up again because sitting on Bailey’s bed is a bad idea. I’ve got to go sleep off this vodka. “All I know is I did love her. And it wasn’t my idea to break up. But she says I don’t thrill her anymore, and I don’t know how you come back from that.”

“Does she still thrill you?” Bailey asks.

I’m too drunk to keep the wince off my face. “Sometimes. Sure.” But it’s just dawning on me that sexting with SinnerThree was about the most exciting thing that happened to me in the bedroom.

Isn’t that just sad?

“Well…” Bailey clears his throat. “Deep breaths.”

“I should…” I make a vague motion toward my own room.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Hey, I meant it, Hayworth. I’d never say a word. About…you know.” He lifts his phone off his desk to indicate what he means.

“Uh, thanks. I won’t say anything, either.” I measure the serious expression on his face, and I decide that he’s telling the truth. And then it hits me that I had my tongue in his mouth a few minutes ago. Did that seriously happen?

And, Jesus, did I really like it so much? I did, damn it. And now I’m staring.

“You okay?” he says warily.

“How did you know?” I ask suddenly.

He rolls his eyes. “I told you, I didn’t know.”

“Not about that. That’s not what I mean. How did you figure out that you, uh…” I can’t finish the sentence. “Never mind.” I take one step toward the door.

“Oh,” he says slowly, my meaning dawning in his voice. “That I like guys?”

I stop and turn around. “Yeah. That.”

“I started young, honestly. Noticing guys was a hobby of mine from ninth grade on. And one of the guys in my little circle at school turned out to be gay. And he noticed that I had a thing for the cross country team.” His chuckle is strained. “So he made a point to invite me to stay at his house whenever his parents were out for the night. He wasn’t really my type, but we were each other’s handy training ground.”

“And that was, like, okay with you?” I hear myself ask.

“Yeah.” He toys with the edges of his phone. “See, I never felt like I fit in anywhere, ever. Not at home. Not at school. So I didn’t let my sexuality freak me out. What’s one more thing?”

“One more thing,” I repeat slowly.

“Go to bed, Hayworth,” he says, pointing at the door. “I think you need it.”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice thick. It’s probably the best advice I’ve been given in a long time. “What a fucking awful day.”

He makes a face. “We shall never speak of this again.”

“Right. Night.”

Then I get the hell out of there. I stumble into my own room and shut the door. My phone is on the bed, so I pick it up. And by sheer force of habit I touch the lock screen to see if there are any notifications from the Kink app.

There aren’t, of course.

It occurs to me that I should delete the app.

But I don’t. Not yet.

The next day I sleep past noon, only rolling out of bed when my need for painkillers becomes stronger than my need to disappear under the comforter.

Everything feels bleak. Usually on Sunday I’d meet Annika for brunch, or my dad if he’s in town. But today I don’t have plans, so I order a pizza from the only place that delivers. It’s not even good pizza.

And then I run into Bailey when I’m collecting it from the pizza delivery guy. He’s just back from the grocery store, apparently. I head upstairs, thinking to avoid him in the kitchen. But, damn it, he follows me up two flights of stairs, carrying his grocery bag with him.

“Why don’t you keep that in the kitchen?” I mutter, which really translates to, why do I have to see you when I’m still embarrassed?

“Because people take my food,” he grumbles, giving his door a nudge with his hip. “Duh.” It closes with a loud click.

That’s when I remember what Bailey—SinnerThree—once wrote about money. That it was a constant worry for him. That he didn’t always have enough money for groceries at the end of the month.

I attack my average-tasting pizza, feeling surly and hemmed in.

And what’s that old saying? There’s no rest for the stupid. Okay, that’s not exactly it. But when I check my email, I learn that I have not one but two frat meetings today. There’s a chapter meeting. And before that, a huddle with—wait for it—the officer candidates for the election.

So a few hours later I find myself face to face for the second time today with the one man I most want to avoid. Reed, our sitting president, has gathered Bailey, me, and the guys who are running unopposed for treasurer and for secretary.

“Okay, boys,” Reed says after he closes the dining room door. “In a half hour the chapter decides who will be the cat-herder in chief. But before the vote happens, I just wanted to go over a few details. Because it sometimes feels like brothers sign up for these things out of optimism or loyalty or whatever, without knowing that there’s work involved.”

I bristle, feeling like this comment is directed at me. But I’m not at all confused about this. I already know that the presidency will make my senior year harder than ever.

“Here are job descriptions for all of you,” Reed says. “You’ll recognize the first part from the fraternity handbook. But below that I’ve added some notes about the practical considerations.”

“Thank you, Reed,” Bailey says quietly. “This is pretty great.”

“Thanks, man,” echo the others.

When Reed hands me his notes, I skim the lengthy paragraphs and try not to sigh. The details run to five pages.

“The president’s description was the hardest to describe,” he says. “I’ve used the word ‘peacekeeper’ a lot. The cats don’t always listen. The buck has to stop with you, though. The bylaws are very clear about this. So if, say, your best friend has some stupid ideas about the initiation rituals, you have to shut that down.” He gives me a pointed look.

Fuck. “Got it,” I say stiffly.

“It’s not a job that always makes you popular,” Reed adds.

“I should be perfect, then,” Bailey says, and the other guys chuckle.

“But, hey, at least you earn your free room,” Reed says.

“Free room?” I ask, looking up.

Four curious stares look back at me. “You didn’t know about the free room?” asks Jon Munsen, who’s running for secretary. “Almost makes it worth it.”

“Right.” I feel like I’m ten steps behind everyone else. “Yeah, I remember,” I lie.

“Okay, any more questions?” Reed asks. He waits, but nobody brings anything up. “All right. I’m going to go grab the ballot box out of the attic. And we’ll get the chapter meeting started in fifteen minutes or so.”

The room descends into a tense silence.

Well, I’m tense, anyway. Munsen and Edwards are noodling on their phones. Bailey also taps on his phone, looking carefree.

But I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. I can no longer remember why I was running for president of Alpha Delt. To please my father, I guess. I wonder what he’ll say when I tell him that Annika dumped me. I can’t even imagine the disappointed look on his face.

And why does that even matter? I’m twenty-one years old, almost twenty-two.

My phone buzzes with a notification. And I can’t believe it, but it’s from the Kink app. I open the phone under the table and find that SinnerThree has sent me a gif. It’s of…a cowboy herding cats across the plain.

May the best asshole win, he writes.

I can’t help myself. I glance up and find him looking at me. And that fucker winks.

Goddamn Bailey. I don’t want to like the guy.

The room starts to fill with my fraternity brothers. They take up all the rest of the seats at the table, and then fill in the window seat and all the standing room along the walls.

“Here we go, guys.” Reed puts a stack of ballots onto the table and then passes more of them around the room. “Oh, and here’s some pencils,” he says, placing a mug of them on the table.

Reed is great at this, I realize. He’s a good president, and patient, too. A real cat-herder.

I glance across the table at Luke, whose chin is resting in his hand. I wonder if he knows he probably can’t win. There are too many football players in the frat, and they’ll vote for me just by default. And I’m friendlier, too. I’ve spent more time playing poker and watching sports in the living room.

Bailey doesn’t. He works a lot, I think. I’m just realizing that he probably has to work all the time just to stay afloat. He told me as much when I was chatting with SinnerThree.

He’s picking his cuticles right now. As if it doesn’t matter whether he wins. But I’m suddenly realizing that it probably matters a great deal to him. The president gets a free room next year.

That part makes no difference to me whatsoever. The rent here isn’t even very high…

“The meeting is called to order,” Reed says calmly. “I thought we’d vote first, just to get the ballots squared away. Does anyone have any questions about the election? It’s a straight majority setup. In the unlikely event of a tie, we revote once and then if that doesn’t clear things up, the sitting officers will break the tie.” He waits. “No questions?”

My heart rate accelerates, and I raise my hand. “Hey, Reed?” Everyone turns to look at me. “I changed my mind.” The rest comes pouring out in a word-vomit of pure relief. “The presidency isn’t really my thing, and I’m probably not the right personality for it. So I’m withdrawing my name from consideration. Still happy to do committee work, but, uh, cross my name off the ballots.”

Judd groans loudly.

Reed only blinks. “You sure, man?”

“Totally,” I say, feeling great for the first time all day. “I got enough on my plate.” And my father can just shove it. If he wants a Hayworth to be president of Alpha Delt, he can re-enroll at Darby and run again.

Fuck his opinion. Fuck everything.

There is an uneasy murmur in the room. And then I make the mistake of glancing over at Luke Bailey. I guess I thought I’d see relief in his eyes. Now the free room is his.

Instead? He’s glaring at me with murder in his eyes.