Chapter 7: Sorority Girl Fantasy
The ripped edges of Chad’s t-shirt scraped against his back as Kyle pushed him down. The carpet was a battlefield of forgotten socks and textbook pages, gritty against his skin. She straddled him, her knees pinning his hips, and for a second, just a second, he saw the old Kyle in her eyes—the fierce, determined linebacker sizing up his target.
Then it was gone, replaced by a glittering, theatrical blankness.
She tossed her hair, the damp ends flicking his chest. She placed her hands on her breasts, pushing them together, and bounced them slightly in his face. The motion was exaggerated, a parody.
“Oh. My. God,” she squealed, her voice pitched high and airy, so unlike her own. “Chaddie! Look at these, right? Like, totally insane.” She giggled, a sharp, practiced sound. “They’re, like, totally real now. Wanna touch?”
Chad stared up at her, a cold knot tightening in his gut beneath the heat of his arousal. “Kyle,” he started, his voice low.
“Shhh!” She pressed a finger to his lips, her smile plastic. “We’re having fun, remember? You chose the secret.” She leaned down, her breasts swaying, and whispered in her normal voice, a harsh contrast. “So shut up and play along.”
She straightened up, resuming the character. She shifted her hips, taking him inside her again with a smooth, practiced roll that made his breath catch. Her eyes never left his, watching for his reaction.
“Oh, wow!” she squeaked, bouncing lightly, her hands now on his chest. “Your dick feels sooo big in me! It’s, like, totally huge! For reals!”
Each word was a tiny, precise hammer blow. The vulgarity wasn’t the problem—they’d cursed each other out a thousand times in the weight room. It was the falseness. The valley girl cadence, the performative hair flips, the wide, empty eyes. This was a mask, but it wasn’t for the world outside the door. It was for him. For them. It was a weapon.
And it was working. His body, traitorous and simple, responded fiercely to the visual, to the friction, to the crude words themselves. He throbbed inside her, a painful, urgent pulse that had nothing to do with the character she was playing and everything to do with the familiar, complicated person beneath it. The dissonance was maddening.
He grabbed her hips, stilling her. “Stop.”
“Stop?” she chirped, tilting her head. “But we’re just getting started, silly! Don’t you like it? All the guys like it.” She dragged a fingernail down his sternum. “This is what you wanted, right? The whole package.”
“This isn’t you,” he gritted out, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist.
Her smile didn’t falter, but her eyes went flat and hard. “How would you know?” The squeak was gone, replaced by a quiet, dangerous chill. “You wanted a girl. I’m giving you a girl. A really, really good one.” She began moving again, a slow, grinding roll of her hips. “This is what I’m supposed to be now, Chad. So enjoy it.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Off the perfect, hateful performance. Every giggle was a shard of glass in his ears. He felt used. He felt like he was using her. The room, with its half-made bed and the cracked mirror, seemed to shrink, the walls pushing in on this awful pantomime.
In the mirror across the room, he could see the reflection of her back, the powerful lines of her shoulders strained under the act. He saw his own hands, pale where they gripped her.
“I don’t want this,” he said, his voice ragged.
“Liar,” she whispered, and for a flash, she was just Kyle, raw and hurting. Then the mask slammed back down. “You’re so hard it hurts, Chaddie. Your body isn’t lying.”
She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his chest, her mouth by his ear. Her breath hitched for a second, a real sound amidst the fiction. “You get off on this,” she murmured, the valley girl tone gone, replaced by a low, strained truth. “You get off on the wrongness of it. My best friend. The linebacker. Now with these.” She rocked against him, a harsh, desperate motion. “That’s the secret, isn’t it?”
He flipped her.
It was instinct, a defensive move from the field translated to this new, intimate combat. One moment she was on top, the next he had rolled, reversing their positions, pinning her beneath him on the scratchy carpet. Her eyes flew wide, the fake persona vaporized by sheer surprise. She stared up at him, breathless, finally real.
“No,” Chad growled, holding himself above her, his arms trembling. “I get off on you. The person who fights me for the last slice of pizza. The one who covered for me with Coach when I blew off curfew. The one who looks at me right now like you want to murder me.” He lowered his hips, settling into her, a deliberate, deep press. “This is you. Right here. This fire. This fight. Not that… that cartoon.”
She blinked up at him. Her lower lip quivered. The defiant anger in her eyes dissolved, leaving something exposed and terrified. The performance was broken.
“I don’t know how to be anything else,” she said, her voice small. It was the most honest thing she’d said all night.
“Then just be,” he said. He didn’t move. He just stayed there, buried inside her, looking down at her face—the face he knew better than his own playbook, now softer, framed by hair that still confused him, but hers. “Stop trying to be what you think I want. Or what you think you’re supposed to be.”
A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye, tracking through the sweat on her temple. She didn’t wipe it away. She lifted her hands slowly, placing them on either side of his face. Her touch was tentative, exploring the stubble on his jaw.
“What do you want?” she asked, barely a whisper.
“You,” he said. Simple. Terrifying. “The real you.