Page 16 of The Bet
I laugh, deep and guttural. “Smart girl. I’m worth a lot of money.”
Frankly, it seems like she’s going for blackmail, but I don’t give a fuck. Many women have tried to blackmail me before, and it never works. I hand over a few jewels, a priceless bracelet, and even an apartment once. Then, they walk away. Maybe theirblackmail worked, maybe it didn’t. I don’t care because the money never meant anything to me.
So we’ll see what the young blonde does. In the meantime, she straightens her clothes, wipes the back of her hand across her cheek and tries to get her hat in order.
I guffaw. “I can’t believe they make you wear that thing.”
She smiles at me.
“I know, it’s so ridiculous. But what Century Catering wants, is what they get. Can you hand me my panties, please?”
The white cotton pair is lying on the floor. But I don’t give them to her. I pick up her panties and pocket them before winking.
“I’d like a souvenir, if you don’t mind.”
She sees, blushes again, and doesn’t protest.
I help her out of my lap before standing myself. Then, I run a hand through my hair, and check my reflection in the glass door. I’m a little disheveled, but not overly so. She stands behind me, smoothing her skirt, adjusting her hat, looking every inch the dutiful college caterer.
At the threshold, I pause. “I hope to see you again,” I say, and mean it.
She bites her lip, holding back a smile. “Me too. But right now, I have to work.”
With that, I walk her back to the edge of the party, then let her slip away into the staff corridors. I watch her go, feeling the aftershocks in every nerve. What did this girl just do to me? When I return to the ballroom, it’s as if nothing happened. The music plays, and people chat, laugh, and dance like always.Candace corners me, her perfume cloying, but I ignore the older woman. Instead, I sip my drink and watch, from a distance, as the blonde moves through the crowd, this time with a bounce in her step.
Then, I see her do something odd. She’s clearing plates from a table, when she suddenly stops and goes stock still. Then, face flushed, she reaches for a bunch of napkins and scurries through a side door before disappearing.
Smiling like an asshole, I already know what happened. She has my come dripping from her back door, and without panties, it’s going to trickle down her thigh, all the way to her ankle, making a mess. She’s probably in the bathroom right now, trying to wipe up my semen.
Good.
I left my mark on her.
And she’s left her mark on me too.
For the rest of the night, the party is a blur, a paper-mache imitation of real life. But my body thrums with satisfaction, my mind full of her. My pretty little buttslut, anonymous and irresistible, overflowing with my seed. I can’t wait until next time.
And I know, with absolute certainty, that there will be a next time.
5
OMG, HE'S MY FRIEND'S DAD!
Andie
If there’s a place on campus engineered for secrets, it’s Brewed Awakening. Supposedly owned by two theater majors, but everyone suspects the chemistry faculty pumps grant money into the espresso machine for kicks. The walls are exposed brick and hung with framed playbills and protest posters; the place is always at capacity with some combination of laptops covered with stickers, thrifted scarves, and people who think their conversations deserve to be overheard.
I push the door open, and the bell overhead yelps a nervous little “ding.” Immediately, three things hit me: cinnamon, burned coffee, and the steam-hiss of an espresso machine bleeding off pressure. My girls are in the corner, same as always—Stella, Mary Kate, and Kayleigh, each hunched over a glowing laptop, their drinks like a constellation of pastel mugs and plastic cold-brew domes.
Stella’s got her hair up in one of those “messy” buns that she learned watching hours of YouTube tutorials; she’s annotatinga philosophy textbook with a color-coded army of sticky flags. Mary Kate’s dressed like a preppy librarian, chunky glasses, oversized cardigan, scrolling her phone with one hand and typing with the other. Kayleigh is in full Instagram-girlie off duty: black leggings, cut-off hoodie, AirPods in, but she clocks my entrance before I even get three steps in.
She gives me the up-down. “Holy shit, is that Andie or a ghost?”
I slide into my usual spot at the table, dump my bag onto the sticky wood, and hold up my phone like I’m about to read aloud from the Dead Sea Scrolls. My heart’s still pounding from the brisk walk over, but also from the news burning a hole in my skull. I know I look wild—blonde hair frizzed from the drizzle, face still raw from last night’s skin care fail, under-eye circles like the aftermath of a light beating—but I feel invincible. Invincible and a little bit mischievous.
I set my phone screen-down, order a cinnamon latte from the server (who, incidentally, looks a lot like the TA from my Chem lab—small world), and turn to face the crowd.
“Okay, so I have news,” I say, my voice trembling a little, and Kayleigh actually fist-pumps. Stella blinks, pink-varnished fingers poised above the keyboard. Mary Kate looks up from her phone, eyebrow cocked.
