Page 3 of Play With Me

I hauled my seabag onto my back and took the stairs to avoid the crowded elevator. When I stepped through the stairwell door and into the hallway, a dozen little pairs of doe eyes locked on me, mouths gaping. Dad would’ve had a field day.

Would you look at all these slack-jawed cunts, Liam? Jaysus.

I lived in the dorms last year, so I was used to feeling like the resident crypt-keeper, but thank Christ they paired me with a Graduate Resident Assistant this year, since we were both only here for one semester. My last roommate requested a mental health move after he walked in on me with our TA. He never even said a word, but his mom ripped me a new one. Now that I think of it, that’s the difference. If we’d lived in the bricks, he’d have tossed me a beer and asked if he could watch.

“Name’s Hasan Malik. Good to meet you, brother,” said my new roommate.

“Will Hawkins. You, too.” I gripped his hand and slapped his back. He was a big dude. Bigger than me, but not quite as tall. Looked like he was in good shape. Sick beard. I liked him instantly.

“Military, right? Remind me of the branch… Marines?” He moved his things away from my side of the room. Even though it looked like he moved in weeks ago, his side was thankfully clean and organized. Engineers, man. Gotta love ‘em.

I nodded as I dropped my bags and tossed my jacket on the empty desk.

“Nice. When did you get out?” he asked as I pulled my toiletries, towels, and skivvies from my seabag.

“I’m still Active, actually. I’m attached to an NROTC unit on campus until I finish my degree. I’ll commission as an officer after graduation and get out before I turn thirty, God willing,” I explained.

“No shit—is that a big commitment on top of school?”

“Nah. Naval Science classes. Early morning runs a few times a week. Uncle Sam is paying my tuition and my salary, so I’m not crying or anything. What are you studying?”

“Biomedical, doctoral track.” He chuckled ruefully. “I’ll be lucky if I’m done by thirty. You?”

“Civil,” I said. He nodded, and our conversation paused naturally while I put a set of sheets on the mattress.

I coughed to break the silence. “Hey, I’m pretty good with rules. You got any hard-and-fast ones I need to respect?” I asked. “Girlfriends, foods, alcohol? I don’t want to make assumptions, but I recognize an Arabic name when I hear one and figured I’d ask.”

“Wow.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I’ll admit I assumed you’d be a dick about it—I’ve caught a lot of shit from flag-wavers in the past—but no. I’m from the Bronx and grew up in foster care. I’m more ethnically poor than anything else.” He laughed with genuine warmth before continuing. “No girlfriend either, but my friend Lou will probably crash here a few nights a week until our house is livable, as long as that’s cool with you." I eyed the room, wondering where he’d sleep. “I think I mentioned it in my email when we got assigned. We’re under contract on a foreclosure just off campus, but it won’t close for a few months.”

I whistled softly. “Is your buddy loaded or something? Boston real estate isn’t cheap.”

“Nah, we aged out of the system together, but we don’t fuck around either. What’s your story?”

“I’d planned to live off-campus with a couple of friends, but I picked up temporary orders a few weeks ago and didn’t want to leave them hanging on rent halfway through the year. I’m taking off in January, but they’ll have me back in time for fall semester.” I was anxious about missing a whole semester to deploy with another unit. I wouldn’t even get to train with them in the workup. I rubbed the back of my neck. “Uh, I hate to be a dick, but I gotta check in over at my unit in a few minutes. You up for a beer after?”

“Sure thing. I’ll let you get to it,” he said easily. He flopped onto his bed with his computer and put his headphones in. Maybe I got lucky this time.

I’d left my dress uniforms in a hanging bag in my truck, so after one more trip all the way down and up twelve flights of stairs, I made quick work of hanging and checking them over in my two-by-two closet.

Hasan was half-heartedly flipping through a binder with his laptop open on his bed when movement on the screen caught my attention. The angle of the video suggested the camera was awkwardly positioned, but it clearly featured a woman, maybe mid-twenties, in what looked like a tiny kitchen. She wasn’t facing the camera or talking to anyone, and every alarm in my body went off at once. I narrowed my eyes at Malik. Does she even know she’s being filmed, you sick fuck?

I took a four-count breath and considered the content. I guess it was pretty harmless. She was—I don’t know… it looked like she was making a smoothie? But somehow it was also kind of porny? Dad would’ve called me out—Maybe yer the filthy fecker here, lad—but he’d have understood. She was all golden skin, flushed pink, sweat-slicked hair tied up high on her head. She danced unselfconsciously to music I couldn’t hear. I shifted to get a closer look.

She seemed familiar—but not like someone I actually knew. Like my dick recognized her even if my brain couldn’t place her.

She wore a sunny yellow sports bra that darkened to gold where it was damp between and under small, perfectly proportioned tits. They jiggled when she shook frozen berries out of a bag into the blender, tiny shadows forming where her nipples pebbled from the cold. Jesus. Fuck. I bit back a groan.

I wasn’t a connoisseur of pornography or anything, but this was definitely the kind I was into.

I tried to turn away, but then she held down the lid of the blender while it whirred, her pretty teeth pressed into her bottom lip, body vibrating, and my brain completely shorted out.

“What kind of porn is this?” I asked aloud. She punched the button again, lifted the lid off, and peeked over the rim. Her dark brows furrowed. Oh no! Is it still lumpy? It looked like she was going to blend it a bit more, and I mentally crossed my fingers that she’d forget to replace the lid. Do it. Get it all over your face⁠—

“Did you say something, Will?” Hasan had taken out his headphones and was looking up at me expectantly. His eyes flicked to the screen and back to me.

“I’m normally a ‘no porn in shared spaces’ kind of guy,” I said, “but I’d watch that chick clip her fucking toenails. What’s her name?”

He frowned and jerked his head back at first, but then his mouth spread into a Cheshire-cat grin. Ominous. He leaned over to unmute his microphone, eyes locked on mine. “Hey, babe?’’ he said. “Come meet Will.”