Bestselling authors Sarina Bowen & Elle Kennedy return with their first Male / Male romance in 3 years.
LobsterShorts, 21
Jock. Secretly a science geek. Hot AF.
LobsterShorts: So. Here goes. For her birthday, my girlfriend wants…a threesome.
SinnerThree: Then you’ve come to the right hookup app.
LobsterShorts: Have you done this sort of thing before? With another guy?
SinnerThree: All the time. I’m an equal opportunity player. You?
LobsterShorts: [crickets!]
SinnerThree, 21
Finance major. Secretly a male dancer. Hot AF.
SinnerThree: Well, I’m down if you are. My life is kind of a mess right now. School, work, family stress. Oh, and I live next door to the most annoying dude in the world. I need the distraction. Are you sure you want this?
LobsterShorts: I might want it a little more than I’m willing to admit.
SinnerThree: Hey, nothing wrong with pushing your boundaries...
LobsterShorts: Tell that to my control-freak father. Anyway. What if this threesome is awkward?
SinnerThree: Then it’s awkward. It’s not like we’ll ever have to see each other again. Right? Just promise you won’t fall in love with me.
LobsterShorts: Now wouldn’t that be life-changing...
Goodreads: https://geni.us/TopSecretGoodreads
Excerpt
Chapter One
I lean back in my chair and start
swiping.
Chapter One
Keaton
“Look,” Annika whispers in my ear.
Under the table, her small hand squeezes my thigh, while her cheek gently
nudges my chin toward the doorway. “He’s cute.”
“Subtle,” I tease before giving the
object of her attention a cursory glance. He’s just a tall guy with brown hair,
nothing special as far as I can tell. “How about we save this conversation for
later?”
She rolls her eyes. “We both know
there won’t be a conversation, Keaton. You like playing along, but you won’t
actually go through with it.” This time she forgets to lower her voice.
“Go through with what?” one of my frat
brothers asks from across the table. Tanner, Judd, and I had popped into the
campus Starbucks for a caffeine fix after practice. Annika’s next class is
directly across the street, so she’d come to say hi before class.
“Nothing,” I tell Tanner.
If you can call your girlfriend
wanting a threesome with another dude “nothing.”
Yup, my girlfriend wants a threesome.
And here I’d thought that, after six years together, Annika couldn’t surprise
me anymore.
She and I have been inseparable since
junior year of high school. I know every last detail about her, from her food
preferences to her pet peeves. I know she gets anxiety in long lines, that she
sneezes any time she gets a whiff of cinnamon, that she loves the beach but
hates skiing.
What I didn’t know was that my
girlfriend fantasizes about threesomes. The first time she brought it up, I
thought she was kidding around. Annika Schiffer, heiress to a home-furnishings
fortune, wants to bang two guys at the same time? Yeah right.
My girl is the president of her
sorority, wears a pearl necklace (and not the fun kind) on a daily basis, and
made me wait until we were eighteen to lose our virginities to each other. Don’t
get me wrong—she’s not some uptight rich bitch with a stick up her butt. She’s
fun and warm and fierce when someone tries to mess with her or her loved ones.
But she’s also… I’ll just say it:
vanilla.
I didn’t think she was serious about
the threesome thing until last week, when I’d asked her what she wanted for her
birthday and she brought up the idea again.
I move my lips to her ear so Tanner
and Judd can’t overhear. “Don’t
you worry, babe, there’ll be more than just a conversation,” I rasp.
She shivers, and then flashes me a
dazzling smile. Her face is flawless. Classic features, pouty lips, and smooth
skin that’s just the right amount of dewy. She works hard and spends a lot of
money for that skin. I’ve been in her bathroom at the sorority house, so I’ve
seen all the products she puts on her face to keep it looking so perfect. Not
to mention the monthly facials, which require her to fly to New York every
month because this little college town we live in doesn’t have a “competent
aesthetician”—her words, not mine.
It helps that her father owns a
helicopter that can accommodate her monthly treks. I’m not one to judge,
though. My dad has his own jet.
“I can’t wait,” she says before
hopping off my lap. “Come over tonight after practice, okay, baby? I have to go
to class now.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, boys.” Annika’s hand flutters in
a wave on her way to the door.
“Later!” Tanner calls after her. And
if I’m not mistaken, he takes a longing look at her ass.
“Dude,” I say. “If you’re going to
eye-fuck my girlfriend, you could at least be subtle about it.”
“Why?” Tanner argues. “She’d be flattered. And you should
know how good you’ve got it. Besides, I’m harmless.” He flashes me a big smile.
“What are we doing this weekend, anyway?” Tanner asks. “The Presidential
Dance-off, right?”
I shake my head. “That’s, like, in two
weeks, man.”
“Really? Why did I think it was
sooner?”
“Because you’re stupid,” Judd offers
helpfully.
Tanner gives him the finger, before
turning back to me. “Do you know what you’re doing for yours yet?”
I have no clue. And no, dancing isn’t
an actual requirement for our fraternity’s presidential race. But it used to
be. A few decades ago, the candidates running for frat president decided a
dance-off was the only way to decide who was more fit to lead. Hence,
the Presidential Dance-off was born. On our living room walls, there are old
photos of well-dressed men with slicked-back hair and girls in poodle skirts on
their arms.
My fraternity has long-held traditions
that began well before the invention of the red Solo cup. But these days, Alpha
Delta has evolved. Or devolved, depending who you ask. Instead of perfecting
his twist and his mashed potato, the presidential candidate is expected to
dazzle the other members by planning a kickass event. I’m talking epic.
Monumental. The kind of party that will be remembered for years to come.
Although, like dance moves, I’m not
entirely sure that party planning is a solid indicator of what makes a good
president. Sure, frats throw a lot of parties, but there’s a social committee
for that.
The role of president is actually
pretty lame, according to Reedsy, our current prez. He pulled me aside after I
threw my name in the race and admitted that it’s a boring gig and that I should
reconsider. “So much fucking responsibility on your shoulders, dude,” he’d
bemoaned.
For a moment, I’d almost bailed. To be
honest, I’m only running because my dad was president of Alpha Delt in his
heyday, and my granddad before him. But that’s also the reason I couldn’t
bail. My father would lose his shit if the Hayworth legacy ended with me.
So I have ten days to plan a legendary
party.
“Maybe I can just hire an event
planner?” I suggest.
“No way.” Judd’s response is immediate. “If that
fuckhead Bailey finds out, he’ll have you impeached.”
“You can’t impeach someone until
he’s elected,” Tanner points out.
Still, I don’t want to be accused of
cheating. What a pain in the ass this whole thing is. “We can brainstorm about
this on Sunday night. We have a game to win on Saturday.”
“Oh, we’re going to win,” Tanner promises.
But I’m not so sure. Not only am I
worried about the Northern Mass offense, I think my father is driving up for
the game. So winning isn’t even enough. If the Northern Mass players aren’t
crying into their helmets after the fourth quarter, my father will still give
me hell at brunch the next day.
And here I thought weekends were meant
to be relaxing.
“Fine,” Judd says. “We’ll talk about your campaign after the
other meeting on Sunday night.”
“What other meeting?” I search my
brain and come up empty.
“Pledge Committee,” he says, gulping
the last of his coffee.
Oh, phew. “I don’t have to go to that
one. I’m not on PC this year.”
“But I sent you that email?” Judd
whines. “I told you I need you there. Initiation night is coming up and my committee
is lame.”
“Who’s on it, anyway? What do you have
planned?” Note to self: be conveniently unavailable on Sunday night.
There is no way I’m sitting on the Pledge Committee again. Dealing with last
year’s pledge class was a total pain in the ass.
“There’s Ahmad, who’s smart but
boring. Paul, who’s just boring. Owen, who’s fun but not exactly creative. And
Paxton, who’s just a tool.” He sighs. “Whatever. At least Bailey isn’t on it
this time. Remember what a buzz kill he was last year? I fucking hate that guy.”
No big secret there. Judd’s had it in
for Luke Bailey ever since the guy rushed Alpha Delt sophomore year. And say
what you will about Judd, but he’s not an asshole unless he feels you’ve given
him a reason. He’s a bro to the core—he believes in male bonding, high fives,
and, in his mind, a friendship isn’t official unless you’ve bled together,
partied together, and nursed your twin hangovers the morning after.
Luke Bailey doesn’t subscribe to this
philosophy. The moment he scoffed at Judd’s attempt at a fist bump, he earned
himself an enemy in Judd Keller.
Since then, their tumultuous
acquaintanceship has only gotten worse. Luke is a cocky ass when he wants to
be, and Judd hates feeling like he’s being mocked or judged.
Oh, and then Bailey banged Judd’s ex.
So there’s that.
“You exert too much mental energy on
that guy,” Tanner informs Judd. Tanner’s a psych major, so he’s constantly
dishing out (pretty good) advice that everyone mostly ignores. “Holding onto
anger isn’t conducive to robust mental health.”
“First of all, say the word robust
one more time and I’ll clock you. You know how I feel about that, bro.” Indignation
flashes in Judd eyes. “And second of all, Luke Bailey screwed my girlfriend! I’m
never not gonna be angry at that prick.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” I hedge, but
it earns me a deep scowl from Judd. The two of us are teammates, and I do feel
loyalty to him, but I’m also not afraid to call it like it is. “You and Therese
were broken up for months.”
“Me and Therese are never
broken up. Sure, we take short breaks, a hiatus or two. But she’s my girl,” Judd
says tightly. “Everybody knows that.”
“Bailey says he didn’t,” Tanner says.
“That’s bullshit. He’s a liar. And now
he’s trying to screw K over!” Judd growls. “He joined the presidential race to
get back at me. I just know it.”
“You think?” Tanner looks skeptical. “Because
that would be sociopathic lengths to go to just to spite you.”
“Yeah,” I agree with a chuckle. “Bailey’s
a prick, but I can’t see him taking on the huge responsibility of running a
fraternity just to flip you the metaphorical bird.” Although if I’m being
honest, I don’t know why Luke Bailey is running for prez. The guy hasn’t
shown much interest in frat activities since he joined us.
“He totally would,” Judd argues.
“Hey, we got class now,” Tanner
reminds our sulking buddy. “We should book it over there.”
“Fine.” Judd scrapes his chair back
and gets to his feet. His cloudy gaze meets mine again. “I’m serious, man.
Bailey is bad news, and we need to kick his ass in this campaign. There’s no
way I’m letting him be our president.”
“Don’t worry. He won’t be.”
Once my friends are gone, I let out a tired
sigh. I don’t particularly care about Judd’s beef with Bailey at the moment. I
have a football game to win, a campaign to plan, and a father to impress.
And a girlfriend to please.
I go up to the counter to get a
refill, then settle in my cozy corner of the coffeehouse and open the app I
downloaded last night. I hadn’t lied to Annika earlier—her birthday request is
in the forefront of my mind. I just need to do some investigating first.
Welcome to Kink!
Add a profile pic.
Add bio.
I’d wanted to fill all this out last
night, but my frat brothers suckered me into an epic session of Red Dead
Redemption that lasted till three a.m. Now I quickly scroll through the
camera roll on my phone until I find a suitable one. It’s of Annika and me,
taken in Easthampton last summer. She looks smokin’ hot in a teeny string
bikini, and my abs are looking tight, if I do say so myself. I crop out our
faces and load the photo.
I skip the bio for now, because I’m
feeling impatient. I want to see what this app has to offer more than I want to
break my brain thinking of one hundred and forty-five characters to describe
how my girlfriend wants to bang two men at the same time.
Actually, that’s pretty much the gist
of it.
Still, I’m curious to check out the
goods. Kink
is more hookup app than dating app, and I’m pleased to discover it lets you
search for users who’ve expressed interest in certain arrangements.
I click on the threesome box in the
search section. There are an eye-opening number of options, combinations that
hadn’t even occurred to me. Annika wants another guy, though, so I ponder the
easiest combos.
m/f/m
m/m/f
My finger hovers over the m/f/m
button. The other option means the men are allowed to touch, I think. It’s the
moment of truth. Some guys would hate this idea. I don’t, though. I’m a
scientist. Experimenting is what I do.
I even dreamt about sex with men once.
Or twice. I never mentioned that to Annika. But why would I? I’ve also dreamt
of meeting a dragon who smoked clove cigarettes. The things my brain invents
while I’m sleeping aren’t newsworthy.
But I’d be lying if I said that Annika’s
shocking birthday request turns me off. I’ll try anything once. And the app
lets you click as many boxes as you want. So after looking over my shoulder
once more just to make sure nobody I know is watching, I tap both options and
usher in the possibility of taking a walk on the wild side.
The threesome has to be with a
stranger, though. I’m certain that any one of my frat brothers would be down to
help me give my girl a night to remember. Well, except Dan, who’s only down for
dudes. And, well, Bailey, who thinks I’m an ass. I think he’s an ass, too, so I
guess we’re even.
But I can’t do this with someone I
know. What if the whole night is awkward as fuck? If it’s a brother, I’ll still
have to live with him. If it’s a teammate, I’ll still have to see him in the
locker room.
And then there’s the opposite
scenario. What if it’s not awkward as fuck? What if I like it a whole lot?
Yeah, I don’t want my buddies judging
me. A stranger for the win, then.
I lean back in my chair and start
swiping.
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