Nothing like a frat party to forget about her childhood, those years with her nose stuck in a book too terrified to experience life, Julio, and all the men she killed. Drugs, alcohol, and anonymous sex with a hot college guy were the quickest cure to her unending sadness. They never called, or wanted you to stay the night, and were always ready. That had been a caveat of living in D.C., access to educated and uninhibited men. Samantha had never gone to college but she could still pass for an undergrad and leave all her worries behind. Until she hooked up with philosophy major Tyson.
Thank God he doesn’t know my real name or he’d never shut the fuck up, she thought.
Samantha could not be within a hundred yards of American University without him finding her, and she fell for it every time. That Friday night was no different as he made a bee line for her in the middle of the mosh pit in the backyard behind the frat house.
“Maggie, I missed you,” he yelled above the dance music as he grabbed her face and kissed her. It was deep and passionate, as if he’d been dreaming of her for months.
She pushed him away. “I told you! I can’t do this anymore!”
He stood in the middle of the dancing crowd, ignored them all, and stared at her with his dark eyes. Tyson had on his preppy college boy uniform: bright blue sweatshirt with three greek letters printed on it, khaki pants, and keys to the Mustang his parents just bought him still in his hand.
“Why?” His gaze tried to get past the wall she had built, but no one had ever made it through her fortress.
“Cause you like me too much. I told you I’m not girlfriend material.” She shook her head and continued deeper into the moving mass eyeing a tall ebony skinned frat brother with braids, but Tyson followed her.
“Who said I wanted a girlfriend?”
She rolled her eyes. “The last time we fucked you said you wanted me to meet your mom.”
He twirled her around and pulled her hips to his. Strong hands moved down to her ass as she gazed at his chocolate skin, bright smile, and long eyelashes. A million girls would kill to be asked to meet his mom, but Samantha was an original. Still, she had needs too.
She melted when he breathed the words to her. “I don’t care about that anymore. I just want you, Maggie.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Tyson.”
“I got you a present.” He placed two pills with a sky blue peace sign stamped on them in her palm. She swallowed them, knowing it was safe to take whatever he might give her, because she had researched him thoroughly before they hooked up a second time. Tyson didn’t know that his father had an affair with their babysitter when he was nine, but Samantha did.
“You already rolling?” Her hand brushed over his bald fade as she pulled him closer.
“I was waiting for you.” He swallowed in turn.
Upstairs, in his bedroom, he ran his finger along the side of her neck and it made her heart explode. Tyson’s room matched every other in the large house: powder blue walls, flannel bed sheets, and a few posters of half naked models. With the ecstasy it didn’t matter where they where or what he did. She wanted more. Tyson pulled off her neon pink thermal shirt, tossed it on the floor next to her skirt, and asked for the millionth time.
“What’s your tattoo say?” The letters floated in the air. She could almost reach them as they passed by her head.
“If you keep asking questions I’m gonna leave, and fuck one of your brothers.” She walked backwards, toward his bed, slowly taking off her bra.
The threat worked and he turned into the quiet yet attentive lover that she enjoyed. She didn’t care about what he thought about anything, just that he always got her off. He pulled off her leggings. Samantha yanked his belt off, his pants fell to the floor, and he got on top of her. Tyson was always gentle, as if she were made of glass, afraid to break her. It was refreshing to be thought of as delicate, fragile even.
He ran his tongue along her ear. “I want you all night, Maggie.”
Their lips met, and all her demons vanished. She could forget about her father, Erebus eventually killing her, and Matthew.
The S.E.A.L. was so straight laced that she wanted to offer him drugs just so he would relax. But, she couldn’t get him out of her head. When she riffled through his house she had to stop herself from shoving her face into one of his shirts to smell his cologne.
Why am I even thinking about that uptight prick when I’m rolling?
Running her hands through his dark red hair, kissing his scarred mouth, the tenor of his voice saying her real name. He wouldn’t be slow and deliberate, Matthew was the type to fuck in an elevator because he needed it, like her. Imaging him shoving her against a wall, ripping off her clothes, his broad swimmers body against hers, pulling her hair, nails along his back. With him she would stay until morning. Maybe.
Matthew got Samantha there, while Tyson whispered sweet nothings to Maggie.