“The fuck is wrong with you?” Jordan grunts. “I thought you were down. You’re always riding Zeph’s cock, so stop being a little tease. You know you’re just going to end up on your knees anyway, so why fight it? Unless you like that.”
I shake my head, barely able to believe the audacity of this man, but then, he is a man, and this type of behavior isn’t all that uncommon. Most of them just do a better job at hiding their misogynistic entitlement.
Anger booms through my chest, and I lift my chin, letting him see just how wrong he is. “Wow. One conversation with your friend about a woman you’ve never met, and suddenly you think you’re entitled to her body. Remind me to send out a blast to every woman on campus, making sure they check their drinks for roofies when you’re around.”
He steps even closer, but this time I don’t bother backing up. I don’t want this guy thinking he has any kind of edge over me. “The fuck did you just say to me?”
“What’s wrong, Jordo? I didn’t immediately fall to my knees and beg you to flop that little pre-cummy pin dick out after all, but calling me a slut on the sidewalk?” I ask. “Let’s get one thing straight. You and I, never going to happen. I would prefer to fuck a rusty drainpipe than to even consider letting you touch me in any kind of way.”
“Zeph—”
“No. No, no, no,” I say, shaking my head. “What happens between me and Zeph is none of your damn business. We’re friends and yeah, I ride his cock all fucking night, but that’s because we have chemistry. He’s fun, and you are certainly not that. Besides, Zeph would never approach a woman on the sidewalk, belittle her, and demand access to her body. I don’t know where the fuck your entitlement comes from, but you need to check it before it lands you behind bars. You’re giving rapey vibes, and if I’m being completely honest, you look like the kind of guy who’s going to rub my left labia for a solid ten minutes and then ask if I came.”
Anger flashes in his eyes, mixed with just a hint of hurt, and I relish in his pain. Striking down a man’s ego isn’t usually my thing, but this guy more than deserved it. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“You sure?” I ask. “How have your past conquests turned out? Did any of them come begging for more? Perhaps you need to break that down with a therapist. Though just a little FYI, because I know you probably haven’t believed any of the women you’ve spoken to before me, but they weren’t lying when they said the clit was a real thing. It’s right there at the top. Just open your squinty little eyes and you’ll find it. It’s like a magical little bean that helps women orgasm. OH! That’s a real thing, too, you know. The female orgasm is a beautiful thing. I know some of you guys don’t believe it exists, but I assure you, it does.”
Jordan looks at me as though just the idea of getting any closer disturbs him, and a wave of pride crashes through me. “You’re a fucking bitch.”
“I’ve been called worse. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to get on with my day, preferably far away from men who think it’s acceptable to demand a woman suck their dicks on the sidewalk. Mmkay, thanks. This was fun, but I’m out.”
I don’t waste another second, turning around and scurrying away while keeping a sharp eye on my peripheral, making sure the asshole doesn’t feel the need to settle the score.
It takes me no time to reach my apartment, and by the time I’m pushing through my door, I’m all but bursting from the seams, desperate to tell Chloe exactly what just happened. I find her a second later, curled up on the couch, clutching an open bottle of wine, looking as though she just sucked a lemon.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask, kicking the door closed behind me before flicking the lock and sliding the deadbolt into place. “You look as though someone just pissed in your Cheerios.”
“Me? Speak for yourself,” she grumbles. “You’re the one who just came bursting through the door as though you were looking for a fight.”
“That’s because I almost just had one,” I tell her. “Some asshole just demanded I suck his dick on the sidewalk because I so happened to suck his friend’s. I swear! I just had to put the fucker in his place, and then I practically ran home while making sure he wasn’t following me.”
“The fuck?” she grunts, her face twisting with disgust as she flies to her feet, her gaze sailing over me as though checking to make sure I’m in one piece. “Who the fuck just does that? I swear, men are fucking pigs sometimes.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, striding toward her and snatching the wine bottle right out of her hand, lifting it to my lips, andtaking a long swig. The bitter taste makes me cough and scrunch my face. This shit is disgusting. Chloe only buys the fancy shit. Me, I like the cheap stuff that gets the job done faster. “What the hell is this? It tastes like rotten asshole mushed up.”
“Of course you’d know what that tastes like,” she quips, snatching the bottle right back.
“Okay, what gives? Why are you in a pissy mood?”
She lets out a heavy breath and flops back to the couch, taking a swig of her shitty wine. “You know that B minus I got in Professor McAsslesschaps’ class last week?”
I nod as a stupid smirk pulls across my face at the ridiculous nickname, remembering the photo Chloe and I stumbled across of Professor McKnight at a frat party at this very college over twenty years ago. It was clearly a very wild night, and judging from the state of Professor McKnight’s ass in those assless chaps, it was more than clear that the guy used to work out.Used tobeing the operative words.
“Well, apparently Professor McAsslesschaps likes to golf at the same country club as my father, and they ran into each other.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yep. The guy had the audacity to tell my father that if I only applied myself a little more, I could have a real future in anthropology.”
“What the hell? That B minus was the highest grade McKnight has given in over three years.”
“That’s what I said, but apparently that’s not good enough for the Whitmore name. Besides,” she adds with a scoff. “I’m not even interested in anthropology. I only took the course out of pure curiosity.”
“That’s shit,” I say, striding toward her and taking the shitty wine out of her hand again. “You know what we need?”
Chloe glances up at me, her brows arching as if waiting for me to solve the world’s problems.
“We need to get fucked up, and not on this shit,” I say, shoving the wine aside. “We need the good stuff.”
