Steph was a thong girl.
Or a no-panties girl depending on her mood, and it was looking like she might be in the mood. Steph leaned forward slightly, crossing slender arms under her breasts, giving me and anyone else who happened to be looking—quick check told me Jase was—a nice view of her tits. And they were nice. I’d seen them up close and personal quite a few times. Those baby-blue eyes of hers promised a happy ending and they were fixed on mine.
Surprisingly, there was absolutely no shrinking of my nylon shorts in the crotch area, which was a damn waste of tits and ass.
Half of Jase’s frat would give their left nut to be on the receiving end of Stephanie’s attention. There was a time I gave my right one, back when I couldn’t even keep track of who was who, but that felt like ages ago, back when the idea of staying with one girl made me want to chew off my own arm. Now?
Well, shit, I didn’t know what I wanted now. Hadn’t for a while, which probably explained why I wasn’t scooping Steph up, taking her back to my bedroom, and dropping pants.
Steph was a good girl, but the time of giving up my right nut had long since passed.
Averting my gaze to where Ollie was dancing in front of the TV, holding the squirming Raphael in the air, I took a drink of my beer. “He’s molesting my tortoise.”
She laughed as she stood. “I don’t think that’s what he’s doing.” One arm wrapped around mine and she put her chin on my shoulder. A sheet of inky black hair slipped over the bare skin of my chest. “But I wouldn’t mind being molested.”
Over the music, I heard the oven timer go off. Gently disentangling myself, I shot Jase a look. An unsympathetic grin crossed his face. Bastard. “Be right back.”
Dodging guys, I trotted into the kitchen before Steph could respond. The girl wasn’t going to be that disappointed with my lack of interest. I’d bet ten bucks she’d moved on to Jase or someone else by the time I got back in.
I sat the beer down on the counter and opened the oven door, inhaling the aroma of freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies. And not that premade crap. This shit was from scratch.
And they would be banging.
Setting the sheet aside, I flipped off the oven and scooped up a cookie. So hot, the dough sunk in, squeezing the tiny chips of chocolate onto the chunks of walnut. I broke the cookie in half and popped it into my mouth.
“Fuck,” I groaned.
Burned like holy fucking hell, but it was worth it. Washing it down with my beer, I stepped out of the kitchen just in time to see Ollie heading toward the front door. With Raphael.
“Oh, come the hell on.” I put my beer down.
“Be free, little green buddy,” he coaxed, kissing Raphael’s shell. “Be free.”
“Bring Raphael back!” I yelled, laughing as Ollie drunk-karate-kicked the front door the rest of the way open. “You fucktard!”
Ollie put Raphael down and gently nudged his shell. “Free.”
Grabbing his arm, I spun him around and pushed him back into the apartment. Laughing, Ollie grabbed Steph’s friend and lifted her over his shoulder. A riot of squeals broke out.
I scooped up the tortoise. “Sorry, Raphael. My friends are complete, fucking . . .” A strange tingle broke out across my neck. I looked to my left and then my right, seeing Avery standing in a doorway, her brown eyes wide. “Assholes. What the . . . ?”
I hadn’t drunk nearly enough to be hallucinating, but I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that Shortcake was standing in my apartment building. The apartment had been empty whenever I’d been around over the summer, but someone, obviously, could’ve moved in.