Ch. 1

Four Weeks Earlier

“SAM!” Esme shrieked, leaping off the bed much to the chagrin of the beach-bro lying there in the place he normally took underneath her. Sam watched as his girlfriend, well ex-girlfriend as of just now, made a mad dash to the other end of the dorm, scrambling for the crumpled T-shirt on the floor. The gesture was clearly motivated by shock and mortification more than anything since it was clear that both male parties present had seen everything before.

Sam wasn’t sure if anger was the right way to describe the churning, gnashing feeling in his chest but the adrenaline running through his body lowered the volume of his shouting, at least to him. The world swam around him and his movements felt like they were fighting through a pit of wet cement as he took two groggy steps backwards. Silence settled over the trio as each began to process, in their own time, what was occurring and what could occur as a result. The throbbing in Sam’s ears was deafening. This whole situation was… sub-optimal.

“Hey… dude? I get that this—this isn’t the best of circumstances, but couldn’t you have settled this any other way?” The man who, moments ago, was just inside of your girlfriend of three years said in a cautious tone. He was on his feet now, with hands poised downwards to cover his manhood. He wasn’t an Adonis by any stretch, but it was clear he took care of himself, though Sam doubted he could even lift his arms above his head with monstrous shoulders like his. This wasn’t an athlete; this was an ego lifter. Admittedly, the guy was right too. Sam could very well have just asked around the hall and taken a more hands-off approach when it came to confirm his suspicions about Esme’s ‘internship’. But he hardly considered the empirical evidence approach being a poor sport.

Saying a silent thank you to Paul before considering his next move, Sam felt the additional presences before he saw them. Guess the noise had attracted a crowd, as a few of the floor’s residents groggily shuffled to the entrances of their abodes to watch the spectator sport that was a freshly terminated romance. All Sam had to do was remain calm but as he looked at the unkempt locks of blonde hair and pronounced jawline, he found the task to be herculean. What did this overblown surfer have that he didn’t? A glance downward proved fruitless. He was endowed but it wasn’t a cartoonish size difference.

“Can we just talk in a minute? Sam?” Esme asked. Her face shifted from the shock and terror of having been caught to a doleful, motionless frown. It was sure sign she was on the verge of tears. Sam had seen it before. Whenever she got like this there was a fifty-fifty shot that she was either under the influence or she had re-watched The Lovely Bones. Sometimes it was a mixture of the two, though he never really understood what about either spoke to her.