Katie LOVE cock!

I was already turning away, ready to disappear into the crowd and resume my search, when Robbie's voice cut through the hallway noise behind me.

"Hey, Freckles. One more thing."

I should have kept walking. Every smart instinct I had told me to keep walking. But something in his tone—a slight edge beneath the usual smugness—made me hesitate. I half-turned, one foot already angled toward escape.

"What?"

Robbie pushed off the wall, his jaw working slightly like he was chewing on the question before spitting it out. His dark eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that felt different from his usual lazy appraisal. "Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Sabotage my thing with Jenn."

The question hit me like a slap—not because it was unexpected, but because of the sheer audacity of framing it that way. Sabotage. Like what he'd had with Jenn was some precious, fragile thing that I'd maliciously destroyed, rather than a toxic dumpster fire that I'd helped my best friend escape from.

I turned fully to face him, planting my feet, and felt a familiar spark of righteous anger light up in my chest. It felt good, actually—clean and sharp after all the confused paranoia of the last hour. This, at least, was simple. Robbie was wrong, I was right, and I had zero problem telling him so.

"Oh, I sabotaged your relationship?!" I said, letting my voice drip with mock gratitude. I even pressed a hand to my chest in exaggerated surprise. "Wow, thanks for giving me that much credit! But honestly, Robbie, you did plenty of sabotaging all by yourself. You know, with the cheating. And treating her like dirt. And the more cheating. I barely had to lift a finger."

I expected anger. A scowl, maybe. That dangerous flash in his eyes that came right before he shoved someone into a locker.

Instead, Robbie just gave me that infuriating smug grin. The one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and showed his teeth. The one that said he wasn't just unbothered by my accusation—he was entertained by it.

"Fair enough," he said, his voice light, almost conversational. He shrugged one shoulder. "But here's the thing, Freckles—Jenn didn't seem to mind any of that until you convinced her she should."

My mouth opened to fire back an automatic denial, but the words caught in my throat.

Because... fuck. He wasn't wrong.

I hated that he wasn't wrong. I hated it with every fiber of my being. But the truth was that Jenn had been so deeply, desperately, pathetically in love with Robbie that she'd willingly blinded herself to every red flag he waved in her face. And he waved a lot of them. He'd cancel plans without explanation. He'd flirt openly with other girls in front of her. There were rumors—credible ones—about him hooking up with at least two other girls while they were together. And Jenn just... absorbed it all. Smiled through it. Made excuses.

"He's different when we're alone," she'd say, curled up on my bed with her phone clutched in both hands, waiting for a text that was three hours late. "He's not like that with me. Not really. I can change him, Katie. I know I can."

She never changed him. Not even a little. Robbie remained exactly the same cocky, self-centered asshole he'd always been, and Jenn just kept reshaping her expectations downward until his bare minimum looked like effort to her. It was painful to watch. Like watching someone drown in slow motion while insisting the water was fine.

So yes—I'd intervened. I'd sat Jenn down and laid out every piece of evidence. Every lie, every contradiction, every time he'd made her cry. And Jenn had finally—finally—seen it. Or at least seen enough of it to walk away.

But Robbie was right that without my intervention, Jenn would probably still be there. Still making excuses. Still convinced that love meant accepting whatever scraps he threw her way.

The question that had always nagged at me bubbled up again, and before I could stop myself, it was out of my mouth.

"Fine," I said, crossing my arms. "I didn't convince her of anything. I just gave her the facts and let her draw her own conclusions. But here's what I never understood—why were you even with her in the first place?" I tilted my head, studying him with open suspicion. "She's not exactly your usual type. You know—big breasts and empty heads!" I narrowed my eyes. "Sometimes I thought you were only with her to piss me off."

Something shifted in Robbie's expression. That grin of his widened—slowly, deliberately—into something that looked almost like genuine delight. Like I'd said exactly what he wanted me to say. Like I'd walked into a trap he'd set so casually I hadn't even seen the wire.

He laughed. Not a cruel laugh, exactly, but a knowing one. A laugh that said oh, Freckles, you have no idea.

"You know what?" he said, pointing at me with one finger. "You're not entirely wrong."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"Don't get me wrong," Robbie continued, his tone shifting into something almost casual—like he was discussing the weather rather than confessing something deeply fucked up. "Little Jennie was eager. Very eager to please." He said it with a reminiscent smirk that made my skin crawl. "Girl would do just about anything I asked. That had its perks. And the fact that it pissed you off?" He clicked his tongue. "Nice bonus. Real nice bonus."

I could feel heat rising up my neck. Anger. That was anger. "You're disgusting."

"But here's the real benefit," Robbie said, steamrolling over my protest like I hadn't spoken. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to something more intimate, more conspiratorial. "When I was hanging around with your best friend? I could always get a better look at your freckled funbags, Freckles."

The blood that had been rising in my neck exploded into my face. My cheeks burned. My ears burned. Even my chest burned, like my body was suddenly hyper-aware of the breasts he was talking about, pressing against my bra beneath my hoodie. I wanted to cross my arms tighter, wanted to zip my hoodie up to my chin, wanted to disappear into the floor.

"You—what—" I sputtered, too stunned by his sheer brazenness to form a coherent response.

"What?" Robbie said innocently, spreading his hands. "You'd come out of Jenn's bathroom in those cute tank tops. Or we'd all be watching a movie and you'd fall asleep on the couch and your shirt would ride up. A guy notices things."

"You're a fucking pig—"

"And those swimsuit pics of you at the lake that Jenn sent me?" Robbie continued, his eyes dropping to my chest for a fraction of a second before returning to my face with that maddening smirk. "Those were nice, Freckles. Real nice. But honestly—" He shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. "—you should really wear a bikini next time. Let those milkers breathe, girl."

My brain short-circuited.

Swimsuit pics. The lake. Jenn had—Jenn sent him—

The memory slammed into me like a freight train. Last summer. The lake trip. Jenn had been so insistent that we go shopping for new swimsuits beforehand. She'd dragged me to three different stores, pulling bikini after bikini off the racks and thrusting them at me with increasingly creative arguments.

"Your one-piece is so old, Katie, it's literally fading!"

"You have such a great body, why do you always hide it?"

"Come on, just try this one on. For me. Please? You'd look so hot, I swear."

"Katie, it's the lake. Everyone wears bikinis at the lake. You'll look weird in a one-piece."

I'd held firm—mostly out of stubbornness and the fact that I burned like a lobster in direct sunlight anyway. But Jenn had been so weirdly pushy about it. So insistent. So many "good reasons" that all circled back to the same conclusion: show more skin, Katie. Show more of your body, Katie.

Because Robbie told her to. Because Robbie wanted better pictures. Because my best friend was so desperate to please her piece-of-shit boyfriend that she'd tried to undress me by proxy.

God. God. How much of our friendship had Jenn filtered through "what would Robbie want?" How many of those spontaneous selfies at the lake had gone straight to his phone? I'd been in my sensible one-piece and Jenn had still managed to get angles that showed cleavage, shots from above that looked straight down my suit—

"You're vile," I finally managed, my voice shaking with a cocktail of fury and humiliation. "You used my best friend as a—as a spy—to get pictures of me in a swimsuit— off my breast!!!"

"But honestly, Freckles," Robbie interrupted, holding up a hand like he was about to bestow some great wisdom upon me. His grin was enormous. Unbothered. Completely unapologetic. "I gotta thank you."

The conversational whiplash nearly gave me vertigo. "Thank me? Thank me for what?"

"For getting rid of Jenn for me," he said, like it was obvious. "See, the problem with dating is that it's so damn difficult to get right with girls." He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "They all get so obsessed with my cock that they lose their minds. Can't have a normal conversation anymore. Can't hang out without them getting all clingy and desperate. That's what happens when you've got the BEST cock in the world, Freckles. It's a blessing and a curse."

I scoffed. Hard. The sound came out sharp and derisive, loaded with every ounce of contempt I could muster. "Oh my god. You are unbelievable."

"Unbelievably well-hung," Robbie corrected, still grinning.

"You're delusional," I said, rolling my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "Absolutely delusional. I'm done with this conversation."

I turned away. Physically turned my body away from him, oriented myself toward the crowd, prepared to walk.

But my feet didn't move.

Because my brain—my stupid, traitorous brain—had snagged on something and wouldn't let go.

The best cock in the world.

That's ridiculous. That's the most absurd, egotistical, laughable thing anyone has ever said. Robbie doesn't have the best cock in the world. That's not a thing. You can't just declare that about yourself.

But.

But!

I love cock.

The thought surfaced unbidden, absolute, undeniable—a fundamental truth about myself that I'd only recently become fully conscious of. I love cock. I really, really love cock. It was just... a core part of who I was. Katie loves cock. Always had. The shape of it, the weight of it, the way it—

Stop. Focus!

But if I loved cock—which I did, deeply, genuinely, it was basically central to my identity—and if Robbie had the best cock in the world—which was probably bullshit, but if—then logically—

No. Absolutely not. Robbie was a hole. An asshole. A complete piece of shit who'd used my best friend as a masturbatory surveillance system. He treated women like objects. He was crude and cruel and—

But I love cock. And if his is the best—

NO. I would never do anything with Robbie. Never. Not in a million years. Not if he was the last man on earth. He pushed me into lockers. He called me Freckles. He stared at my tits and made me feel small and—

But I love cock so much. It's like... my thing. My primary thing. And if there's a best cock, and I love cock, then doesn't it follow that I should—that I need—

STOP IT. He's horrible. He's the worst person I know. He literally just admitted to collecting swimsuit photos of me through my best friend like some kind of stalker. I hate him. I hate him.

But god, I love cock. I love it so much. And if his is really—

He's lying. He has to be lying. It's Robbie. He lies about everything.

But what if he's not? What if it really is the best? And I love cock. I love cock more than almost anything. It's honestly one of the most important things about me. So if the best cock in the world is right here, and I love cock this much, then—

I can't. I won't. He's disgusting.

But I love cock.

He treats me like dirt.

But I love cock.

He's a manipulative, cheating, objectifying piece of—

But I really, really love cock, and if his is the best—

The thoughts were chasing each other in tighter and tighter circles, a whirlpool of conflicting impulses that made my head spin. Love cock → Robbie claims best cock → must have it → but Robbie is terrible → but love cock → but he's awful → but BEST cock → but I hate him → but I LOVE COCK—

"Hey. Freckles."

Robbie's voice broke through the spiral. I blinked. The hallway swam back into focus around me. How long had I been standing there? My body was still half-turned away from him, frozen mid-departure, like a computer that had crashed during a task. I could feel that my lips were slightly parted, my eyes unfocused, my cheeks flushed.

"You spaced out hard there," Robbie said, and I could hear the smirk in his voice without looking at him. "What were you thinking about?"

My mouth opened.

My brain, still caught in the tail end of that spiraling loop—love cock, love cock, best cock, love cock—supplied the answer before my filter could catch it.

"Cock," I said.

The word hung in the air between us. Clear. Audible. Unmistakable.

One syllable. Four letters. Launched into the universe with the confident clarity of someone stating a basic fact.

Time stopped.

Robbie's eyebrows shot up.

My entire body went cold.

"What?" he said.

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. My brain was screaming. Every alarm system I had was screaming. DEFCON one. Nuclear meltdown. I just said cock out loud to Robbie's face. I just told Robbie I was thinking about cock. After he literally just bragged about his cock. I just—

"Clock!" I blurted, too loud, too fast. "I said clock. I was—I spaced out because I was trying to remember what time it is. What time—break ends. When does break end. I was thinking about the clock. The clock." I jabbed a finger toward the wall-mounted clock at the far end of the hallway, which I couldn't even read from this distance. "See? Clock. That's what I said. Clock."

Robbie was staring at me with an expression of pure, undisguised delight. Like Christmas had come early. Like I'd just handed him the greatest gift anyone had ever given him.

"Pretty sure you said—"

"CLOCK," I repeated, nearly shouting. My face was on fire. My ears were on fire. My chest was burning and my heart was hammering and I needed to get away from him immediately, right now, this second. "I said clock, you need your ears checked, and I have to go. Right now. Bye."

I didn't walk. I fled. Turned and pushed into the crowd with zero grace, shouldering past people, not caring who I bumped or who cursed at me. I just needed distance. I needed to put as many bodies as possible between me and the sound of Robbie's laughter echoing behind me.

"See you later, Freckles!" he called after me. "Think about that clock some more!"

I kept walking. Faster. Head down. Face burning. My own voice echoing in my skull like a nightmare—cock, cock, cock—and the worst part, the absolute worst part, was that even as I fled, even as humiliation ate me alive, some corner of my brain was still circling.

But what if it really is the best?

I shoved the thought down violently and disappeared into the crowd.