Robbie offer.

Math class. Miss Brown's room. Third row, second seat from the left. My usual spot.

I slid into my chair just as the bell rang, narrowly avoiding being marked late—which would have been a disaster because Miss Brown was the kind of teacher who marked tardiness like it was a federal offense. The woman had threatened to fail me twice already this semester for absences, so skipping wasn't an option. No matter how desperately I wanted to be anywhere else right now—tracking down the CORD, figuring out who'd messed with Jenn's head, literally anything other than polynomial equations.

I pulled out my notebook. Opened my textbook to the assigned page. Stared at the numbers.

They blurred immediately.

Who has the CORD?

The question burned in my mind like a brand. Someone out there—someone in this school, possibly—had the CORD right now. They'd used it on Jenn. They'd turned my confident, self-assured best friend into a girl who called her own breasts "pathetic" and happily let her abusive ex use her as a living fleshlight whenever he texted. The violation of it made my stomach churn with rage. Jenn didn't deserve that. Nobody deserved that.

But who would do it? And why target Jenn specifically? Why make her orbit Robbie?

"Katie? The answer to number four?"

"Uh—" I glanced down at my blank notebook. "Seventeen x?"

Miss Brown gave me a look over her glasses that could have curdled milk. "We're doing quadratic formulas, not linear equations. Pay attention."

"Sorry," I mumbled, sinking lower in my seat.

My eyes went back to the textbook, but the numbers were just shapes. My brain refused to engage with them.

Okay, but Robbie said he has the best cock.

The thought arrived uninvited, slithering into my consciousness like it belonged there.

And Jenn confirmed it. She said he has the best cock. She said that's why she still fucks him.

But Jenn is CORDed! Her opinion isn't reliable! Someone programmed her to think that!

But what if they didn't program THAT part? What if the cock thing is just... true? What if the CORD only made her okay with being his booty call, but the cock quality assessment was her own genuine opinion from when they were dating?

I tapped my pencil against my notebook, leaving little graphite dots on the blank page.

It's possible. It's totally possible that Robbie has an amazing cock independently of the CORD situation. Those are two separate issues. The CORD is wrong and terrible. The cock might still be excellent. Those things can coexist.

God, I love cock.

The thought pulsed warm and true in the center of my chest. I did. I really, really did. I loved everything about cock—the weight of it, the way it hardened under attention, the silky skin stretched over rigid steel, the way a really good one curved just slightly, the taste of precum beading at the tip— Of course, this is all purely hypothetical; after all, I'm still a virgin and have never even seen a real cock in my live! But, oh boy, do I love cock!

"Katie. Eyes on the board."

I snapped my gaze up, realizing I'd been staring blankly at the middle distance with what was probably a very inappropriate expression on my face. Miss Brown was writing out a formula. Right. Math. Quadratic formula. Focus.

The x equals negative b plus or minus the square root of—

Does Robbie have the best cock?

STOP.

He probably doesn't. He's probably average at best. Guys like him always exaggerate. He's probably got some mediocre five-incher that he thinks is god's gift because no girl has ever been honest with him. That's way more likely. The confidence is compensation.

But what if it's not compensation? What if the confidence comes from HAVING the best cock?

I pressed my thighs together under the desk, a low pulse of warmth building between them that had no business being there during math.

What if Jenn was telling the truth? What if it really is that good? What if she stays because the cock is genuinely, objectively, undeniably PERFECT? The kind of cock that ruins you for other cocks? The kind of cock that—

God. I LOVE cock.

I scribbled something in my notebook that was supposed to be the quadratic formula but came out looking more like a crude drawing of—I scribbled over it hastily. Pressed my pen hard enough to tear the paper.

Focus. The CORD. Someone has it. They're using it. They CORDed Jenn. I need to find it. I need to fix my best friend. That's what matters. Not Robbie's cock. Not whether it's thick or long or curves to the left or—

STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT.

The rest of the class passed in a fog of unfocused anxiety and unwanted arousal. Miss Brown called on me two more times. Both times I gave answers that were somewhere between "wildly incorrect" and "not even related to the subject." By the end of the period, she was giving me that look—the one that said "you're on thin ice, young lady." I barely noticed.

When the bell finally rang, I shoved my completely blank notebook into my bag and was out the door like a shot. Back into the corridor. Brain back online. Mission back in focus.

Find the CORD. Figure out who's using it. Save Jenn. That's the plan. That's what I'm doing right now.

I made it about fifteen steps before a familiar figure stepped directly into my path.

Robbie.

Leaning against the lockers with that infuriating casual confidence, arms crossed over his chest, that smirk already in place like he'd been waiting for me. Like he'd known exactly which door I'd come out of and exactly when.

"Hey, Freckles," he said, his eyes doing that thing again—that slow, obvious sweep from my face to my chest and back. "Still thinking about that clock?"

Heat flooded my cheeks instantly. The "clock" incident from earlier—when he'd said cock and I'd repeated it and then tried to cover with the most pathetic lie in human history. The blush was so aggressive I could feel it spreading down my neck.

I opened my mouth to deliver a scathing comeback. Something cutting. Something that would wipe that smug grin off his face permanently.

"I—" My voice came out softer than intended. Warmer. "No, I wasn't—I don't think about clocks, Robbie. That's a weird thing to think about."

What the fuck was that? That wasn't cutting. That wasn't scathing. That was—conversational. Almost playful. Like I was gently teasing him instead of eviscerating him. What happened to "fuck off, Robbie"? What happened to "go die in a fire"?

But even as I berated myself internally, a quiet thread of reasoning wound through my thoughts: He's an asshole, sure, but he might have the best cock in the world. And you LOVE cock. So maybe don't be TOO mean. You don't want to alienate someone who might be carrying around **the love of your life in his pants**. That's just... being practical.

Wait. That logic didn't—

"What do you want, Robbie?" I tried for annoyed. It came out more like... mildly curious. Bordering on sweet. Like I actually cared what the answer was. My own voice was betraying me. "I have things to do."

"Just checking on my favorite freckled big-boobed nerd," he said, his grin widening. His eyes were locked on mine but I could see the way his attention kept dipping south. "Making sure you're doing alright."

Favorite.

The word echoed in my head with way more weight than it should have carried. He said favorite. His FAVORITE. That meant—out of everyone—out of all the girls he could—

I mean, freckled and big-boobed and nerd were all technically insults. Or at least they should have been. "Big-boobed" was reductive and objectifying. "Nerd" was dismissive. But somehow my brain just... skated right over those and landed on favorite and stayed there, warm and glowing.

And freckled—well, that was just accurate, wasn't it? Almost cute. Like a little nickname. He'd noticed my freckles. He remembered them. That was actually kind of—

No. Focus. He's an asshole.

An asshole with potentially the best cock ever who called you his FAVORITE.

"I'm—" I managed to pull together something that resembled resistance. Some tiny flame of the old Katie still flickering. "I'm not YOUR anything, Robbie. And I don't need you checking on me." There. That was... something. Weak as lukewarm tea, but it was something.

Robbie didn't look even slightly deterred. If anything, his smirk grew. He pushed off the lockers, taking a step closer to me—close enough that I could smell his cologne, something woody and warm and annoyingly pleasant.

"So," he said, his voice dropping slightly, conspiratorial. "I heard something interesting about you, Katie."

"What?"

"I heard you love cock."

The world stopped.

The hallway, the students, the fluorescent lights overhead—everything just froze for one terrible, wonderful, panicked second. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack one.

Where did he hear that? How did he KNOW? I'd been so careful! I'd never told anyone—it was a private thing, a deeply personal thing. I loved cock, yes, I LOVED it, but that was MY secret. My private truth. Had someone overheard me thinking out loud? Had I said something without realizing? Had someone told him? WHO—

"I—" I forced a laugh that came out way too high-pitched. "I have no idea what you're talking about. That's—where did you even—that's ridiculous. I don't—"

"Hey, hey." He held up his hands, still grinning. "You don't gotta pretend with me, Katie. If you love cock, that's cool. That's totally cool. Nothing wrong with that."

My mouth opened and closed. I was floundering. Drowning in a hallway.

"I don't—" But the denial felt hollow even to me. It felt like lying about something sacred. Something true. Something I shouldn't have to hide. "I mean—"

"Because here's the thing," Robbie continued, casual as anything, like we were discussing homework. "You love cock. And I have the BEST one. So I was thinking—" He paused for dramatic effect, the absolute bastard. "—maybe you wanna be my cock's girlfriend."

I stared at him.

The words arranged themselves in my brain. Cock's girlfriend. He was asking me to be his... cock's girlfriend?! Not HIS girlfriend—he'd said cock's girlfriend specifically. Like his cock was a separate entity that was looking for a romantic partner. Like his dick had swiped right on me and was now asking me out on a proper date.

My brain should have flagged this as insane. As absolutely batshit delusional. As the most ridiculous, offensive, presumptuous thing any human being had ever said to another human being in the history of spoken language.

Instead, my brain said: Well, that's a big commitment. You don't even know his cock yet. You can't just agree to be in a relationship with something you haven't even met.

"I—" I shook my head, trying to organize my thoughts. "No. I can't—I can't be your cock's girlfriend, Robbie. I don't even know it."

The words came out like they made perfect sense. Like I was declining a blind date setup because I preferred to meet people organically first. Like the only issue with his proposal was the TIMING, not the fundamental insanity of it.

Robbie's eyes gleamed. He'd heard exactly what he wanted to hear.

"Well," he said slowly, like he was solving a simple problem. "Why don't you just get to know it, then? You said you love cock." God, I really do. "So meet mine. Spend some time with it. If you really love cock as much as I think you do..." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to that low register that vibrated somewhere in my stomach. "You're gonna be head over heels, Katie. Guaranteed."

I should have laughed in his face. I should have called him a delusional narcissist. I should have walked away. Any sane person would have done any of those things.

Instead, I found myself genuinely considering the proposal. Like it was a legitimate offer deserving of legitimate deliberation. My heart was beating fast and my palms were slightly sweaty and somewhere between my legs, a persistent warmth was making itself very known.

If I said yes—if I MET his cock—one of two things would happen. Either it would be amazing, and I would indeed love it, and maybe being its girlfriend wouldn't be so crazy. Or it would be disappointing, and I'd finally have the proof I needed that Robbie was full of shit, and I could throw that in his face forever.

Either way, I'd know. I'd finally KNOW.

"Where?" I heard myself ask. My voice sounded strange. Breathless. "When would I—when could I meet it?"

Oh god. Was I really doing this?

Robbie's grin spread wide and wolfish. "Your place. Tonight."

My place. My house! Where my family lived. My family who knew what Robbie had done to Jenn— to ME! I'd ranted about it for month. My mom hated him. My dad would probably slam the door in his face. It was a terrible idea. A catastrophically bad idea.

But I LOVE cock. And I HAVE to know. If I love his cock, I have to KNOW. This isn't about Robbie. It's about his cock. They're separate things. I hate him but I might love his cock. I won't know until I meet it. And I HAVE to meet it because if there's even a CHANCE that it's as good as Jenn said—as good as HE said—if there's a chance that the best cock in the world exists and I could have a RELATIONSHIP with it—

"Fine," I said. My voice was steadier than I expected. I pulled out my phone, opened my contacts. "I'll text you my address. Be there at eight. My parents will be—" I paused. Did I want my parents home for this? No. God no. But what if—"Just—eight o'clock."

I typed my address into a text and sent it before I could think better of it.

Robbie pocketed his phone, his expression triumphant in a way that made something in my gut tighten with unease. "Can't wait to meet you there, Freckles."

The way he said it. "Meet YOU there." Not "for you to meet IT." Like this was about HIM meeting ME. Like HE was the one with an agenda beyond simple introduction.

I straightened my spine. Corrected the frame in my own mind.

No. I wasn't meeting HIM. He'd be there, obviously—his cock was attached to him, unfortunately—but this was about meeting his COCK. Getting to know it. Evaluating it. Making an informed decision about whether it deserved my love and devotion. That's all this was.

A first date with a cock.

And then I'd know for sure.

Robbie sauntered off down the hallway, a spring in his step that I did NOT like. I watched him go, that uneasy feeling lingering.

It doesn't matter, I told myself firmly. Tonight I meet his cock. And then either I'll love it or I won't. Simple. Clinical. Scientific.

I love cock so much.

Tonight I'd know.