Page 47 of Tips and Trysts

While she’s hugging Lander, Cora looks over his arm at me and parts her lips; she doesn’t speak though. We both know what’s happening.

When I leave today, we won’t see each other. Hear each other. Spend time together. The casual moments afforded by our forced proximity are about to be severed—reduced to mandated outings unless we lay our intentions bare and ask for each other.

But I don’t say anything. Neither does she.

Shit.

…I think I need a new strategy.

Fifteen

EVERETT

When I was fifteen,I lost my virginity at Dalton’s birthday party. It was in his parents’ pool house with this girl from our school, and she was wearing this really little yellow bikini with ruffles all over it. For a few months after, anything even remotely resembling a yellow, ruffly bikini got under my skin. The swirl of frosting on a cupcake. The begonias in my grandmother’s backyard. A misshapen lemon at the farmers’ market. One glance and I’d get hard, desperately trying to tuck that shit to the side or hide it with my jacket. It was so bad, Lander—being the perceptive fucker he is—figured it out and started folding Post-It notes accordion style and flicking them at me in our AP history class.

Well, this is some next-level shit because Cora Flores has ruinedsinksfor me.

I’m standing in my kitchen, filling a glass of water from the filter, and I only realized it was overflowing when water spilled over the rim and onto my hand.

Wasting water? I’m down so damn bad. But the moment I turned on the tap, all I could think about was Cora perched on the edge of the sink at Tryst, my fingers buried inside her wet pussy, and her muscles milking my hand when she came.

Me

Are you ready to let me fuck you?

It’s the fourth time I’ve texted this exact message to Cora since I returned to my house two days ago. This time, she replies immediately—a recent development.

Princess

Wrong number. This is Cora, not the mafia boss you undoubtedly offered your body to in exchange for the signatures you needed to get on the ballot.

I’m grinning at my phone when I slide the glass of water over to Dalton and take a seat at my table.

“If you’re not going to prep for the debate, at least tell me you’re reading the packet Essie put together on Forrester,” Lander urges, finally throwing his ballpoint pen onto the table. It skitters over the index cards spread in front of him and slides off the other side. Dalton catches it without looking up from his laptop and passes it back to Lander, who says, “Thanks, love,” and winks before he tucks the pen behind his ear.

“I’m rereading texts from Cora,” I reply, rotating my wrist to show my phone to my friends. For once, Dalton actually stops typing.

Subtlety is an art form neither of my friends has ever mastered: Lander looks at Valeria like he could get her pregnant if he stared hard enough, and Dalton can’t be in a room withEssie without inhaling through his nostrils and wiggling his beefy hands like he’s a beat away from picking her up and dropping her on his dick.

I, on the other hand, make a concerted effort to ensure it looks like I’m planning to frame Cora for murder.

Lander’s blue eyes tick over to Dalton, who watches me over the shell of his laptop with his brow furrowed. His lips separate, and he glances at Lander. Neither speaks, and if I had to guess, I’d assume they were having a telepathic conversation about whether either of them knew Cora and I were a…thing.

Both of them fix their attention back on me with alarming synchronicity.

“I do that too,” Lander finally mentions, not hiding how precisely he’s selecting his words. “If I’m not with Valeria, I read her texts or look at pictures of her constantly.”

“So…” Dalton glances at Lander again, mouthing what is distinctly, “What now?” and shrugging his big shoulders.

Lander faces me yet again. “So…”

“So?” I ask before placing my phone on the varnished tabletop. “Are you two good, or should we keep pretending I can’t see you trying to figure out what’s going on between Cora and me?”

“Yeah, fuck it,” Dalton decides, finally lowering his laptop screen. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” I reply, dipping my chin.

“Good? Good meaning…what—you’re comfortable with her camming?” Lander ventures. “After all the drama you instigated when you met Cora, you’re just, like,finewith her camming?”

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