Page 110 of The Charlie Method

Once again, the freshman reverts to guarded mode. “Maybe.”

“Good kissing?” pushes Faith.

“Very good. He’s not what I expected,” Blake admits.

“So he’s not a cocky football player with a sense of entitlement?” I can’t help but tease. Because that’s exactly what I pegged Isaac for, and my time with him didn’t disprove that hypothesis.

“No, he’s definitely that. But he’s also got a sweet side. He texts me every morning and every night to say good morning and good night. He’s…kind of a sap.”

This surprises me almost as much as Isaac Grant waiting more than three dates to have sex. But my scientific brain can easily pinpoint the solution here: human nature. Biology. We are creatures wired to find a mate, and generally speaking, it’s the male of a species that chases the female. The female plays hard to get because she has more options. She holds all the cards. Which makes the males work harder, puff up their feathers, and do whatever it takes to beat out the competition.

All this is to say I don’t know how much of this “sweet side” is Isaac actually wanting Blake or if it’s due to internal wiring that tells him heneedsto chase her.

A wave of noise from the door grabs my attention. We’re seated in the main room tonight, so we have a clear shot of everyone walking into the bar. A group of guys just entered, several of them wearing black hockey jackets. A flash of blond hair catches my eye.

Beckett.

The last time I saw him, he was fucking me hard enough to make me see stars, his fingers digging into my hips and thighs so tight he left tiny fingerprint bruises. I should have been alarmed when I saw the bruising in the mirror the next day, but I wasn’t. It only made me wet, remembering the sensation of him moving inside me while Will encouraged me to be a good girl and come for Beckett.

My thighs squeeze together at the memory, and I tear my gaze off the door. No. I’m not allowed to remember the pleasure. I need to focus on the shame. That horrible, smothering feeling I got afterward when I was leaving their house, wondering what people would think if they knew I just had sex with everyone inside it like the neighborhood sex fairy.

“We should head out,” Faith says, polishing off the rest of her sangria. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

I nod. “I just need to use the ladies’ first.”

“Go. I’ll settle up. It’s my turn to treat.”

I walk toward the back corridor to the restrooms. I pee quickly, then wash my hands and fix my hair in front of the mirror. Make sure my side part is perfect. Not that I care what Beckett thinks of my side part. But you know…

Yes, we want to look good for the guy you banged while his best friend watched, don’t we?

My inner critic is such a bitch.

I exit the bathroom to find Beckett waiting for me.

Usually, the restrooms are packed until closing, but it’s a Wednesday and still early in the night, so the corridor is completely empty. We’re alone. But I still glance toward the end of the hall to make sure no one’s coming.

“Afraid to be seen with me, sugar puff?” His Aussie accent makes my heart jump.

“No, that’s not it,” I lie.

“Too sleazy for you, huh?”

My stomach clenches with guilt. “I told Will I don’t think he’s sleazy. Either of you.”

“You also told him that someone who has ongoing threesomes is sleazy. So what you’re saying doesn’t add up, now does it?”

My insides twist harder. Damn it. I feel like an asshole. Iaman asshole. Because he’s right—the reasons I’m providing for not wanting to see them again contradict the assurances I’m giving him now.

But the confusing thing is, I’mnotjudging them. Idon’tthink there’s anything wrong with what they’re doing.

So why is it wrong whenyoudo it?challenges a voice in my head.

Confusion floods my brain. I…don’t fucking know. All I know is that I felt ashamed of it. Buttheyshouldn’t feel ashamed. Because…

A groan jams inside my windpipe. Why can’t I make sense of any of this?

As if sensing my inner turmoil, Beckett shrugs. “It’s all good, Charlotte. If it’s not for you, then it’s not for you.”

---