Page 39 of The Charlie Method

Well…obviously…he’s enjoying your pussy.

Three dots pop up to indicate she’s typing. I absently reach down and rub my erection over my sweats.

CHARLIE:

I’m so turned on right now.

ME:

Yeah? Did that make you wet?

CHARLIE:

Soaked.

I’m suddenly very grateful that I decided to stay home tonight.

CHAPTER NINE

BECKETT

Leave my Little alone

“IMEAN, IFCOACH SAYS IT’S ALL RIGHT, THEN TAKE HIM AT HIS WORDfor it.”

“We both know he has no choice.” There’s a loud clatter from the kitchen.

Will is pissed. I don’t blame him. His dad’s TV crew showed up at our opponent’s rink tonight to interview Coach Jensen before our away game, which obviously guaranteed Jensen would be in a foul mood before the first puck even dropped. Then they shot B-roll footage of our warm-up, enraging the Boston College coach, because it turned out they never asked anyone at BC if it was all right to film them.

Oh, and then we lost the game. So Will is doubly pissed.

If my parents were constantly sticking their noses in my life, I wouldn’t be thrilled either. Luckily, my mum and dad are terrific people who are very good at minding their business. Will’s dad, not so much.

I still haven’t even met the guy, and Will has been living with me since the summer. It’s late fall now. Not a single appearance from Mr. Congressman, though we did receive a gift basket as a housewarming gift. It was full of local jams and artisan breads, along with a typed message that some aide probably recited to the order taker at the jam shop.

Will’s dad sounds like a total dickhead.

Meanwhile, Will’s still clanging around in the kitchen like a toddler who just discovered pots and pans.

“Mate, what are you doing in there?” I call. “I thought you were getting your phone.”

“I was. And then I saw the sink.”

“Yeah, my bad.” It was my turn to do the dishes. “But we can do it in the morning.”

“No way. I’m making breakfast tomorrow. I need a clean kitchen when I cook.”

“So we’ll clean it later tonight when we get home.”

“We’ll be too drunk for that.”

“You are such a diva.”

“Fuck off. I’ll be, like, three minutes.”

I grin to myself. Will was such a choirboy when I met him. Now he tells me to fuck off on a regular basis. It’s great.

I flop down on the couch and pass the time by checking my messages. There’s a text from a cute sophomore I met on campus a few days ago, but I’m more interested in my ongoing chat with Charlie. I open it to find that Will has finally gotten acquainted with our match.

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