Page 79 of The Charlie Method

“What are you making?” Beckett calls from the hallway.

“I’m thinking stir-fry. Maybe some quinoa salad?”

“I’m totally ordering a cheeseburger at the bar.”

“Go for it. You can explain to Jensen why you’re sluggish on the ice tomorrow.”

I swear, if Beck oversaw our meals, he’d set our team nutritionist’s meal plans on fire and eat burgers for breakfast, french fries for lunch, and pizza and wings every night.

Anticipation builds in my gut with each passing minute. I shower after dinner, shave the five-o’clock shadow off my face. I throw on a striped polo and dark jeans, reconvening with Beckett downstairs to find him in similar casual attire. His shirt has the top two buttons undone. His jeans are so faded they’re practically falling apart. He pulls it off, though.

He runs a hand through his messy blond hair. “You want me to drive?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

We spend the drive to the Boston bar listening to the Bruins game on the radio. It isn’t until we’re nearing the suburbs that I turn to the passenger seat with a warning.

“Don’t push her too hard.”

Beckett glances up from his phone screen. “Who? Charlie?”

“Yeah, she’s skittish. I think this embarrasses her.”

“I know it does.” He shrugs. “But I’m gonna act the way I always act. She can take it or leave it.”

I suppose that’s fair enough. If she does end up in our bed, she’ll have to get used to the dynamic anyway. Beckett is an incessant flirt. You can’t restrain that much charisma. Most women don’t want him to. But Charlotte Kingston isn’t most women. I get the sense she feels shame over desiring two guys.

It’s a sentiment I understand well. This entire summer, I felt deep shame about…desiring the extra flavors of sex, as Diana would say. It took a while, but eventually I reached the conclusion that it’s nobody’s business but mine what I do behind closed doors. If all parties consent and are enjoying themselves, then who are we hurting? Sure, some people might judge. Think us sleazy. But there’s a reason “threesome” is a popular category on porn sites. It’s a common fantasy for people.

It just so happens I’ve made the fantasy a reality.

Charlotte chose a bar in a small strip mall for tonight’s meetup. The parking lot is packed for a Thursday night, likely because of the game. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I suppose it depends on how much attention she wants to draw.

Since I have her phone number from class, I text her to let her know we’re here. Inside, we find a typical sports bar, featuring a row of flat-screen TVs flickering with various games and walls adorned with framed jerseys and autographed memorabilia.

There’s a mix of tables and booths, and as I scan the room for Charlotte, her response pops up.

CHARLOTTE:

Corner booth near the front window. I got here five minutes ago.

I shift my head to the left and catch a glimpse of her dark hair and a flash of white. Her sweater. Man, this girl really likes to wear white. And of course she’s early. She seems like the punctual type. Or at leastthisversion of her is. The Charlie from the app would probably make us wait for an hour before she strutted over on a pair of high-heeled boots and saidsorry I’m late, boys, enjoying the idea that she’d kept us at the edge of our seats, waiting for her.

She looks up at our approach, apprehension flickering in her eyes. Her outfit is trademark Charlotte: a short white cardigan with tiny pearl buttons, paired with a black skirt.

“Hey.” I greet her with a wry smile.

I slide into the booth on her right, setting my keys and phone on the tabletop. Beckett slides in on her other side, which forces her to scoot closer to me to give him room.

“Hey,” he says easily.

“Hi.” She sounds nervous.

Looks it too. She has both hands wrapped tightly around a water glass, her fingernails leaving streaks in the condensation from the ice cubes.

“I just got water. I was waiting for you guys to get here to order,” she explains, catching my gaze.

“You good?” I ask her.

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