Page 93 of The Charlie Method

Not that I plan on spending the night.

We’re just watching a movie.

I’m not going to have sex with two hockey players.

It’s.

Just.

A movie.

When I told Faith I was going over to Will Larsen’s house tonight, she interrogated me like she caught me trying to smuggle cocaine over the border. Who gave you the drugs! Who introduced you to Will Larsen!

I told her he’s my lab partner. We met in class, he asked me out, and I had drinks with him in Boston the other night. Which then earned me a long lecture and a guilt trip because I chose to make Dante my murder contact for that date instead of Faith.

I take a deep breath and stare at their house. The lights are on. A shadow moves behind the curtains, and I hear the faint sound of laughter spilling out into the night.

My heart will not stop pounding. My palms are damp. I wipe them on my skirt and force myself to step out of the car.

This is crazy.

I walk up the path.

What am I even doing here?

I’ve never done anything like this before. I thought all the kinky sex talk would stay on the app. How did it become reality? It was supposed to be harmless teasing. Spank bank material for those long, stressful nights while I work on my capstone.

Anxiety buzzes in my veins as I ring the bell. The door swings open a moment later, and there’s Beckett, grinning at me.

“Hey,” he says, stepping aside to let me in.

His white shirt is unbuttoned.

Whodoesthat to a woman?

I can barely wrest my gaze off the strip of flesh between the two parts of his shirt. Tanned and muscular. Those abs.

“Hi,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Come in.”

In the living room, Will is lounging on the sectional’s chaise, his socked feet propped up on the coffee table. He wears black track pants and a Briar U T-shirt, both items emphasizing long limbs and sculpted muscles.

He glances up when I enter, his gaze sweeping over me, taking in every detail.

I didn’t dress up. I didn’t dress down either, though. I selected an outfit that I’d wear on any other date. Navy corduroy skirt over black thigh-high socks and a cropped gray sweater over a white tank. My hair is tied in a low ponytail, and my only makeup is some lip gloss.

“Hey,” Will greets me. “You look cute.”

Ugh. That easygoing boy-next-door smile affects me every time. “Thanks.”

“Have a seat.”

“Want a drink?” Beckett offers. “Water? Beer?”

“Do you have green tea?”

Oh my God, what kind of question is that? They’re two college boys living in a man cave. Of course they don’t have green tea.

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