King of Campus

Yeah… I should probably stop thinking about that while I’m standing around here with Dylan.

He starts to chuckle before lifting a bottle to his lips and taking a long pull. “Yeah. She’s into you alright. I’ve never seen a girl want you less. It’s actually pretty fucking hilarious. Don’t think I’m not totally loving it, dude.” He laughs again before his brows snap together and the smile falls clean off his face. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

I shoot him a look. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“She doesn’t want you.” He groans, “Christ… she’s a challenge.”

Since I can’t exactly deny that he’s wrong, I don’t say anything at all. It’s called plausible deniability.

“Hey, King.”

A pretty little blonde wraps herself around me. I give her an easy smile as my eyes flick over the rest of her. Now this girl is definitely my type. Curvy and filled out in all the right places. A tight little pink t-shirt with some Greek letters stretches its way over her nicely rounded titties all the while showcasing a fair amount of cleavage.

I should totally be into this girl.

And yet, for some reason, my eyes stray back to the writhing twisting bodies about twenty feet away from me. Specifically zeroing in on Ivy. Some dude has come up behind her and has his hands on her narrow waist. Instantly forgetting about the blonde nestled against me, I almost start out there when I see Ivy wiggle out of his grasp before sliding away.

“King?”

Blondie strokes her small hand slowly up my chest as my eyes once again find hers.

She’s certainly pretty, I’ll give her that. And on any other night, I’d be giving her a lot more than that. But I’m just not feeling it tonight. Which is definitely strange, to say the least.

Unsure what to do, I take another drink of my beer. Normally this would be the point in the evening where I wait for some chick to come on to me before finding a room upstairs to fool around in.

But I already know that’s not going to happen as my gaze settles on Ivy.

For whatever reason, this girl who isn’t even my type, is throwing off my whole game tonight. I don’t like it. I think Dylan is right- she’s the first girl in I-don’t-know-how-long, maybe ever, who isn’t interested in being boned by me. Which, unfortunately, has me losing interest in all the other willing prospects craving my attention. Of which there are many.

That’s some seriously perverse shit… right?

I’m no psychology major, but I’m pretty sure there’s a name for wanting something you can’t have. Although, quite honestly, I plan to have her. Hopefully tonight. This whole- I-don’t-want-you shtick she’s got going on is probably just that- a shtick.

“Hey, King, missed you over the summer.”

Another hot chick has sidled up and is currently pressing her double D’s against the side of my arm. I’m not complaining, I’m just saying. They both stare up at me with longing and promise in their heated gazes.

I should really just take the pair of them upstairs and give them what they want.

Except… I know it’s not really me they want. They want Roan King- the Barnett football star. The guy who will hopefully go in the first round of the NFL draft later this year. They want a piece of my notoriety. They want to be balled by the King of Campus.

Yeah, yeah… I know, boo-hoo. Poor fucking Roan.

You know what? A year ago, two years ago, that shit wouldn’t have bothered me at all. It didn’t make one damn bit of difference why these girls were spreading their legs so easily. I just enjoyed that they were.

Trust me… I enjoyed it every single weekend. Sometimes several times a weekend.

But now… it just feels old and tired. If you can actually believe that. I know… it’s difficult to wrap your mind around.

All these faceless strangers wanting to hang out with me all the time. But they don’t know me. Hell, they don’t know anything about me. Not the real me. I could be a freaking serial killer for all they care. They wouldn’t give one damn shit.

Do you know how seriously messed up that is?

My eyes shift from the blonde clinging to me to the gorgeous brunette curled up under my other arm. It’s obvious they would be willing to screw me together. Hell, they’d probably get off on it. One would be snapping action shots while the other was getting her brains fucked out. And the photos would end up plastered across that dumbass website that seems to shadow my every move.

I’m not going to lie, just like all the easy chicks and my NFL prospect notoriety, the website devoted solely to me, was, at first, flattering. Now it just irritates the hell out of me. I’ve had my ass chewed out by coach on more than one occasion for having pictures of me partying or getting it on with some random chick posted to the site or someone’s Facebook page or Instagram.