Buzzed Girl’s a little competitive, but that’s not a bad thing—at least right now it’s not, as she’s replacing her mouth with a couple of fingers on Yoga Chick’s clit and the two vie for better position between my legs.

I’m not taking sides.

Buzzed Girl works her mouth up the side of my erection while Yoga Chick plays with my tip, her tongue warm and soft as she slides her mouth up and down my shaft, clearly trying to get Buzzed Girl to go back between her own legs.

There’s a power dynamic here that’s simply fantastic.

“Who’s better?” Yoga Chick asks, frustrated at Buzzed Girl’s continued trips up the side of my length.

“Now, there’s a question that I’m clearly not going to answer,” I tell her.

I’m the only one laughing.

Yoga Chick takes that as a confirmation of her own victory and moves up, putting one leg on each side of my mouth, lowering her slit enough for me to get to work.

Buzzed Girl, thinking herself to be the victor, snorts derisively at her roommate and doesn’t take her mouth off of me as she reaches into the nightstand and pulls out a condom.

The way she’s positioned, there’s just enough space between Yoga Chick’s ankles and ass for me to watch Buzzed Girl undo the wrapper with one hand.

“Oh yeah,” Yoga Chick moans, in a clear attempt to make her roommate jealous. “That’s it, baby,” she goes on. “I love the way you eat my pussy.”

Not to be outdone, Buzzed Girl slips the condom over me and climbs on top.

She’s moaning now, and the two continue to grow louder.

Maybe they think it’s some kind of secret, but this is what’s really turning them on: the competition.

I’m just glad to be a part of it.

“I’m going to come!” Yoga Chick yells, and I’m just hoping she’s not a squirter for reasons which should be obvious, given her positioning.

“I’m going to come!” Buzzed Girl yells back.

I’m starting to wonder if they’re just trying to verbally outdo one another, right up until the moment I can feel both sets of legs shaking and the muffled sounds of their groans as they kiss somewhere above me.

This is one of those times I wish I could congratulate myself for a job well done, but honestly, I’m not sure I have more than a mechanical part in any of it right now.

When the two finally separate, I can barely hear them, as Yoga Chick’s thighs are still quivering against each side of my head.

That, mixed with their continued vocalizations, is almost loud enough that I don’t hear it.

“Breann, I told you to turn your cellphone off,” one of them says to the other.

I wish I could tell which one says it, but my field of vision is somewhat restricted at the moment.

“It’s not mine,” whichever one is Breann answers.

“Shit,” I say—if you can call what I’m doing right now talking. “It’s mine.”

Yoga Chick raises herself off of me just enough to ask, “What?”

“That’s mine,” I tell her. “I’m sorry, but I really have to get that.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Buzzed Girl says, still grinding her hips against mine, pushing me into her again and again, so deep.

“It could be about my apartment,” I tell her. “If I don’t answer, someone else might get it.”

Yoga Chick sighs and lifts herself enough for me to angle my upper body toward the edge of the bed.

Buzzed Girl takes this as an opportunity to get one up on roommate and only rides me harder.

I pull the phone out of my pants pocket, just hoping that it’s not my mom calling to see if I’ve found a new place to live yet.

I’m not a total neophyte to the city, but my last apartment, well, let’s just say things kind of got complicated with the roommate.

“If you don’t get the apartment, you can stay in my room,” Yoga Chick says, running her hands down the front of my body.

“Oh, hell no,” Buzzed Girl retorts. “If he’s staying with anyone, he’s staying inside of me.” She giggles.

The slip was clearly intentional.

“Shh,” I whisper. “This is Dane Paulson,” I answer the phone.

I can only hope that whoever’s on the other end can’t hear Yoga Chick lifting Buzzed Girl—by the ass, mind you—off of my cock or the mostly-self-satisfied tone she exudes as she works me inside of her.

“Dane, yeah,” an only vaguely familiar voice answers, “I just wanted to let you know that my first three choices were unavailable, so it looks like the room is yours.”

“Thank you,” I say, trying not to sound anywhere near as relieved as I am to hear the news.

As fun as this whole thing is tonight, I really don’t want to be anywhere near either one of these women in the cold, sober light of day.

“Oh, that’s it!” Yoga Chick gasps as I start working my thumb over her swollen bud.

“What was that?” the woman on the phone asks.

I really need to get better with names.

“Nothing,” I answer. “When should I plan on moving in?”

“Screw it,” she slurs. “Move in tomorrow.”

The line goes dead a moment later.

I can’t quite be certain with the amount of distraction going on at the moment, but the woman on the phone sounded kind of drunk.

Oh well, verbal contract and all that. Right now, I’m more interested in watching as Buzzed Girl places one of her thighs over Yoga Chick’s shoulder while Yoga Chick, straddling me in what amounts to a modified version of the splits, holds her roommate in place with both hands on the latter’s ass and proceeds to go down on her.

All things considered, life is pretty great.

Chapter Three

Resolutions

Leila

My head hurts.

I lie in bed for what feels like an hour before I gather enough courage to open my eyes.

“Mike?”

There’s no response.

The brightness of the tiny beam of light that’s made its way through the blinds is pinning me down and keeping me sightless. I’m not even sure where or who I am right now.

After what feels like another hour, I manage to sit up and scoot over to the side of the bed.

If this is what a hangover feels like, I can’t begin to imagine how anyone in the world has ever decided that getting drunk twice is a good idea.

I did something stupid last night, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was.

I’m in my own bedroom. There’s no one in here with me.

That’s a positive sign.

Still, there’s that heavy pull in my gut that tells me I’m going to regret something just as soon as I remember what the hell happened.

I’m naked. Somehow it’s taken me this long to realize it.

I’ve never slept naked in my life. I’m way too uptight to feel comfortable without some sort of clothing on my body at all times; showers and sex excluded, of course.

I lean toward the floor and feel my pants pockets for my cellphone, but it’s not in them.

After the long, nearly impossible task of standing up, I check the rest of my room, but the phone’s nowhere to be found.

Not knowing if there’s anyone sleeping on the couch, I wrap myself in my bath robe before I open the door.

Empty.

I would think that something happened with Mike last night, but I’m confident that he’d stick around for a while if that were the case. Then again, that would be weird enough that I might never see him again either.

Huh.

I give up on the phone for a while and try to remember what cures a hangover. Apparently, though, even thinking hurts.

Coffee, whether it’s going to help or not, sounds like a great idea right now, so I head into my kitchen and start a pot. The clock on the microwave reads: 11:36.

“Great,” I mumble to myself, “even after getting hammered, I still can’t sleep past noon.”

I was trying so hard to be one of those derelicts who throw caution to the wind and, whatever.

There’s a knock on the door, and I’m almost at the peephole when I realize what I did last night. It’s worse than I could have imagined.