The Peach-Pounding Peters of Peterson Hall, #1

Chapter 3: Meet The Peters

Okay, so maybe I'd been a little nervous this first week of the semester as to why I'd waited until Friday evening to meet the Peters. I'd even left a cryptic note for them the other day, telling them I'd stop by there today. I'd slipped it under their door, so I hoped one of them had gotten it.

Also, what had been going on with Lincoln these days? Ever since I'd left to take care of stuff on the day we'd messed around, he'd been acting different around me. He seemed a bit more reserved, and he'd started wearing a shirt during sex. Granted, all we'd been doing was make out and jerk each other off, but it made no sense why he needed a shirt. It was bad enough that he no longer wanted me to be anywhere near his butt, not even to see it, which was a far cry from our first time together. I didn't buy his "too cold" excuse. Maybe his tattoo got all fucked up from my cum and he was embarrassed? But...tattoos shouldn't have done that.

Hmm.

I took a shower in the communal bathroom on the second floor. There were plenty of shower stalls, toilet stalls, urinals, sink counters with mirrors, and a small changing room. It was a large space, so I rarely had to wait for a turn. I also had shower shoes and a shower caddy, which helped.

While still there, I put on a decent T-shirt and some jeans. I returned to my dorm room to check up on Lincoln, but he was gone. Maybe he had plans or something.

I got a text from Leah telling me she missed me. Oh, Leah. The guilt came and went periodically every day. I'd texted her minutes ago that I'd had an important meeting with a study group, lying to her again. She'd at least made a couple of new friends, and they were having a girls' night out tonight. It worked out perfectly for me.

But the fucking guilt felt like shit.

I left my dorm room and walked across the hallway toward the enclosed space where the flights of steps were. I reached the fourth floor and headed all the way down to the end of the hallway, the last door to my right. Here was where all the suites were. Each floor started from the singles near the enclosed staircase, then to the doubles (mine), the triples, the quads, and ended with the suites. Each suite had two actual bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room, just like a small apartment. Whoever lived in this unit must've been relevant with enough money to afford living here.

I knocked on the door, and my heart raced a little. What exactly would happen? Was it a club or something? A secret society? Everything was just so vague that it was impossible to know.

The door opened. A muscular jock with a beefy build stood there, tallish like me, arms crossed and only one corner of his mouth lifted. He, too, had on a T-shirt and jeans, probably more expensive than mine by the looks of it. But damn, he was fucking hot, and my dick twitched just at the sight of him. He had hazel eyes, a brown fauxhawk, and sun-kissed skin. I bet he had a big bubble butt too. "Who are you?" His voice was intimidatingly deep, the kind of serious tone that made anyone lose their tongue.

I swallowed. "Um, Pete Sanzo."

"What are you here for?" Seriously?

"The, um, invitation." Fuck, now my heart was pumping faster. I couldn't have gotten the wrong room. There was no way.

"What invitation?"

Great. "I...don't know. It was vague."

"Tell me a specific name on that invitation." He wasn't letting this go. Fuck.

Think, think. Oh! Duh. "The Peters."

A smirk spread across his lips, one mouth corner still higher than the other like a crooked version. "Just testing you. Come in." He stepped back to let me inside, and he closed the door.