Keagan is the definition of bad boy. College man with a body that could make even God moan and an attitude to put the devil to shame. He walked campus halls like he owned them-tattoos inked across golden skin, smirk cocked like a loaded gun, and eyes that dared anyone to look away first. Between classes and drinking parties, sex and boys, Keagan had it all. He didn't chase love-he devoured it in the dark, left it breathless, and moved on before morning. Until Jamison. Small, skinny, anti-social. With glasses too big for his face and sweaters that hung off his shoulders like afterthoughts, Jamison barely existed in Keagan's world. Quiet, forgettable... or so everyone thought. But there was something in the way Jamison looked at Keagan-like he saw straight through the leather and lust. Like he wasn't afraid. Keagan should've ignored him. Should've kept walking. But something about that awkward little ghost of a boy stopped him cold. Curiosity, maybe. Hunger, definitely. Because suddenly, Keagan wanted more than a body to ruin-he wanted to see if someone like Jamison could handle the heat. The question wasn't if Keagan would break him. The question was... would Jamison beg for it?
Chapter 1 01
01
Keagan
I looked over at the boy sitting next to me, his eyes glossed over from the tears that were bound to come spilling out any second. He was covering his big green eyes with his messy brown hair, and shielding his quivering lip with his oversized sleeve-covered hand. I didn't feel anything though; he was just another person I slept with and mooched off of for a few months.
We were parked just outside the university dorms. I could already hear the buzz of returning students filtering through the open car window - laughter, thuds of suitcase wheels, voices calling to old friends. It felt like the summer had folded itself up in a neat, forgettable little envelope and tossed itself out the window. And Derek, poor Derek, was still trying to hold the edges of it together with trembling fingers.
"So, you're serious Keagan? We're done; just like that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper but heavy with disbelief.
I nodded my head in response, a little shocked and annoyed that this was taking him so long to process. It wasn't complicated. We weren't complicated. That was the point.
"So what am I supposed to do?" he said, blinking fast like that might keep the tears from falling.
"I don't know." I groaned, turning my head toward the passenger side window. "Go to a bar tonight, tell some mildly attractive man that your ex-friends-with-benefits was a total douche and 'broke up' with you after your summer fling. I told you from the start how this was going to be, it's not my fault you had the idea you could change my mind."
He didn't respond right away, just let his head fall back against the seat. I could see the tears actually welling up in his eyes now, turning green into a murky glassy mess, but nothing I said was a lie. I never put a title on us, I never asked him to be my boyfriend, and I told him from the start once school started back up we were done. Honestly, I just needed him for a house to stay at during the summer months - his parents were always out of town, the air conditioning worked, and his fridge was always stocked.
It was transactional. Everything in my life usually is.
"I think you should go..." he whispered, voice strained. I complied gladly, relieved to be done with the drawn-out goodbye. He was kind enough to let me grab my bag from out of the back of his car before pulling out of his parking spot.
"I really hope you find someone who does something like this to you, Keagan. I really do."
I smiled slightly at that - a bitter, private sort of smirk - knowing there was no chance in hell that I would ever be that stupid. But I nodded again, if only to spare him the humiliation of my honesty.
"If it helps," I said, tossing my bag over my shoulder, "I know you'll find someone great. I'm just that stepping stone you had to get through in order to find it."
I knew I was right. He was a great guy. Generous. Kind. Great in bed. The kind of person who would hold your hair back if you were sick, memorize your coffee order without trying. Someone would love him one day. He had that kind of heart.
But to be honest, this wasn't the first time I've used that line.
He looked at me like I was a memory he wasn't ready to archive yet. "You will too, Keagan. You know you're not the monster you claim to be."
I rolled my eyes and sighed. I say one sweet thing and they're back craving more. That was the problem. People like Derek - they always wanted to find the tragedy in me. The soft spot. The part that might be saved. It's like they thought if they stayed long enough, dug deep enough, they'd find the golden boy under the cynicism and the one-night stands. Spoiler alert: there's nothing under here but bed sheets and expiration dates.
"I'll see you around, Derek. Have a nice life."
And with that, I turned away and headed into the university behind me, the automatic doors swallowing me up with a quiet swoosh.
Inside, the air smelled like fresh paint and overpriced books. Everything was too bright, too polished, like a new phone you're scared to drop. I maneuvered through the crowd, my duffel bag bumping against my side, and found my dorm easily - room 312, floor three, shared with someone I hadn't bothered to look up yet. I didn't care. People were temporary.
The room was predictably beige and bland, one bed already claimed, the other still untouched. I dropped my bag on the mattress and stood for a second, just taking in the silence. It was the kind of quiet that came after burning bridges - uncomfortable but familiar.
I pulled out my phone, opening my texts. A couple of unread messages from friends - if you could call them that - asking if I was back on campus. One from a guy I used to hook up with in the spring, probably looking to pick up where we left off. I ignored them all.
Instead, I found Derek's contact and stared at the name for a moment. No heart emoji, no nickname. Just "Derek." Clean. Forgettable. I considered deleting it but didn't. Maybe I liked the idea that his name would still be there for a while. Proof that someone cared more than I did.
I sat on the edge of the bed, the springs creaking beneath me. For a second - just a second - I let myself wonder what it would have been like if I hadn't told him we were done. If I had stayed one more night. If I had said yes when he asked me once, in the middle of August, "Do you think we could be something more when summer ends?"
But then I remembered who I was. What I was.
People like me don't do more. We do moments. We do survival. We do silence when someone starts to fall.
I got up and pulled the curtain shut, blocking out the late afternoon sun.
Maybe Derek would cry tonight. Maybe he'd drink too much and call me a few times before finally giving up. Maybe he'd meet someone who actually meant what they said.
And maybe, just maybe, he'd eventually understand that I was never trying to be cruel.
Just honest.
But honesty, for someone like me, always ends up looking like heartbreak in someone else's hands.
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