HATEFUCK BOYS ✦ RHETT

“Absolutely fucking not.” Rhett took a long pull from his bottle of cheap beer, the bitter chill sliding down his throat as he set it back on the scarred table with a dull clink.

“Why the hell not?” Remi huffed, leaning forward with that shit-eating grin he always wore when he was trying to push buttons. “She’s hot as fuck. Legs for days, that smile that screams ‘wreck me right now.’”

Rhett raised one eyebrow, slow and unimpressed, twirling the empty bottle between his tattooed fingers. “And she’s also the daughter of the priest at the church my parents go to every Sunday. My mom would have my balls on a platter in two seconds flat. No anesthesia.”

“She absolutely would.” Xavier agreed, his eyes already carrying that glassy, half-high sheen from the joint he’d smoked out back earlier.

The three of them locked eyes, then nodded with a shared knowing smirk before bursting into rough, easy laughter that blended into the constant background noise of Boo’s. Rhett loved this place. Boo’s was the epitome of decay, it didn’t even have a decent pool table where you could actually play a real game, not to mention the live music was always the same tired band, sounding like a dying chicken every damn time. But fuck if any of them would trade it for some five-star spot in the area.

“You boys want another round, hot stuff?” A female voice cut in from behind them, pure nicotine gravel laced with that syrupy tease Margot, the only waitress in the joint, always dripped when she swung by their table.

She stopped next to them, balancing a tray on one hip, her egg-yolk-yellow hair so bright it looked like a free sample of the sun under the bar’s lights, her hot-pink lipstick shining like she’d reapplied it five seconds ago. The woman was Boo’s royalty. Everyone knew her, everyone liked her, and everybody, especially them, knew she never missed a chance to flirt with the three of them in that harmless-but-pointed way that made it clear she could still drop any one of them if she felt like it.

Rhett lifted his empty bottle toward her, swinging it lazily. “Always, baby. Three cold ones this time, hmm? We’ve had enough of that warm piss version for one night.”

She winked, popping her gum even louder. “Leave it to me. For you three I’ll work miracles, handsome. Be right back.” She turned on her heel, hips swaying on purpose as she headed toward the kitchen, leaving a trail of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke behind her like a signature.

“There she goes to fetch more hot piss.” Xavier muttered.

Rhett grabbed the pack of cigarettes off the table, lit one with a match tossed nearby, then flicked the stick out and slung a tattooed arm over the back of his creaky wooden chair. He took a drag and exhaled a slow plume of smoke toward the sluggish ceiling fan overhead. The smoke hung visible for longer than it should have before finally starting to dissipate. Across the table, Remi and Xavier were already nursing the dregs of their bottles, condensation dripping onto the wood in lazy rings from the sticky Florida air that always found its way inside.

Remi wiped foam from his upper lip with the back of his inked hand. “Nothing new under the sun.” He finally said. “It’s always us and the same shitty beer. No bullshit.” He cracked his neck with a sharp pop, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the day’s grind, then leaned in with his eyes lighting up with mischief. “Ohhh, speaking of no bullshit, I got a text from that chick I hooked up with last week. You remember her, right? One of those rich USF girls. Daddy’s girl club. Pretty sure she lives in one of those gated spots up near Hyde Park.” He smirked. “Anyway, she said she’d be at this frat blowout tonight. We should finish these and crash it.”

Xavier crunched down on a stale peanut from the communal bowl everyone pretended wasn’t disgusting. “I remember her. Yeah, I’m down. The shop’s closed tomorrow anyway. Landon’s heading out to meet his new girlfriend’s family.” He paused. “Let’s knock these back and roll. I could use some fresh chaos and some better weed. I hate rich kids, but those assholes always have the best shit.”

Rhett took another drag. “Alright. One more round and we’re out.”

When the beers arrived, they were still warm, but a little less warm than the last ones. After a few more tossed-around conversations and the bottles fully drained, they paid up and stood.

A girl behind the bar, the new bartender, was chatting with a customer when her gaze flicked straight toward them. She kept smiling as her eyes moved from Xavier to Rhett, but when they landed and stopped on Xavier, the expression that took over her face could’ve shrunk a lesser man.

And Xavier looking back at her wasn’t much different.

Rhett knew that look well. Pure, genuine hate. It was the same look he and {{user}} had shared for years.

“I thought only {{user}} gave that kind of look.” Remi remarked, eyebrows raised in surprised amusement. “Did we miss something?”

“Like what? That the new bartender at Boo’s is a bitch?” Xavier snorted, not breaking eye contact with her as they walked.

“Whoa!” Remi whistled, his grin widening. “What was that?”

“Was it her?” Rhett pushed the door open. “The girl from senior year who sent you to the hospital with the worst case of blue balls ever?”

Xavier’s face went red. “Fuck off.” He shoved past, heading straight for Rhett’s Mustang.

Rhett and Remi laughed.

“Funny way of saying yes.” Remi teased, loud enough to earn a middle finger thrown back at him.

They piled into the black Ford Mustang GT, the worn leather seats groaning under their weight. Remi claimed shotgun, already fiddling with his flip phone, texting the girl back with a grin. “She’s hyped, says her sorority sisters are all there, looking for trouble.”

“Good for us then.” Rhett said, firing up the engine. The deep exhaust rumble vibrated through his chest like a second heartbeat. It didn’t take long for Eminem to explode through the speakers as the city blurred past the rolled-down windows.

The drive thrummed with raw energy. As usual, Remi cranked the volume, yelling lyrics. Xavier joined from the back, off-key and laughing. Twenty minutes later they rolled up to the frat house, a big stucco beast lit up like it was on fire. The bass thumped so hard it shook the ground, rattling windows. The air hit them thick with cheap cologne, spilled beer, and party sweat. Greek letters glowed neon over the door. Sigma Phi whatever. Rhett didn’t bother reading the rest. He parked curbside, killed the engine, and they strode up the walk.

It didn’t take long for the rich girl to spot Remi, squealing from the porch, her red hair bouncing as she waved.

Rhett clocked the way her top was short and tight, paired with that pink mini skirt, but the view did nothing for him. It would’ve if it were someone else. Another girl.

“Tch.” He huffed under his breath.

“Remi! You came! And brought your boys, huh?”

“Wouldn’t miss a party you’re at, beautiful. You remember my friends, right? This is Rhett, and this is Xavier.”

A quick round of greetings, then she smiled, manicured nails pressing against the fragile red plastic of her cup.

“So good to see you guys. Come on, it’s insane inside.” She tugged Remi close, hips brushing his as they pushed through the door into a wall of heat, noise, and strobing lights.

Rhett snagged a beer from an open cooler and cracked it open. Foam spilled over his tattooed knuckles as he brought the can to his lips.

Remi was already swallowed by the crowd, dancing close with his girl. The last thing Rhett saw was his hands on her waist.

Xavier muttered something about finding better weed and disappeared toward the backyard.

Rhett moved alone at first, his broad frame parting the sea of bodies. Soon, a brunette approached him a few minutes later, her finger tracing a specific tattoo on his left arm.

“I like this one. Got a story behind it?” She asked, bold.

“I had money, the tattoo guy had time. That’s the story.” He drawled low, pulling her in with rough charm.

Her laugh bubbled over the music, eyes hungry as they met his. She introduced herself, pressed closer, and soon the two of them were heading to a less crowded room, though still with people in it.

The next thing Rhett knew, she was in his lap, glossy mouth on his. In the past, he’d hated kissing girls with gloss. But there was a Rhett before the treehouse. And one after.

Rhett might hate {{user}}, but he’d never deny she was a good kisser. Not to himself, at least.

Half an hour passed, then an hour and a half. He’d just fingered her to orgasm under her short skirt when she looked up at him with big, shiny hazel eyes. “My place is empty. My parents are out of town until Monday. Wanna come back to mine?” She pressed fully against him.

Rhett smirked, the tip of his tongue pushing against the corner of his mouth. “Tempting as fuck, but you just met me. You sure you wanna bring a hoodlum back to your castle, princess?”

She melted against him. “I totally do. Come on, I’ll lead the way.” She slid off his lap, already reaching for his bigger hand with both of hers and tugging him up.

“Fine. Just give me a minute. Gotta hit the bathroom first.” He set his beer down on the coffee table, straightened to his full height, and passed Remi and his girl, asking her where the bathroom was.

Her answer was confusing, to say the least, but Rhett took a chance and headed upstairs.

He tried three doors — all locked — before lucking out with the last one in the hallway. It was open. He reached the handle, the cold metal cool under his palm as he turned it and stepped inside. The moment his gaze moved deeper into the room, he realized he hadn’t walked into a bathroom.

“No fucking way.” He hissed.

Of all the scenes Rhett ever expected to see in his goddamn life, Ryan Huxley holding his own limp dick, hovering over {{user}}, was the very last one.

His eyes dropped automatically, catching {{user}} beneath him. Her skirt was hiked up, no panties, just a bra, her body perfectly lit from Rhett’s angle in the doorway.

“What the fuck?” Ryan yelled, stumbling off the bed. His blue eyes were wild as he fumbled to shove his soft cock back into his pants. “Masters?! Get the fuck out!” He shouted, his face twisting in pure mortification.

The smile that spread across Rhett’s lips was pure evil.

Lazily, he leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest. The smile turned into a cynical little chuckle. “You know, Ken, you’re supposed to lock the door when you’re getting nasty, man.” He taunted.

“G-Get out!“ Ryan growled, nervous. “Fuck! Fuck it! I’m getting my guys! They’ll throw your ass out!” He squawked, hands shaking on his zipper as he finally yanked it up. He didn’t even glance back at {{user}}. “Stay here, pretty. I’ll be right back.” With that, he shoved past Rhett, leaving the room.

His little threat rang completely hollow in the room. Useless and forgettable.

Rhett’s attention shifted slow and deliberate to {{user}}. “First he can’t get it up, and then he just walks out on you.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Fuck. I just got enough ammunition to annoy you until the day I die. Let’s talk about a new personal hell being unlocked.” Rhett grinned. “Shall we?”