Their Wonder Years: Season 1: Fall 1998
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
64: The Calm Before the Storm
Coming of Age Sex Story: 64: The Calm Before the Storm - Bharath always thought going to America would mean fast love, wild parties, and maybe a stewardess or two. What he got instead? A busted duffel bag, a crying baby on the plane, and dormmates he never thought could exist in real life. Thrown into the chaos of Georgia Tech’s freshman year, Bharath begins an unforgettable journey of awkward first crushes and culture shocks. A slow-burn, emotionally rich harem romance set in the nostalgic 90s - full of laughter, lust, and longing.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Fiction Humor School Sharing Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory White Female Hispanic Female Indian Female
That Tuesday morning was perhaps the most exhausting day of Bharath’s life and it wasn’t even 6 AM yet.
He wasn’t even sure what time it was anymore. The blinds in Sarah’s bedroom were drawn halfway, letting through strips of dawnlight that hit his bare chest like warm blades. His entire body ached from being loved until he had nothing left to give.
They had ambushed him. All five.
It started as a war cry, a battle yell of “GET HIM!” from Mia-and ended in something mythic. A story their bodies would tell for weeks. They had managed to get upstairs from the living room to the bedroom at some point - but none of them would remember when that happened.
He barely remembered how many times he’d come, how many times they had. At some point, they had stopped keeping count. They hadn’t let him rest - always two, sometimes three, sometimes all five surrounding him with laughter, moans, and demands. He’d serviced them with fingers that cramped, a tongue that burned, and hips that begged for mercy.
Only when he collapsed back onto the bed, groaning hoarsely that he was done, had they relented.
“Fine,” Sarah whispered, kissing his temple. “You’ve earned a nap. You sexy little corpse.”
“Four hours,” Marisol added, curled at his side like a satisfied lioness. “Maybe five. Then we resurrect you.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Zara purred, draped over his legs, her lips brushing his thigh. “He’s ours.”
Mia, still glowing from the climax marathon, leaned down and kissed his forehead reverently. “Best. Night. Ever.”
Bharath didn’t respond. He had already passed out with a faint groan-arms flopped over his head, mouth parted slightly, chest rising and falling like a man wrung dry.
Ayesha tucked a blanket over him and sighed dreamily and joined the others as they trudged downstairs.
The girls made hot chocolate and warmed up some brownies before they gathered around Mia like kids at a campfire, lounging on the giant couch or cross-legged on the floor, still half-naked, lazy, tousled, limbs occasionally brushing as they shifted to get comfortable.
“Well,” Marisol said, elbowing Mia. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Spill it. We want every single detail of last night.”
Mia beamed. She still hadn’t put on a shirt, just wearing Bharath’s suit jacket like a robe. Her hair was a wild halo, lips swollen, eyes gleaming. “Okay. But you have to promise not to interrupt until I’m done.”
“You’re literally talking to four girls who climaxed a dozen times in the last few hours,” Zara pointed out. “We might interrupt just by breathing.”
“Shut up and let her speak!” Ayesha said, already bouncing in anticipation.
Mia held up a finger like a professor. “Okay. First, the limo. It was so awesome to travel in a limo! I could hardly contain my nervousness when I was with him on the way there. It was beyond anything that I could have imagined! Thank you so much girls. That was one of the best experiences of my life!”
“Oh that was all Zara and Andy. Don’t forget that she got you guys into the club as well on such short notice,” said Marisol.
Zara blushed when Mia hugged her tightly. “Thanks so much chica. That was awesome. I will never forget that you made my best night ever possible.”
Zara was in tears when she fanned herself and then said, “Oh baby. That was my pleasure. I am sure that Andy will be thrilled as well for you. Now back to the story.”
Mia gave Zara one more hug and then drew in a dramatic breath and began.
“Vesper looked like a movie set,” Mia said. “Black walls, red velvet ropes, glowing neon lines across the entrance like some trippy place. And the bouncer? He literally waved us in. Didn’t even check our IDs.”
She mimed the bouncer’s salute and puffed her chest proudly.
“People were watching us,” she continued, voice pitching with glee. “Like ... full turn, mouth open, what-the-fuck faces. And Bharath... he bowed. Like some Indian prince. Offered me his hand like I was a princess.”
“Ugh,” Sarah moaned. “He would.”
“That’s why we’re all doomed,” Ayesha said. “He’s not even real.”
Mia grinned. “We go inside. The music is blaring. Like you can feel it in your spine. There’s this runway of mirrors along the entrance, so you see yourself from a dozen angles. And then, Bharath walks me straight to the bar like he owns the place. The DJ then makes an announcement for me. He said, this one goes out to Mia. His Mia. Because the moment she said her name meant ‘mine’ ... he’s been hers ever since.”
The girls squealed. “He’s so romantic,” said Zara.
“Tell us about the dance floor,” Sarah pressed, nudging her.
“Oh, baby,” Mia purred. “We owned it.”
Mia leaned forward, eyes glinting. “It started slow. We just danced. Touching but not too much. His hand on my waist. My back against his chest. The DJ was doing this chill techno-funk remix of Prince’s Kiss and we were vibing. Like sexy but still soft, you know?”
Ayesha was fanning herself. “And then?”
“And then,” Mia said dramatically, “he turned me around during a beat drop and kissed me. Right there. Middle of the floor.”
The girls gasped in unison.
“Wait, wait,” Marisol said. “First time in public?”
“Full on tongue, grip-my-hips, pull-my-hair kind of kiss,” Mia confirmed, biting her lip. “I felt like I got electrocuted. The DJ noticed us. He did that rewind thing where he ran the track back and shouted into the mic, ‘YOOO THIS COUPLE’S GOT ME FEELING THINGS!’ Everyone cheered.”
Sarah flopped back onto the couch. “That’s the most Mia thing I’ve ever heard.”
Mia shrugged, pretending to be demure as she traced a teasing circle on Marisol’s arm. “And then ... he did something that nearly killed me.”
“What?” they chorused.
Mia leaned in, eyes gleaming like she was delivering sacred gossip. “He slid his hands under my dress.”
That got their attention.
“Wait, under?” Ayesha blinked.
“Like, skin-on-skin?” Zara asked, already fanning herself.
“Oh yeah,” Mia nodded, savoring every word. “He’d been gripping my hips while I was grinding on him, right? Tight enough that I could feel his fingers pressing into the lace of my dress. But then...”
She dropped her voice, slow and husky.
“He moved one hand around to my inner thigh. And he just ... slid it in. Between my legs. Slipped right into my slit. Two fingers-warm, strong, so sure of himself-right into my soaked folds through the lace.”
Marisol’s hand flew to her mouth. “Mia.”
Mia smiled, eyes fluttering shut briefly at the memory. “He didn’t even flinch. Just kept watching me. Breathing against my cheek. While his fingers started stroking me through the fabric-slow, lazy circles. I was grinding on him, my chest against his, and his hand was working me underneath like I was a toy he knew better than I did.”
“God,” Ayesha groaned. “He’s a menace.”
“And then,” Mia said, voice dropping to a sinful whisper, “the other hand slides down to my ass. Slips under the hem. Right between my cheeks.”
A collective whimper swept the room.
“First one, then two fingers,” Mia said, holding them up for effect. “Curled around me, squeezing, playing. One teasing my slit. The other playing with my ass. I could feel every ridge of his fingertips, the heat of his palm ... and I never stopped moving.”
“On the dance floor?” Zara asked, scandalized and aroused.
“In a shadowed booth,” Mia said, licking her lips. “Dim lights. No one could see a thing unless they were looking very closely. And if they were? I didn’t care.”
Marisol leaned closer, breath shallow. “Did he...?”
“Oh, yes,” Mia breathed. “He pushed aside my panties. Slid one finger inside me-slow, thick, delicious-and kept the other circling my rim like he was prepping me for something bigger.”
Ayesha actually choked on her own spit and started coughing causing Sarah to bang on her back in alarm.
“He didn’t even stop to ask,” Mia said, reverent. “He knew. Knew what I wanted. Knew how I’d take it. I came right there. On his lap. My legs shook. I bit his neck to keep from screaming.”
The silence that followed was thick enough to drown in. Five girls. Wet. Breathless. Eyes glazed over.
Sarah finally spoke. “We need to bronze that man’s hands. Like ... for science.”
Mia smiled softly, pulling Marisol closer and resting her cheek on her head. “He didn’t just make me feel sexy,” she whispered. “He made me feel seen. Every touch was like a promise. Like he knew I was his, and he was just ... claiming his prize. Slowly. Thoroughly.”
Marisol wrapped an arm around Mia’s waist. “He does that. Touches like he’s writing poetry.”
Ayesha crawled forward and laid her head on Mia’s thigh, sighing. “And we’re all the verses.”
They lay there for a while. Quiet. Dreaming. Wet between their thighs but warm in their hearts. Worshipping the man who gave them all that-and somehow still managed to give more.
And Mia’s soft voice whispered into the stillness, “Best. Night. Ever.”
A hush had fallen over the room after Mia’s sinful retelling-like the silence after a storm that leaves everything dripping, dazed, and awed.
Then Marisol let out a nostalgic sigh.
“Oh, honey,” she said, voice smoky with memory. “You just unlocked a core memory.”
Mia blinked. “Wait-what?”
Sarah turned over on her side, grinning like a cat. “Halloween. That club in Buckhead. You remember, Club Zero?”
“Ohhh, I remember.” Marisol stretched luxuriously, her voice dipping into a purr. “That night was legendary.”
Zara shot to her feet. “Okay. We need to go clubbing again. We didn’t get to experience all this hands stuff and other stuff with him.”
“Immediately, ” Ayesha added, breathless. “I don’t care if it’s what day it is. Let’s find a club.”
“Clubs bring out the beast in him,” Marisol said dreamily. “The scent, the sweat, the lights ... Something just snaps.”
Mia bit her knuckle. “You think he’d do it again?”
“He never does the same thing,” Sarah said. “But he always does something better.”
Zara turned to the others. “We have to plan this. Outfits. A private booth. Low lighting. Andy will hook us up! You girls in?”
“God,” Ayesha whispered. “I want to be wrecked in a bass drop.”
Mia high-fived her. “That’s the spirit.”
A beat passed. Then they all burst into giggles, unable to help themselves.
Operation: Clubbed by Bharath was now in session.
The house was quiet. Too quiet, given what had happened the night before. Bharath stirred, his eyelashes fluttering as consciousness came back to him like the tide returning to shore. The ache in his hips, the pleasant soreness in his thighs, the tender stiffness in his shoulders-all of it told him the same story.
He had survived the cavalry charge. Barely.
He smiled weakly into the pillow. His throat was dry, and his back still tingled from fingernails that had refused to let go. A half-folded blanket lay tangled around his legs. The air still held traces of passion.
He rolled onto his side and glanced at the empty space beside him and for a moment, panic flickered in his chest. Then he heard it-the soft rhythm of breathing and the faint hum of the old ceiling fan downstairs. He pushed himself up, wincing slightly, and reached for the T-shirt at the foot of the bed.
The floorboards creaked under his bare feet as he stepped out of the bedroom. Morning light seeped through the narrow staircase window, golden and dusty, catching on the railing. He followed the smell of coffee and shampoo down the steps, careful not to wake anyone.
And then he saw them.
All five of them. Bundled together on and around the giant couch, their bare limbs overlapped like vines; tangled hair spilled over each other. Sarah had her cheek pressed against Mia’s shoulder. Marisol’s legs were wrapped around Zara’s waist. Ayesha was curled up at their feet like a kitten, softly snoring into someone’s thigh.
He froze halfway down the stairs. His heart just ... stopped for a second.
They looked peaceful. Real. Fragile in the way only love could make you. His girls. His apsaras. He couldn’t believe that he had even one of them. And yet, he had them all. His heart swelled with a feeling that he could not articulate. The five goddesses who had claimed his body, heart, and soul-and then, after setting him on fire, fallen asleep like any other mortal.
He stood there for a long time, leaning against the railing, watching them breathe. Every so often, one would shift-an arm sliding, a sigh escaping-but the group always settled back into the same tangle. The sight did something to him. It quieted the noise in his mind, the leftover disbelief that any of this was real.
Eventually, he walked down the last few steps and crossed the room. He didn’t want to wake them, but he also couldn’t leave without touching them. So he did what felt right.
He knelt beside the couch and kissed them-each in turn.
A soft peck on Zara’s lips. A gentle brush against Ayesha’s cheek. A slow, lingering kiss on Marisol’s shoulder, where a faint red mark of his teeth still lingered. A lasting peck on Sarah’s forehead.
And finally, Mia.
She was in the middle, her head resting on Sarah’s chest, one hand loosely holding Marisol’s fingers. Her hair had fallen over her face, catching a slant of morning light. He brushed the strand back behind her ear, and her lips parted slightly.
“Mia,” he whispered. “Good morning, chellam. My birthday girl.”
Her lashes fluttered, and she stirred with a tiny sound-half sigh, half whimper. Then her eyes opened, still cloudy with sleep, until they found him. For a moment she just looked, like she couldn’t quite believe he was real.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey,” she breathed back. Her voice cracked, and tears welled suddenly in her eyes.
“Hey, hey,” he murmured, smiling as he reached to wipe them. “What’s that for?”
She shook her head, already crying harder. “I don’t know. I just...” Her voice broke. “I don’t want to wake up. I want last night to keep going.”
He sat on the floor and pulled her gently into his lap. She came willingly, straddling him without thinking, arms wrapping around his shoulders. Her tears soaked his shirt.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You don’t have to wake up. Just breathe.”
“I love you,” she said, muffled against his skin. “So much. You made everything I thought I ever wanted feel small.”
He pressed his lips to her hair. “You deserve everything, Mia. You always did.”
She lifted her head slightly, looking at him through wet lashes. “It’s my birthday, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then this ... this is the best one I’ve ever had.”
He chuckled softly. “It’s barely morning, chellam. You’ve got a whole day of surprises waiting.”
Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, almost shy now. “How are you even awake?”
“Because someone had to make coffee.”
“You and your coffee,” she teased, voice still shaky. “You’re impossible.”
He grinned. “You say that like it’s new information.”
That made her laugh. The kind that made his chest ache in the best way.
She leaned in, kissed him gently, and rested her forehead against his. “Don’t move,” she whispered.
“Wasn’t planning to.”
They stayed like that for a while, her breathing slowing, her body growing heavier against him. When her eyes finally drooped shut again, he kept holding her, rocking her slightly, listening to her heartbeat match his.
When he was sure she’d fallen asleep, he shifted carefully, cradling her like something sacred. He laid her back between Sarah and Marisol. They stirred instinctively, arms opening in their sleep, pulling Mia in without waking.
He stood there for another long minute. The living room was full of sunlight now, soft and golden. The six of them looked like a single shape-love made visible.
He turned quietly toward the kitchen. The floor felt cool under his feet. The kettle sat waiting on the stove, and the faint smell of last night’s incense still hung in the air.
As the water began to boil, he leaned on the counter, staring out the window. A breeze slipped through the mesh and brushed his face. He could hear their breathing from the other room, five steady rhythms, blending like one.
He smiled to himself. Whatever came next, classes, family, the chaos of the world-could wait.
For now, this was enough. The morning after, the first light of something that finally felt like forever.
Cooking was holy. Bharath had always believed that. And today, it felt especially sacred. He combed his hair, rolled up his sleeves, prayed to Ganesha, and began the morning rite.
The rice simmered in one pot. Yellow moong dal roasted gently in the other, his spatula scraping in even circles. The fragrance of ghee melting with peppercorns and cumin began to rise, bringing with it waves of nostalgia.
He was making Pongal. Soft. Spiced. Comforting. Just like he remembered his mother made it for him back home.
Next, the sambar - his favorite. The tamarind was soaked. The vegetables diced. Drumsticks. Carrots. Pearl onions.
He ground fresh coconut and green chilies into a paste, humming quietly to himself. The kitchen warmed. So did his chest.
He hadn’t realized how much he missed this-the rhythm of his hands, the scent of curry leaves crackling in hot oil, the familiar meditative focus of the stovetop.
Behind him, he heard the first soft footsteps. A sleepy, yawning figure padded in. It was Zara-wrapped in a blanket, hair wild, eyes blinking slowly.
“Mmm ... what is that smell?” she mumbled as she hugged Bharath from behind, giving him a kiss.
Bharath turned, grinning. “Tamil heaven,” pulling her into him.
She sniffed again. “I don’t even care if I’ve had this before. I want it right now.”
“Patience,” he teased. “Go wash up. Wake the others. It’ll be ready in ten more minutes.”
Zara wandered off, mumbling something about divine torture.
Ayesha was next, arms stretched above her head as she drifted in. “Bharath ... are you cooking Pongal? Like, from scratch?”
He nodded. Her jaw dropped.
“You woke up from that sexpocalypse and decided to be a househusband?” she teased, coming over to peek into the simmering pots. “This smells illegal.”
Bharath chuckled. “Illegal in twenty-seven states. Legal only in Tamil Nadu.”
Soon, the kitchen filled. Sarah came in next, wearing one of his oversized T-shirts and blinking like a cat in sunlight. She leaned against the doorframe and just watched him for a while.
Then came Marisol and Mia, both still clinging to each other, half-asleep.
Mia mumbled, “Is that food or a second orgasm?”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Girl, don’t give him ideas.”
Bharath didn’t look up as he said, “If you behave, I’ll feed you with my hands.”
Sarah and Mia groaned in unison.
“I take it back,” Sarah said. “We’re not surviving today either.”
Marisol inhaled deeply. “God, I feel like I’m waking up in a movie with a romance montage.”
“Wait till you taste the sambar today. It’s different from what I normally make,” Bharath said. “This is love language level five.”
Zara peered over his shoulder. “So ... what’s all this? Explain to the non-Tamil crowd.”
Bharath grinned. “Okay. So this is Ven Pongal. It is a savory rice-lentil porridge. It has black pepper, cumin, ginger and lots of ghee. It’s basically our comfort food and of course sacred food with its own festival. It’s what we make during the harvest festival in January, but we eat it year-round. It’s home. This is just one type of Pongal. I don’t know how to make the other types ... but this is the savory one.”
“And sambar? You’ve made it before. What’s different about this?”
“Well ... in addition to it being a spicy lentil stew with tamarind and vegetables, I have added ground coconut in it. It’s a special type of sambar that goes well with Pongal,” he explained. “Every family makes it differently. This one’s my mom’s recipe.”
“You made this whole thing?” Ayesha said, wide-eyed. “Like, not from a box? When I last had this, we made it from a pre-made mix.”
Bharath mock-glared. “I’m Tamil. That’s a crime in our house.”
They laughed-but it was affectionate, tender laughter.
Then Mia, still wrapped around Marisol like a sleepy baby sloth, blinked up at him.
“Wait ... what time is it?”
He checked the microwave clock. “Eight-fifteen.”
“WHAT.”
Panic swept the room like a breeze.
“We have class,” Sarah groaned. “I have Chem lab.”
There was a collective pause as everyone was brought back to the reality of the mundane.
“Can I skip?” Mia asked hopefully.
“Nope,” Bharath said instantly.
Groans erupted.
“But Bharath...”
“You already skipped yesterday,” he pointed out. “And some of you are already hanging by a thread. Don’t test me.”
“Are you saying your birthday girl should go to class? But I’m so tired from last night.” Mia pouted.
“Yup,” Bharath shot back, plating the pongal.
Sarah snorted. “He’s ruthless in the morning.”
“He’s right,” Sarah added more seriously, turning to the others. “We can’t fall behind. Especially not now.”
Zara folded her arms. “I liked you better when you were being used as a sex toy.”
“I still am,” Bharath said, placing a steaming plate in front of her. “Just also a responsible adult.”
“Oh god,” Ayesha moaned. “Don’t make that sexy.”
Marisol patted Mia’s hair. “We’ll celebrate after class. You’re still the princess.”
“Birthday apsara,” Mia corrected sleepily.
“Diva of the South,” Sarah declared, raising a spoon.
“Queen of Club Vesper,” Zara added.
“Lady of the Limo Lapdance,” Ayesha said, making everyone wheeze.
Bharath laughed and passed around spoons, bowls, and love.
And as the girls settled at the kitchen table, groaning in delight over every bite, he looked around and felt something settle deep in his chest.
Not just love. He didn’t just serve them food. He served them love.
Mia’s eyes sparkled like mischief bottled in honey as the others were headed to their classes.
She sat on the kitchen counter, barefoot and beautiful, wearing one of Bharath’s oversized shirts and nothing underneath. Her legs swung lazily as she leaned forward, pouting like a neglected Disney princess. Not the soft ones from fairy tales-but the modern kind. The kind who might sing with birds, then seduce a prince behind the palace stables.
“Please?” she whispered.
Bharath narrowed his eyes at her, arms folded. “We’ve had this discussion. If you’re not going to class you can study at home.”
“But it’s my birthday,” Mia said, drawing out the word like it was sacred.
“You said that already.”
“It only comes once a year,” she tried again.
“I’m aware.”
Her lip trembled. Her lashes fluttered. “I was a good girl all night.”
Bharath snorted. “You were the opposite of a good girl last night.”
Mia grinned shamelessly, then softened her expression once more, dialing up the charm to eleven. “Please, Bharath. Just this once? For your princesa?”
He hesitated when she used that word. That was all she needed. She pulled the full arsenal-eyes wide, lashes batting, lower lip caught between teeth. The look could’ve gotten her out of international espionage charges.
Bharath groaned. “Aiyo!”
She clapped once and squealed, immediately launching herself into his arms.
“You’re letting me skip studies today?” she gasped, delighted.
“I didn’t say...”
“I heard it, ” she beamed. “It’s too late to take it back now!”
Bharath laughed despite himself, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Fine. You win. Birthday pardon granted.”
She nuzzled his neck, murmuring, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“But,” he added quickly, “you’re still joining group study this evening. No negotiations.”
Mia pulled back, aghast. “You want everyone to study today evening?”
“Yes.”
She pouted again, burying her face into his shoulder like a sulking kitten. “Mean.”
He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “Rules are rules.”
She sighed. “I used to be the Queen Bee of my school, you know. Cheer captain. Student council. Homecoming queen.”
“And now?”
She looked up, smiled softly, and said, “Now I’m just your princesa.”
Bharath’s breath hitched for a second. He kissed her gently, brushing her hair back. “That line won’t help you skip the study group.”
She groaned. “No ... this evening we’re all going home to be with Mami and celebrate my birthday there like civilized people.”
“Oh yeah! I forgot the party tonight with your mom. Sorry, Chellam. I completely forgot. You’re excused for today. Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll wake you before we have to get ready to go.”
“Do you want to join me? You didn’t get much sleep last night either.”
Bharath looked at her desirable form and sighed reluctantly.
“Unfortunately we have class baby. I wish I could but ... we already cut class yesterday.”
She nodded, curling into him again, cheek against his chest.
“I love you,” she whispered, already half-asleep.
“I love you too,” he said softly, letting her weight rest in his arms.
He carried her back to the couch and tucked her between the cushions, laying a blanket over her. He stood and watched her for a moment. His heart ached with something too big to name.
Lunch that day hit differently. There was something in the air-laughter sharp as sunlight, eyes glinting with shared secrets, the quiet buzz of something just beginning. And right in the middle of it all sat Table 7. The unofficial throne room of their little kingdom.
Thanksgiving week had emptied most of the campus, but the student dining hall still buzzed like a beehive with a caffeine problem. Half the tables were deserted, yet somehow the air was louder-voices ricocheting off linoleum, forks clinking.
And right at the center of the echo sat Table 7, the unspoken capital of the lunchroom hierarchy.
Today it looked different, because Ayesha and Zara, formerly princesses of the It Crowd, recently dethroned, rumor-cooked, and socially fried, were sitting there. It was the kind of sight that made people drop fries mid-air.
Whispers floated through the hall.
“Wait... they’re at Table 7? With them?”
“Didn’t she used to date that frat guy?”
“Isn’t the shorter one on the cheer squad?”
Across the room, Leah, Ryan, and two other survivors of the pre-holiday It Crowd huddled over plastic trays like generals watching an unexpected coup.
Leah froze mid-bite. “Tell me I’m seeing wrong.”
Ryan didn’t look up from stabbing his mashed potatoes. “You’re not.”
“She’s wearing his jacket,” Leah hissed. “That’s Bharath’s jacket. The Prince of ... whatever the campus decided to call him this week.”
“Pleasure,” Ryan muttered.
Leah kicked him under the table. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Then don’t make it sound like a title,” he said. “Makes me feel like he’s gonna appear with a cape.”
“Don’t tempt fate,” Brianna said dryly. “If he shows up in velvet again, I’m transferring.”
They all turned toward Table 7 again. The sight made Leah’s fork bend.
Ayesha was leaning in toward Sarah, laughing so hard she covered her face. Zara clinked her soda cup with Marisol’s. Even Ravi and Tyrel were grinning at something Bharath had said.
“They were crying last week,” Leah whispered. “Like, actual tears. I must say that we were pretty hard on them ... and yet - here they are - laughing like nothing happened ... after we were mean to them!”
“Guess they caught the attention of Marisol and Sarah. They were with them last week right?,” Brianna said.
Leah ignored her. “How does that even happen? You don’t just ascend to Table 7. It’s like going from detention to the dean’s list overnight.”
Ryan squinted. “Maybe it’s extra credit.”
Brianna leaned back in her chair. “Maybe it’s love.”
Leah scoffed. “Please. They were pariahs. No one loves a pariah.”
“Apparently someone does,” Ryan said, nodding toward the group. “And she’s wearing his jacket.”
“You think they are part of the Prince of Pleasure’s women?” asked Leah doubtfully. “I mean, she is wearing his jacket.”
“Please!” said Ryan. “Four hot women? Are you insane? I can’t imagine handling either Marisol or Sarah alone. Four of them? And who’d want freaks like them?”
“Hmmm ... I guess they’re pity friends then?” said Brianna.
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