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Zeke's had them all. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. No big deal, really.
People did know. Everyone knew. Nobody would, of course, admit that she—or he, for Zeke wasn't actually that picky—had been amongst the nameless crowd of I-have-been-fucked-and-thrown-away, but it was obvious that at least half of Herrington High would have to plead guilty if their lives depended on it.
Everyone else would have been tarred and feathered for fucking around and breaking hearts the way he did, but not Zeke.
If he opened a public casting call entitled “Who's next?” they'd come running for it. All of them.
Not that he'd been the hottest guy around. Neither was he an attention seeker for the sake of attention itself, nor—which would have been an acceptable explanation for the phenomenon—was he the best lover one could ever imagine, or some other stupid shit like that.
He just was.
He did not care what anyone else wanted. He did not make promises. He did not fall in love. Ever.
Zeke would approach whomever he planned on taking home, telling her (or him) exactly what he was about to do and not to do with that person, spicing it with the addition that it was a one time offer—and that was it. It worked. Always. No exceptions.
Sometimes he would wonder what made him hunt for every panty in reach, and then he'd think maybe he was looking for someone to just be with. Every time he tried, though, he realized his loneliness was not the reason.
Zeke wasn't lonely.
He would then kick his current lover out as quickly as possible—Not your fault, blah, baby, you know I'm not one to be caught—and return to the school grounds to hook up with someone else the very next day.
No. He wasn't lonely at all.
Casey being the only one to say no didn't mean shit.