Chapter 1
I LEAN AGAINST the wall in the crowded living room of Beta Theta whatever-the-fuck, nursing a lukewarm beer I don't even want. The music is too loud—some generic EDM remix that makes the floorboards vibrate under my feet—and the air is stuffy with the mingled scents of beer, sweat, and someone's too-strong cologne.
I'm already regretting letting my friends drag me to this party. At least Monica is good company, even if I'm technically here to make sure she's safe—something I promised Jake, her boyfriend and my best friend.
"I still can't believe Jake made the team," Monica says, grinning proudly, the red solo cup leaving a slight impression on her glossy lips.
I snort, wiping condensation from my cup with my thumb. "Please, like there was ever any doubt. The guy's been playing since—" I cut off as movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention.
Through the sea of swaying bodies and raised cups, across the room, that dickhead Asher Marshall is staring in our direction.
No, notourdirection.
At Monica.
Fucking great. Just what we need.
My jaw clenches as I watch Asher take another sip of his drink, the dim party lights casting shadows across his angular face, his eyes never leaving Monica. The guy's reputation precedes him—if there's a notch to be had on a bedpost, Asher's probably claimed it.
"Earth to Philip?" Monica waves her hand in front of my face, her bracelets jingling. "You okay there?"
"Yeah, sorry." I force my attention back to her, but my mind keeps drifting to Asher. The guy's been a thorn in my side since freshman year when he "accidentally" spilled an entire pitcher of beer on me during rush week, ruining my favorite white shirt. The fact that he's now eyeing my best friend's girlfriend like she's his next conquest makes my blood boil.
Monica follows my gaze, pushing her dark hair behind her ear. "Oh. He's in my Advanced Lit class. Really smart actually—"
"He's an asshole," I cut her off, perhaps too sharply. Monica raises her eyebrows at my tone, and I immediately feel bad. "Sorry, just... bad blood between our frats."
But it's more than that. There's something about Asher that gets under my skin in a way I can't explain. Maybe it's the way he carries himself like he owns the place, weaving through the crowd with easy confidence, or that irritating smirk that seems permanently plastered on his face.
When Asher's tongue darts out to wet his lips while still staring at Monica, the strobe lights briefly illuminating his face, I've had enough. I push off the wall, the peeling paint rough against my palm, and grab Monica's empty solo cup. "Need a refill?"
"Oh, yeah, thanks!"
"Be right back." I set my jaw, already plotting my route to intercept Asher before he can make a move on Monica. Time to remind this asshole which territory he's on.
As I make my way across the room, dodging drunk dancers and stepping over a spilled drink, I can feel Asher's eyes shift to me, that infuriating smirk growing wider. My hands curl into fists. This isn't going to be pretty.
I shoulder my way through the crowd, my jaw set tight enough to make my teeth hurt. The closer I get to Asher, the more my anger builds, especially when I see that trademark smirk growing wider with each step I take.
Asher's leaning against a bookshelf, looking perfectly at ease in his fitted black t-shirt and dark jeans. As I approach, he opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, jabbing a finger in his direction. "Back the fuck off."
Asher's eyebrows shoot up, genuine confusion crossing his features. "Excuse me?"
"Don't play dumb. I've seen you staring." My voice comes out as a growl, barely audible over the pounding music. I take another step closer, entering his personal space. "Monica's off limits."
A beat passes, then Asher's confusion morphs into amusement. His lips twitch, and then he's laughing—actually laughing—the sound rich and deep. "Oh, man," he wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. "This is precious."
"What's so fucking funny?"
Asher's laughter dies down, but his eyes remain bright with mischief. He pushes off the bookshelf, straightening to hisfull height. "You're right about one thing," Asher says, his voice dropping lower. "I was definitely staring."
Then his eyes drag down my body, slow and deliberate, before climbing back up to meet my gaze. The intensity in that look sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Just not at Monica."
My brain goes blank. I blink once, twice, trying to process. The bass of the music seems to fade into the background as my mind struggles to catch up with what just happened.
Wait. Wait wait wait.
My eyes snap to Asher's face, searching for signs that this is some elaborate joke. But all I find is that heated gaze still fixed on me, dark and unmistakably hungry.
