“I mean, you’d technically be meeting them on the way there,” I correct her, “but…if it makes any difference, it’s only for one night, and it’s all expenses paid. I’ll even pay you overtime for the trouble. Also, we’d be flying on my family’s private jet, so no long, boring waits at the airport.”
“Um, excuse me,” Ronnie says, popping up out of nowhere behind me like a human whack-a-mole. “Did I just hear the words ‘private jet’ and ‘free vacation’?”
I frown at her over my shoulder. “I mean, it’s notreallya vacation, but?—”
Ronnie slaps her palm over my mouth. “Say no more. If Lexi doesn’t go, I will.”
“Ohh, go where?” Andie asks, appearing on my other side.
I sigh behind the dainty hand still clamped around the bottom half of my face and shoot a pleading look at Blondie, who glances between the two possibly over-caffeinated, meddling gremlins she calls her friends. Someone clearly fed them after midnight.
Blondie exhales an equally exasperated breath. “Guess I better dig out my passport,” she grumbles. Then, rolling her eyes, she carries on walking.
The Phi Sigma party is already raging by the time we make it to the house, the bass from the music thumping so loudly I can feel the reverberations in the pavement under my feet.
In my peripheral vision, I swear I see Blondie flinch, but before I can ask if something’s wrong, she’s barreling ahead through the open front door, arms linked with Ronnie and Andie.
The three-story Colonial Revival property is just one in a long line of houses on Greek Row here on campus, but from the crowd inside, I think it’s safe to assume that the majority of Conwick is at this party tonight. I squeeze through the throng, making it a point to stick close to Blondie, who stays with herfriends, though I don’t begrudge her that. If anything, I think their presence is helping to ease the tension between us.
For the next few hours, we play beer pong, dance, and take countless photos for Ronnie’s Instagram (and mine), providing all the evidence I need to nip those nasty break-up rumors in the bud. Throughout the night, several people approach us, eager to meet my “girlfriend,” and I notice that, despite her increasingly intoxicated state and possible lingering annoyance with me, Blondie plays her role as well as ever, offering me well-timed smiles and pecks on the check when she thinks people might be looking. As the night wears on, I’m surprised I haven’t seen Mason come out of whatever dark hole he belongs in, but then it dawns on me that he probably took one look at Blondie and made a beeline for the door. Clearly, he remembers my threat that I would let her crush his balls, and is lurking elsewhere in the house, out of sight.
By the time midnight rolls around, I am all danced out. Considering I haven’t really been drinking, I lack the carefree buzz I now realize made these parties so fun, which means there’s nothing to mask the exhaustion steadily creeping in. Fanning my face with my giant yellow hat, I retreat to the outskirts of the room, where I can catch my breath, take in the general ambiance, and just people-watch for a few.
And yet…the only person I find myself watching is Blondie. About an hour ago, Andie peeled away from the trio to go spend some time with her boyfriend, leaving me alone with Blondie and Ronnie, who has gone to get refills on their drinks. Or at least, I thought she had. Based on the two Solo cups Blondie’s currently double-fisting, I think it’s safe to say she’s probably set on beverages for a while.
I watch her, transfixed, as she sways in the center of the frat’s spacious living room, that adorable monkey hood up over her mane of golden curls, eyes at half mast behind her glasses as shemoves to the beat of the music, her cheeks rosy from whatever liquid is in those red cups.
It dawns on me that I’ve never seen her like this—so at ease—and I can’t help feeling that it’s a damn shame that it took consuming copious amounts of alcohol to get her to relax. I wish I could see this side of her more, ideally in a sober setting. Though, I’d be lying if I said Damian Jr. wasn’t enjoying the show.
Her costume rides up an inch as she swivels her hips, bending her knees and gyrating in a motion that reminds me very closely of fucking. My throat goes dry when she turns and I glimpse the glistening sweat beading between her breasts.
Jesus, she doesn’t just look relaxed. She looks totally fuckable…which poses a problem. How the hell can I possibly forget about our kiss with her dancing likethat?
Was this what she looked like the last time I saw her at a party? If so, I think Past Damian can be forgiven for his previous transgression of breaking our one cardinal rule.
“No,” a voice barks beside me.
I startle, nearly dropping my gigantic hat as I jerk one step to the left, my eyes following the sound to Ronnie, who now stands less than a foot to my right, glaring at me. Where the shit did she come from? I swear, this girl really needs to stop popping up out of nowhere.
“Excuse me?” I croak.
“No,” she says again, her tone firm. “Actually, allow me to rephrase:fuckno.”
I stare at her blankly, totally lost. “Sorry, Red. You’re going to have to elaborate.”
Hostility darkens her features. “That look on your face just now when you were watching Lexi. Don’t eventhinkabout it.”
My attention shifts back to Blondie, who still dances alone in the middle of the room, completely oblivious to our conversation.
“I have no idea what you’re talking abou—” I start to say, but Ronnie interrupts me.
“Cut the shit. The cutesy couple’s costume. The trip to Mexico. She told me about the kiss in the library, dickweed, and I’m onto you. I knowexactlywhat you were thinking just now, and it’s not going to happen. Not on my watch.”
So, Blondiedidtell her friends about last night. Interesting behavior for someone who claims to want to forget it happened. But that’s beside the point.
“You have it all wrong,” I protest, though the words sound unconvincing. Probably because they’re a lie. After all, wasn’t I just imagining motor-boating Blondie’s perfect breasts? I shake the image from my head before Damian Jr. gets any ideas. “Buteven if you didn’t, I really don’t see how it’s any of your busine?—”
She cuts me off again, poking me hard in the chest. “Lexi is my best friend, whichmakesit my business. And as her best friend, I am warning you now that if you don’t behave like a fucking gentleman and stick to the agreement as planned, I will quite literally tear your balls from your body. I. Will. Tear. Them. Off.” She enunciates each word with painful staccato jabs to my pectoral muscle. “Right off. I’m not above going to prison, bitch, so bear that in mind before you mess this up for her.”
