Stepping into his space, I trail my other hand along his thigh. "But I'm sure whateveryou'vegot is no laughing matter, is it?" I coo at him.
As predicted, he can't stop himself from preening, but he does shoot back, "Well, now that you've warned me, do I have to wait for the inevitable 'is it in yet' instead?"
I laugh. Oh he's fun.
"Is that better or worse than 'never mind, I'll do it myself'?" My words are a challenge, and his eyes are heating up as he takes the bait and parries without hesitation.
"Well, if you do it yourself, that means I get to watch, right? So win/win."
"If I have to do it myself, your cock won't be in any position to enjoy it. I don't tolerate bad lays."
"Life's too short for bad lays," he agrees. "Good thing I'm not one. Wanna confirm and cement my reputation for the year?"
I really shouldn't be jumping in bed with the first — well, second — guy that I see, especially this early in the evening. There are other, much more important things that Ishouldbe doing while I'm here at Kappa Alpha Who Cares. But it's been a while since I've gotten laid, and it wouldn't be bad to see the less public areas of the frat house.
My fingers brush against the bump of my lucky charm in my pocket.
One day, onelay, won't make a difference.
"Sure," I answer, lifting up on my toes so I can brush my lips against his. "But if there's even a hint of whiskey dick, I will step on it."
Asch lets out a surprised laugh, but his eyes crinkle with amusement. "I'm not worried." He glances across the room, and following his gaze, I realize that we've been watched. "How interesting do you like it, Pandora?"
"I've been known to be adventurous," I answer, my eyes notleaving the figure across the room, even as he starts walking towards us.
Blaze.
Blaze Bouchard.
His photo was plastered on the frat's website, highlighting exemplary frat brothers. He'd written several articles for their website about Greek life and brotherhood, blah blah.
That's not the interesting part about him.
No, it's the Bouchard name. The Bouchard Syndicate, run by George Bouchard. Everyone knows that George Bouchard is utterly ruthless. He’s the most powerful crime lord in the south, with his hands in every type of black-market deal. Weapons, drugs, people? He sells it all. And he doesn’t tolerate competition. Anybody who tries to encroach on his territory ends up as a bloody mess or disappears entirely—wrapped up and fed to alligators in the swamplands outside New Valence, no doubt.
And Blaze is the Bouchard Syndicate heir.
His family funds Dyschord University, and his name is plastered all over it. He and his family might not be themostpowerful people, on an individual level, here at the University, but no one can deny that his family just about owns everything about it.
That also makes him my top suspect.
"Asch," he greets easily. "Who's this?"
I roll my eyes. "Oryou could ask me. The person who you want to know about."
He smiles at me. It's a nice smile. Charming. Friendly and welcoming.
Yet another deceptive face.
"Sorry," he says smoothly. "I thought you knew you were included in that. My name is Blaze. And you are?"
"I'm Pandora," I answer cheerfully, giving him a wide smile. We both can hide our shark teeth behind pretty smiles.
"Pandora? As in, Pandora's Box?" Blaze glances from my eyes tomy crotch. "Is yourboxas deadly as the myths?" he asks, not breaking eye contact with it.
Asch groans, elbowing him hard in the side. "For fuck's sake, Bouchard."
I burst out laughing. "Oh my god. That's the worst joke yet. I mean, I thought I'd heard all of the Pandora's box jokes, but why would mycuntbe deadly? You think I've got some sort of vagina dentata situation going on?"
