by Wood, Vivian
I’d like to be that kind of scandal.
The thought throbs through me even while she stands there, studying me with her dark hair and her brown eyes. That’s what has my attention now—not the plain gray t-shirt she wears, or the skinny jeans that hug her ass. That contrast between the sunlight in her hair and the darkness in her eyes.
She shifts her weight from foot to foot. “So, I—”
“Came to the wrong address?” I smirk at her, my heart throwing itself against my rib cage. “I don’t think there’s anybody at Rose House for you.” There isn’t. There shouldn’t be. God, how many girls have I ushered over this doorstep?
Emily presses her lips together, her cheeks going pink. “Actually, I—”
“Isn’t seeing me in class enough? Speaking of, we should catch up there instead.” I push the door halfway closed.
She reaches out her hand and stops it, her palm firm against the door. “I’m not here for you.”
I don’t want to let her in. Some strange protective instinct grips me, a band around my chest. Like letting her in might be too far. She’s a freshman on campus, with none of the cynicism the rest of us have.
Her words finally register. She’s not here for me.
“Who are you here for, then?”
“Max.” There’s a slight pressure against my own hand. She’s pressing on the door, opening it another inch. “He invited me here to go over our projects from class.”
“What class?”
“What does it matter?” Her cheeks darken another several shades, but she lifts her chin a fraction of an inch higher. It’s brave, but then another emotion flashes across her face.“We have a nonfiction writing class together.”
“You’re here.” Max’s feet clatter down the stairs behind me. “What are you doing, Wolf? Get out of the doorway and let her in.” He nudges me aside with his shoulder and it takes everything I have in me not to shove him back. “Hey, Emily. Come on in.”
She shoots me a look from under her eyelashes and steps over the threshold. My breath catches in my throat. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Max gives me a salute. “We can go in here.” He motions toward the living room across from the den. “Plenty of places to sit—”
Emily’s taking it all in. The interior of Rose House is a love letter to hardwood, which is kept polished to a high shine by a rotating staff of housekeepers. A staircase curves up to the second floor. She breathes deep and I echo her on instinct, but I can’t smell anything except the breeze she’s brought in from outside and her shampoo.
“Who are you hiding over there?” shouts Carter from back near the kitchen. He saunters out into the entryway and I see him seeing Emily. He straightens up, like being taller is going to give him an advantage. Then he moves forward, switching his beer to his left hand so he can offer her his right. She takes it, her hand disappearing into his. “Carter Holloway,” he tells her. “I hope you’re not here to see Wolf. He’s an asshole.”
“We’ve met,” Emily says, darting a glance at me.
Carter laughs. “Oh, so you know already.”
She looks down. “I wouldn’t say—”
“It’s all right. We all know it. Don’t we, Max?”
Max sighs. “You guys are impossible. Come on, Emily. Let’s sit down.”
“Before you’ve met Ellis? No way. Ellis,” he bellows up the stairs. “Come down here. Max brought someone over.”
A muffled shout filters down from the second floor.
“I don’t know what you’re saying, but come down here and be a fucking gentleman,” shouts Carter.
Irritation burns up from my core. I should be the one calling everyone together, if that’s what needs to happen. And it doesn’t need to happen. I want my hands back on the wheel.
“Don’t wait for him.” I take a half-step in front of Carter. “This one’s drunk anyway.” I jab a thumb over my shoulder at Carter. “Get on with your stuff.”
“We will,” says Max, and he turns back to Emily, asking her a question about whatever it is they’re going to be working on. She looks at me one more time, her gaze lingering for the space of a heartbeat, and follows Max into the living room.
“Is she coming to Fall Harvest?” Carter lifts the beer to his lips and takes a swig.
“No.”
“Fuck off, man. I think she should come.”
“We’re not inviting every freshman on campus.”
He lifts the beer in her general direction. “She’s not every freshman on campus. Is she, Wolf?”
I glare down at him until he loses the bravado in the set of his jaw and covers it with a long drink of beer. The last thing I’m going to do in this moment is admit to Carter that I can’t stop thinking about her.
Ellis comes down the stairs. “What do you want? I’m busy.” He comes to a stop next to Carter. “Awww. Did you miss me?”
“Do you guys have somewhere else to go?” Max is twisted around on the loveseat, his eyebrows raised. “We’re trying to work.”
“Hey, Emily,” Carter calls. “This is Archer Ellis.”
“Oh. Oh,” says Ellis, and then he swaggers his way into the living room to shake Emily’s hand. The whole thing is sickening.
“Arch,” I call. “Come on.”
“Come get a drink,” adds Carter. “Wolf needs one.”
“I don’t.” I need to get the hell away from all of them. And with Emily sitting in the living room, I need to stay close. Ellis jogs out of the living room, shoves past us, and goes down the hall toward the kitchen.
I force myself to pick up my feet and go after him. “Yes,” says Carter. “Et Charonis unum. Let’s fucking drink.” He stops, pivots. “But first I’m going to go invite her to Fall Harvest.”
I take him by the arm, my grip tighter than strictly necessary, and drag him toward the kitchen. “Leave her alone,” I growl.
Carter shakes me off. “What’s with you, man?”
I laugh to cover the tension. “You’re right. I need a drink. Don’t make me wait.”
Carter’s the first to pull a beer from the fridge and pull back the tub. But no matter how loud he talks, trying to one-up Ellis about the party, I can’t stop thinking about Emily.
11
Emily
Wear black. Look hot.
Those are the only thing that I could get Cassandra to say about dressing for tonight. Pulling down the hem of my dress, I turn and look at myself in the mirror for the fifth time. I’m wearing a super short black bodycon dress. Staring at my thin frame, I sigh. I’m all hipbones and clavicles, not nearly enough boobs and ass. And standing in these tall black heels just reinforces the fact that I look like a skinny toothpick.
Unless I want to start stuffing my bra, this is the best I’m going to look. Sighing, I put the finishing touches on my eyeliner. As I’m staring into the mirror with my eyes wide, a knock comes on the door, startling me.
I don’t know anybody except Cassandra, and she lives in another dorm altogether. Assuming it is someone looking for Lily, I open it. “Hey, Lily isn’t—”
But it isn’t someone looking for Lily. Instead, I open the door to find Matthew standing there. Dressed in black slacks and a black button up, he’s taller than I remember. His mop of dark curls is ever-present, though. His cheeks flush red as he stands there.
“Hey,” he says.
“Oh! Uh… hey!” I say.
“Wow. You look…” He swallows. “Uh, wow.”
Now it’s my turn to blush. “Oh. Um, thanks. I was just… trying it on.”
He holds out a familiar looking oversized black tarot card to me. “I wanted to invite you to a mixer that the Skulls and Thorns are having tonight, but it looks like you already have plans.”
“Mmm! No. I mean, yes… I’m already going to Rose House.” I trip over my tongue half a dozen times just trying to get a thought out. “I’m going with Cassandra Westwood. Do you know her?”
His gaze sharpens, his disap
pointment evident. “Yeah. We went to the same high school for a while.”
I feel like I’ve let him down somehow. “Oh. Well… I’m about to head over there. Do you want to walk with me?”
He perks up a bit. “Yeah? I mean, sure. If you’re already going over there…”
I smile at him. It is possible that I’ve met my match, awkward-wise.
“Let me just grab my purse.”
I let the door close for a second while I put the tiny black purse strap over my head, then I’m ready. Stepping out into the hall again, I blush as several guys stumble past me, turning their heads to check out the tiny black dress I am wearing. Biting my lip, I have second thoughts about the dress.
Is it too much? Too revealing? Too sexy?
As if he can read my mind, Matthew compliments my dress. “That dress is seriously banging.”
I glance up at him, my cheeks warming again. He’s cute, in a geeky sort of way. He will likely grow into his ears and oversized nose. “Thanks, I think. Cassandra didn’t give me much to go on when I asked what I should wear tonight.”
He arches a brow, guiding me down the hall. “You will fit in with the other girls, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Of course that’s what I’m worried about but I’m not used to being called out like that. I duck my head to hide my embarrassment. Matthew seems to notice that he’s made some sort of gaffe and falls silent. As we walk out of the dorm into the balmy evening, I feel a tension growing between us.
Think of something to say. Don’t let things get weird between you two.
I clear my throat and look over at Matthew. He looks like he’s going through some sort of silent mental anguish.
“So how are you connected with the Skulls?” is the first thing that pops into my mind.
“I have been tapped by them.” He glances at me and sees my puzzlement. “They selected me to be a member… assuming that I do all the things required of me. As of yesterday, I am a pledge. They are like a fraternity in the way that they make pledges go through a trial period, just to make sure that it’s a good fit.”
We walk under the shadow of one of the college’s many ancient oak trees. I’m concentrating on walking in my impossibly high heels, only partly listening to what Matthew tells me.
I frown as we start to walk down the cobblestone-paved sidewalk. “Is there hazing? That’s what I always hear about whenever one of those fraternities gets in the newspapers.”
Matthew frowns, his voice suddenly deep. “No. They told me to bring a pretty girl tonight… and entrusted me with this.”
He pulls an object out of his pocket to show me. It is a skeleton key. Long and black and made of heavy wrought iron, it is identical to the one that I found one my very first day at Campbell. The very same one that is wrapped in a tissue and sitting on my dresser as we speak.
My eyes widen. “What is that?”
“It’s a key,” he says with a shrug. “I haven’t learned exactly what it’s for yet, though. I expect that information will come with time.”
As we near Rose House, my mind is filled with questions.
Does every pledge get a key like that?
What does it mean that I found a lost one?
And most of all, what door does the key unlock?
Before I can give voice to any questions though, I see Cassandra heading straight toward me. She’s wearing a long, witchy-looking black dress and a cute broad-brimmed black hat. Her dress is stunning, covering the essentials while leaving the rest bared in peekaboo black lace.
If her dress code was just to look hot and wear black, she nailed it.
“Ems! Emily, you look amazing!!” she cries, running up and hugging me.
“You too,” I mumble into her long dark hair. She pulls back and then turns to Matthew. Confused recognition flares on her beautiful features.
“Don’t I know you?” she asks Matthew, cocking her head.
He turns red. “Yeah. Matthew Gold. We went to Waltham together for a while.”
Her expression only grows more puzzled. But already Matthew is growing restless, looking toward the front of Rose House. Lots of beautiful people wearing black outfits are disappearing inside the gray stone building. Matthew looks uncomfortable for a second.
Then he pins me with a look. His eyes are green, I realize suddenly. I hadn’t noticed before. “Can I tell the guys that I invited you?”
“Umm… yes?” I say. “I mean, you did invite me. Just not first.”
“Great. I mean, I’ll take what I can get, right?” With that he turns and heads toward the house.
I look at Cassandra, who has a little smirk on her face.
“What?” I ask, exasperated.
She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say anything about it. Come on, let’s go in.”
She links arms with me and strolls toward the door.
12
Emily
I climb the stone steps nervously, even with Cassandra on my arm. A few people are queued up before us so we come to a stop at the end of the line. Peering ahead, I see two pretty girls decked out with heaps of garlands of every color. As the line moves forward, I watch the girls each greet a guest and put the delicate rings of flowers on their necks.
They murmur something to each guest, but I can’t make out what they are saying. Cassandra drops my hand but I cling to her as we step up to the darkened doorway.
“Joyous Harvest,” one of the girls greets me. She bends close to my ear, whispering. “The deeper you go into the party, the more you are consenting to.”
I blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She just smiles and puts a garland of bright white flowers over my head. I touch the garland, uncertain, but Cassandra just pulls me into the party. We are in a long foyer of sorts, all done in gleaming dark wood.
Cass seems to know where she’s going. She pulls me to the left into a huge open space. Immediately I am reminded by the fact that I am overwhelmed by the size of the house. I felt the same way when I visited here before, a breathless kind of awe. Each room that we walk into seems bigger than the last with high ceilings and hardwood floors. There is loud pop music playing and the lights are low. A ring of couches around the room makes me think this is probably a social area.
There are a dozen people in here, laughing and talking over the music. Cass pulls me toward a folding table along the wall where I’m presented with two punch bowls full of bright blue and dark pink liquid.
Cass doesn’t ask for anything. She just pours me a plastic cup full of the dark pink punch and spoons a ladleful of bright blue punch for herself. I don’t understand exactly what she’s thinking, pouring us different brews, but I assume it has something to do with the fact that she has a bright blue garland on.
“Cheers!” she says, winking as she clinks our cups together.
Then she takes a big sip, her nose wrinkling. I smell my cup, but it just smells fruity. Taking a small sip, I think I detect the taste of alcohol in the punch, but I’m not sure.
Before I can ask her she spots someone across the room she wants to talk to. “I’ll be back in just a second.”
She’s gone in a whirl of black lace, vanishing from sight almost as soon as she walks into the crowd. I take another sip of my drink and look around, trying not to panic. The new Emily is outgoing and smooth. She wouldn’t freak out right now, I remind myself.
A tall guy with dark, chin length hair comes in the room. Although he’s dressed similarly to the other guys at this party, his shirt is slightly more stylish and his pants more fitted. I can’t help but check him out.
Fudge. Do I know him? He looks familiar.
Then he looks my way, his dark blue eyes settling on me. He smiles, flashing two perfect dimples, and starts to head my way.
Oh god, please don’t let me do anything to embarrass myself. Or is being at this party alone already a big no-no? Is he coming over to tell me to leave?
Before I can fully panic, he st
icks out his hand. “Hey. I’m Max. Don’t we have nonfiction writing together?”
I blink. Of course I know Max. We just worked on a project together. I just tuck my hair behind my ear and then shake his hand.
“I’m Emily?”
It comes out as a question rather than an assertion of any kind.
Max grins down at me. “I know. I’m kidding.”
My cheeks stain with red. “Oh. I mean… very funny?”
Again, a question rather than a statement. Max wiggles his eyebrows. I blink up at him. I don’t fully get his sense of humor yet, but I really, really want to.
Max is gorgeous, by anyone’s standards. He is very tall, which I’m a total sucker for. I also see that he’s got a silver nose ring. It makes him look cosmopolitan and cool, like he’s so hip it’s painful. He looks like a frigging model.
And then it clicks into place. The reason he looked familar to me in class. I know him because he rescued my bra for me, the first day when I was locked out of my dorm. Cheeks reddening, I bite my lip.
I really hope he doesn’t remember that but from the way that he’s looking at me, I’m willing to bet he does. Max scratches his chin and I realize that he had a beard then, whereas today he’s smooth shaven.
“Doctor Renaud is really something else, huh?” he says, shaking his head a little. “I can’t believe she assigned us a whole book to read before the next class.”
He’s giving me an out, for which I am eternally grateful. I can talk about classes all day. It’s my forte.
“Yes! I mean, I’m already almost done with Into The Wild, though. It’s sooooo good. The writing is really… mmm… meticulous. And the guy, Chris—”
“Whoa! Spoilers!” Max says. His eyes crinkle and he holds his hands up. “I haven’t started it yet. I’ve been engrossed in the latest Neal Stephenson book and I can’t read anything else until I finish it.”
My breath catches. “I love Neal Stephenson. I’ve read his Baroque Cycle like four times.”
Max grins again. “Have you read Anathem?”