Bragan Boys (Bragan University Boxset)

by Gianna Gabriela

  She stays by my side the whole time. I’m glad she’s honoring our agreement. She also knows that I’m not good at meeting people, nor do I have any interest in meeting any of her other friends. I don’t want her to feel like she has to get friends for me, or share them with me. I’ll make them on my own. Eventually.

  We reach the house, and the music is blasting. The front yard is full of people, and it looks like the house has vomited college students. This is the spillover. The thought of walking into a packed house makes me anxious. I want to turn around and go back home. But I push those thoughts down, and force my feet forward. Today I will be valiant, even if tomorrow I go back to being a coward.

  “Are you ready for your first college party?” Kiya whispers, or attempts to whisper in my ear. She’s so eager that she actually ends up yelling.

  “I was expecting a small party. This one is more like a club,” I whisper-yell back.

  “Yeah, this is the athletes’ house, so everyone wants to be at their parties. They tend to get out of control.”

  I eye Kiya suspiciously. Of course she would leave out this information when she asked me to come out tonight.

  Kiya rolls her eyes, grabs me by the arm and shouts, “Let’s go.” She says something else, too, but her words are drowned out by the loud music coming from the house.

  If you have ever seen any of the movies about college students and their parties, you’d be happy—or sad—to know the depictions are correct. From the moment I enter through the doors, I spot beer-pong in one corner, flip-cup in the other, very explicit dancing, and four guys rolling kegs into what I think might be the kitchen. The house is even more packed than it appeared to be from the outside. Still, I am able to make out some familiar faces, which I didn’t expect to see, from my summer classes.

  “Alright, you did it! You are in. Now let’s go to the kitchen and get ourselves some drinks. You know what they say about alcohol,” Kiya exclaims.

  “Um, as a matter of fact, I have no idea what they say about alcohol. Enlighten me, genius?” I mock.

  “Best social lubricant!” Kiya yells, laughing out-loud and drawing attention her way.

  We zigzag our way into the kitchen and grab two beers. They are canned and seem like a much safer option than the mystery punch. We pop open the cans and pour the beer into red cups.

  We sip our drinks as we walk around the house. It’s rather large, and we’re looking for somewhere we can stand comfortably. When we find a spot that isn’t too tight, we hang out and dance to the music. I’m surprised to find that I’m truly enjoying myself.

  “How are you liking it so far?” Kiya shouts over the music.

  “B.U. or the party?” I ask in a similarly loud voice.

  “Both.”

  “Well, it’s not too bad. I really like the school and most of my classes so far.” I pause. “And this party is fun. Thanks for forcing me to come.”

  “You’re welcome! See, this is why you should always listen to me.”

  “Hmm, I’ll think about that.” No way am I committing to anything.

  We keep dancing, our hips swinging and swaying, matching the beat. This isn’t the kind of music I’m used to listening to. Back home—back in California—we’d jam to Bachata and Merengue. This isn’t bad, though. Just your typical radio-crap. Still, it’s good enough to dance to.

  Kiya raises her red cup in the air and flips it, showing me it’s empty. “I need a refill,” she screams.

  I look down at my cup and, disappointed at its lack of contents, look back at Kiya. She grabs my empty cup and signals to the kitchen. I nod, and she waltzes off, leaving me to guard our space.

  I’m feeling more at ease now, so I don’t mind being alone for a few minutes. Although a lot is happening around me, people seem too wrapped up in themselves—and each other— to pay attention to me.

  Across the room, I spot a red-headed guy making his way in my direction. I look behind me, knowing it was stupid since Kiya and I had chosen a spot near the wall. I begin to panic internally.

  Like legit.

  I want to bolt, but I stop myself. That would clearly be overreacting and Kiya would not let me live it down.

  I force myself to stand there as the red-head, who I eventually recognize as a guy from class—the same guy I’m in a group with, Hayes—closes the distance. He gets closer…and closer… And then he is directly in front of me. He isn’t bad looking. He actually looks good.

  “Hey, I’m Zack. What’s your name?” he asks, his words slurring a little.

  “Mia. We’re in class together, remember? In the same group, actually,” I say, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear—a nervous habit.

  “Hey, Mia, my friend over there wants to know if he can have your number?” Zack states inches from my ear.

  “Oh,” I respond. I look behind him to see who he might be referring to. I spot a tall muscular guy with short blond hair.

  He coughs, bringing my attention back to him. “Yeah,” Then he straightens and adds, “He wants to know where he can get a hold of me in the morning.”

  COLTON

  I hear her before I see her. Her laughter fills the room, or at least my ears, even over the sound of the music. My eyes pinpoint her in the crowd. She is bent at the waist, laughing hard at whatever Hayes has just said.

  I guess she doesn’t dislike everyone after all.

  Just me.

  Hayes is an asshole. Scratch that. A lucky asshole.

  When she finally stands upright and regains her composure, her face is flushed. Zack puts his hand on her waist, edging closer to her, and whispers something else. My fingers twitch while Mia just tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

  MIA

  “There’s more where that came from,” Zack shout-whispers in my ear.

  “I bet there is,” I respond, finally catching my breath after laughing so hard my sides hurt. “Do you use that line on every girl?” I ask, interested whether it usually works. Zack is as cocky as I expected him to be when I saw him sitting next to Colton in class. What I didn’t expect was the cheesy pick-up line.

  “If it works, why change it?” He shrugs, a smirk on his face. I bet he thinks it’s swoon-worthy.

  I pat him on the shoulder. “I guess you’d better go and try them on someone else, buddy.”

  He feigns disappointment, puts his hand on his heart, and mutters, “If you change your mind, find me.” He winks and walks away.

  Well, that was interesting.

  I look up to find Kiya making her way back to me. With two drinks in hand, I’m afraid she’ll drop my beer as she sways to the music.

  Kiya hands me my cup. “Here you go.”

  “About time!” I exclaim. “I think I’m sober now.” I give her a look of horror.

  “I would’ve come sooner, your majesty, but you were busy with Zack.” She winks at me.

  I sigh. “You know red-head? Why am I not surprised?”

  “Red-head? Nice nickname. Very original. And because I know everyone.”

  “Sarcasm, Kiya…sarcasm.”

  “Whatever. What was that about?” Kiya inquires, lifting her brows suggestively.

  “Nothing. He wanted to test out his pick-up lines,” I reply.

  “Seriously?” Kiya chuckles.

  “Yup.”

  “Aaaaand?”

  “Aaaaand, nothing. I told him to go and try it on someone else.”

  Kiya laughs out loud. “I would’ve loved to have witnessed that. Way to take a shot at his ego.” Kiya lifts her hand in the air and I high-five her.

  “You know how I do.”

  The party gets bigger and louder. Kiya and I talk about class, school, and life. It’s interesting how a place with so much chaos can lend itself to the deepest of conversations.

  Two beers later, I get my buzz back. My body is relaxed, and not in its perpetual state of vigilance.

  Not bad, Collins, not bad.

  “Hey, Kiya! Come and play,” a tall, handsome,
dark-skinned guy yells. He is standing next to a beer pong table, the same table I had spotted when we walked into the house.

  “Nah, Blake, I’m good!” Kiya responds. I know she wants to because the moment he directs the question at her, she looks like she’s going to melt.

  “Oh, come on. You and your friend can play. I need to beat someone new,” he says cockily, walking towards us.

  Kiya turns down the invitation once more.

  “Alright, I understand. You’re afraid you’ll get your ass kicked,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

  Kiya rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right, that’s totally why, Blake.”

  “We’ll play,” I announce, letting my competitive spirit get the better of me. Kiya turns to face me, a questioning look in her eyes. I nod in confirmation, and Kiya’s eyebrows almost hit the ceiling.

  “I’m game. Let’s shut him up, Kiya.” The words pour out of my mouth uncontrollably. Shit, I’m on fire. Talk about liquid courage.

  “Alright then girls, let’s play. But to make this fair, we’ll do guy-girl teams.”

  I narrow my eyes, my feminist blood boiling. Blake thinks we have zero chance of winning, like we are doomed without a guy in our team.

  “We’re good. Kiya and I versus you and whoever you want,” I shoot back.

  Shit, what the heck am I getting myself into? My mouth and brain aren’t connecting. Clearly. Kiya isn’t helping either. She is watching the exchange, her gaze switching back and forth like she is watching a tennis match.

  “Shit. Alright, sweetheart. Don’t cry when we whoop your asses.” Blake turns and approaches the table, and we follow behind him. We wait for the current game to end, and as soon as it’s over, Blake requests that both teams clear the table. Well, request is putting it nicely; he shoos them away.

  “Zack, come and be my partner,” Blake shouts across the room “Let’s show these chicks who’s boss.”

  I cringe at the word ‘chick’ and the machismo display.

  Clearly irritated at the interruption, Zack looks at Blake before his eyes roam over my body even though he’s with another girl. He lifts his shoulders and says, “No, I’m good,” then returns to his primary task of shoving his tongue down a brunette’s throat. I guess I deserve that for laughing at his first attempts.

  “Blake, if you’re going to challenge someone and talk shit, you should at least have a partner, buddy,” Kiya says, batting her eyelashes and flipping her hair in her signature Kiya-flirting move.

  “I’ll play,” a familiar voice says from behind us. In my drunkenness, I assume I’m imagining it. I had almost made it through the whole night without thinking of him. I stand still, which is apparently my go-to move when I don’t know what to do.

  “Awesome. Thanks, Hunter,” Blake says, confirming my suspicions. “You girls might as well give up now,” he adds while scooting closer to Kiya. She flirtatiously puts her hands on his chest and shoves him away.

  While I just stand there…again.

  Frozen in place.

  There can be other Hunters. There must be.

  While I convince myself that it can be a brother or a cousin, I feel the warmth of his body as he approaches us. A beautiful scent comes with it, and the smell is powerful, strong, but in the best of ways—fitting of an alpha-male.

  Colton passes by me. I watch his back as he makes his way to Blake, who is standing in front of the table. But I don’t just watch. I gawk. I check him out. Although dressed in the most basic of outfits, he still looks like a Greek god. Unreal.

  I follow his body with my eyes. From his feet to his head. I bite my lip in admiration, and attempt to push down the feelings that are quickly rising within me. When I finally dare to look at his face, he is also biting his lip, deep in thought. Kiya nudges my shoulder, breaking me out of my trance. Thankfully, he doesn’t catch me staring—again—since he seems to be strategizing with Blake. Good. The last thing I need is for him to see that he affects me in any way.

  “You ready?” Kiya asks me.

  “Let’s do this.”

  Game on, bitches.

  Blake sets up the cups as Colton stands there with his arms crossed, biceps straining against his t-shirt. He never once glances in my direction. If he’s noticed it’s me he’s playing against, he doesn’t show it—he probably doesn’t even care.

  “Alright, I assume you know how the game works, so we’ll skip the introduction,” Blake states. We both give him the thumps up, accompanied by an eye roll. I’m going to have too much fun kicking his ass.

  “Okay, ladies, let’s play!” Blake excitedly shouts. Kiya and I take our places.

  “Ladies first,” Blake says mockingly, dropping into a curtsey.

  It makes me laugh a bit. I put my hand on Kiya’s shoulder, indicating she should go first.

  Kiya steps up to the plate, takes her shot and misses. By a wide margin. I see the grin on Colton and Blake’s faces. Like full teeth out, triumphant smile that I oh-so-desperately want to wipe from their faces.

  I take Kiya’s place and hold the ping-pong ball between my thumb and index finger. I take a deep breath and take my shot. Like Kiya’s, the ball skims over all the cups and bounces directly onto the floor.

  The boys laugh. I say boys, because they are not men. I’m sure our rough start has made them believe this is going to be an easy win. But not tonight. What’s the saying? Oh yeah, ‘slow and steady wins the race’, or like mami used to say, ‘el que rie de ultimo rie mejor’: This game is far from over.

  Blake marches up to the table next, stretching and then fake yawns like this game is boring him. He throws the ball and it goes into one of the cups. Kiya takes the penalty, saving me by gulping down the first drink in under a minute. Next up is Colton. Instead of staring at his eyes, I look only at the ping-pong ball resting between his fingers. I look at it like it’s the most interesting thing in the room. I also look at his hands. Big strong hands. Working hands maybe. He releases the ball and it bounces off the first two cups, falling into the third. I mentally curse myself and begin gulping down the beers. I finish two, while Kiya chugs the third.

  I am beginning to regret my decision to play.

  COLTON

  Her cheeks are as red as apples. I can’t tell if it’s from the two beers she’s just finished chugging, or something else. She’s less guarded now though, and the permanent barrier she has erected has disappeared. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but she seems to be, dare I say, enjoying herself. I wonder if this is the first time she doesn’t give a fuck about anything or anyone around her.

  I watch her once more, noting how she squints her eyes as she concentrates on the cups in front of her. She is all in, I realize, her competitive spirit taking over. She looks ready to attack. She misses her shot once more, and huffs in frustration. She’s pissed. She’s also hot. It’s cute to see how much more pissed off she gets every time Blake and I make our shots. She really is as competitive as they get; I would recognize it anywhere.

  This newfound knowledge is going to go a long way. This is my chance to get through to her. I feel as though all the stupid parties I have gone to have prepared me for this exact moment. I am going to own this game, and in doing so, hopefully get Mia’s attention. If I’m honest, that’s why I decided to play this game to begin with. I am drawn to her. I moved away when I saw her with Zack, but like a magnet, she’s pulled me back in. Even from afar, I am aware of her every move.

  I return my attention to the game; it’s my turn. I concentrate as much as I can, and it helps that I’m pretty much sober. I take my shot, aiming it at the cup furthest from me, and closest to Mia. She just stands there, head bent with her right hand on her hip, staring in disbelief at the cup holding the ping pong ball.

  A few minutes later, the game is over. Although the girls started doing better, Blake and I won. I can’t help but smile. Mia looks mad, like she just lost an Olympic event. I fist bump Blake, grab a cup from the table and toss down the beer. When I look back up, I see Bla
ke making his way to the girls. I almost follow.

  “I told you. No chance,” I hear him say as he puts his hand on Kiya’s cheek.

  She is tall, dark-skinned and attractive. She smiles at Blake’s gesture and shoves him playfully. I can tell she doesn’t care too much about winning or losing; she just wants to flirt with him.

  Mia remains behind them. She looks guarded again, her eyes roaming, taking in everything around her. She searches the room, but never looks at me.

  I’m about to approach her, to get her attention once more. I crave my next fix. I take a step in her direction when I feel someone’s—a girl’s—arm wrap around my hips, while her chest pushes into my back. I turn around quickly and see Abby standing there. But before I can say anything, she rises onto her toes and presses her mouth against mine.

  Tasting the cinnamon fireball on her lips means only one thing: she’s drunk. Her hands snake into my hair. It only takes a soft sound escaping from her lips to bring me back to reality, a reality where I remember who’s kissing me and what she wants. I immediately pull away, removing her hands from my hair. She looks at me, attempting a seductive smile. But I don’t react. I just watch her. I don’t need to remind her that we’re done. She can see it in my eyes.

  Her smile falls and is replaced by a pout. She realizes I’m not going to give in, so she puts her mask back on flawlessly. It’s the mask she uses to hide behind. The mask that shows others that she doesn’t care about being rejected. Flipping her hair, she walks away.

  I stand there feeling like an asshole. I know better than to be with someone who wants more, expects more from me, yet I did it anyway. I know better than to involve myself with women. I was taught better than that by life.

  The room is suddenly too full for my liking. I feel enclosed, caged, suffocated. So, I make my way to the backyard. I see Abby talking to some of her sorority sisters in the kitchen. I ignore her attempt to catch my attention again, and open the door to the backyard. I immediately feel relief. The breeze, and the stars are my haven. I sit down near the fire again. It’s empty out here, everyone preferring the noise of the party to the peaceful sound of the outdoors. I put my feet on top of a stool and take a deep breath.