by Alley Ciz
Deer caught in headlights is too tame of a description for how those of us in the room and those on the call freeze.
What the hell?
How does she know that?
It’s then I realize JT is wearing a UK hat. But…still…
“And—oh my god!” Q whips around to face me, staring at me like it’s the first time she’s seeing me. “You’re his flyer PF.” She smacks her forehead. “Oh…my god.” Another rapid blink. “You are! You’re PF Dennings.”
Em rushes over and shuts the door to my room. I wondered where Bailey was, but now I’m grateful she isn’t here to witness this.
“How?” One word. That’s all JT—or any of us—manage to get out.
“I cheered for Cheer Athletics.” Q’s hand splays across her chest. “NJA was always one of our biggest competitors at Worlds, and I never missed seeing you two compete in partner stunt. You are legends.” She whips around to face me again. “Why aren’t you in Kentucky cheering with him?” She whirls to point at JT. “Better yet, why aren’t you both cheering here? The Red Squad would kill to have you two.”
Well…this night has already taken an interesting turn, and we haven’t even gotten to the AK house yet.
“I don’t really like to broadcast my cheering history.”
JT’s jaw twitches, and I know he’s kicking himself right now. He’s going to blame himself for this when it isn’t anyone’s fault. His instincts are always going to be to protect me, and if he could, he would be crawling through the screen to do so right now.
“Why not?” Q’s always-on-the-go movements stop dead and she goes, “Oh.” The way her tone drops like it fell off a cliff tells me she made the connection.
Sure, I said I didn’t change my name to come to school, and yes I was announced as PF at competitions, but that was only because I’ve been PF to NJA since I was seven. The secrecy nowadays is because I knew to anyone who got too curious, it’s only a hop, skip, and a jump away to connect Kayla Dennings to PF Dennings—just a small step to all the news articles.
I’m not talking about the cheering ones.
“And you don’t want people to know Eric Dennings—the Eric Dennings is your brother?”
Among other things.
I nod.
“Okay.” Q’s head bobs like a bobblehead. “Got it.” More bobbing. “Damn your hair is loooong when it isn’t curly.” She runs her fingers through the locks now hanging to my waist.
That’s it? That’s all the reaction she has? She cared more about me cheering than anything else? Okay.
“I have a lot of it, that’s for sure,” I agree.
“Look at how cool the colors come through.” She flips the ends, fanning them out.
“That’s why I always straighten it when I see her.” Bette beams, rolling with the change of topic. “Okay, ladies.” She claps her hands, ignoring JT’s protest over being lumped in as a lady. “Now for the important part…what are you wearing?”
The roomies and I step out of the Uber XL, staring up at the large gray four-story mansion with a red door and six white columns supporting a deck on the fourth floor. I can’t help but think the place makes me think more of the plantation houses where Mama G grew up and not a frat house.
What the fuck am I doing here?
“I still can’t believe you had to be convinced to go to an exclusive AK party,” Bailey says, not for the first time.
“I’m not really into the whole frat party scene.” I shrug.
I have no shame admitting this. I’m a big girl. I don’t give in to peer pressure just because all the cool kids are doing it.
Isn’t that why you’re here tonight?
No. I’m going out of loyalty to G and trying to overcome my fears. Big difference.
My inner cheerleader fluffs her bow and rolls her eyes at me.
“But it’s an Alpha invite-only party. These invitations are harder to come by than a Willy Wonka golden ticket.”
I snort. Another one-liner for the win.
“Well, we’re here.”
“And looking dayum fine too.” Q drags out damn to multiple syllables, tilting her head around for effect.
She isn’t wrong. She sports a Kelly green crocheted crop top that looks amazing with her red hair, tan skin, white skinny jeans, and black leather knee-high boots. Her hair is barrel-curled, and she finished off her look with a classic cat eye and red lip.
Then there’s Em in a 50s-pinup-style white halter, mint-colored skinny jeans, and tan equestrienne-style tall boots. A clip holds her hair up in a messy style, loose pieces falling around her face, which is made up in a light brown smokey eye and hot pink lip.
Bailey went a little more party girl than us, but she is rocking her gray cropped spaghetti-strap tank, super short black skirt, cowboy boots, and full-on smokey eye, coral lipstick, and hair tussled in a just-had-sex do.
I rock back onto the heels of my gray distressed leather biker-style boots, the buckles and chains wrapped around my ankles jingling as I try to gather my nerve.
“You good?” Em asks from my right.
No. I nod anyway. She links her arm with mine, and we walk up the path leading to the mansion.
We’re hit with a wave of sound when the door opens, the pounding beat of the base spilling out as if it can’t be contained. Two brothers, each sporting a different Alpha Kappa t-shirt, check the invite on my phone then step aside for us to enter.
Bailey splits off as soon as we get inside, and though it is nowhere near as crowded as I’ve heard their normal ragers get, I still can’t find G in the crowd. Why can’t I find him? He’s stupidly tall. Shouldn’t that help?
“You look a little lost.” A cute guy in a black polo shirt with the AK crest stitched over the left pec stops in front of the three of us. “I’m Robbie, Alpha president. Can I give you a tour of the house?”
“No thanks.” I decline with a small smile. I’ll give the guy credit—his offer sounds genuine and not the least bit creepy. “But maybe you can help me.” I push up on my toes so he can hear me better over the music. “I’m looking for G.”
“G?” His brow scrunches, and it’s then I remember they don’t know him as G here.
“Do you mean Grayson?” asks the blond AK brother in the too-tight, as-if-trying-to-make-his-muscles-look-bigger-than-they-are Alpha t-shirt.
I nod, and blond bro proceeds to check me out, looking me up and down in an obvious manner. I cross my arms over my chest when he leers at my boobs a little too long for comfort. Thank god the shirt Em gave me to wear doesn’t actually show off the girls.
“So you’re the friend we’ve been hearing so much about,” he finally says—to my boobs.
“Excuse me?” Em pushes against my side, Q closing in on the other.
“Adam,” Robbie warns Mr. Douchebag.
“What?” Adam turns to Robbie, who just shakes his head.
“I’m pretty sure I saw Grant in the den earlier. I can show you where it is.” Robbie waves a hand behind him.
Em and Q each give a nod, and I tell Robbie to lead the way.
“Thanks.” I face my friends. “You guys wanna come with or do your own thing?”
Em looks to Q, who nods in agreement. “We’ll stick with you.”
“Okay great.” I don’t want to be here to begin with, and being alone with Mr. Frat Bro is the last thing that would make the list of what I’d like to experience while here. “Lead the way.” I gesture to Robbie.
We—and unfortunately Adam—follow him down a long hallway and step inside a man cave where the noise from the party is muted.
“Grayson!” Adam, aka Douchey McDouche, yells out obnoxiously. “Found something that belongs to you.”
#Chapter16
The Baltimore/Pittsburgh game is in the second quarter when there’s a commotion by the door leading from the front of the house.
“Grayson! Found something that belongs to you.” Adam’s shout causes all heads in the room to turn in his d
irection.
Grant, CK, and I pause mid-conversation, and it takes a moment for my brain to register what my eyes are seeing. If it weren’t for Em and Quinn standing next to her, I don’t know if I would have recognized Kay.
Did I recently only think of her as cute? Because, holy fuck, she’s a smoke show.
Gone are her curls, and instead her blonde-and-rainbow hair hangs around her in a straight curtain. She has more makeup on then I’ve ever seen her wear, and the deep blood red color coating her pouty mouth only makes me imagine what it would look like smeared on my dick.
Her slender neck has a thin black necklace wrapped around it, and all I want to do is sink my teeth into the skin bared by the off-the-shoulder collar.
Fuck me sideways was she hiding a tight-as-fuck body underneath those cute shirts she loves.
Her tits are more than a handful pressed against the black material, and the expanse of exposed pale tummy has cuts of abdominals that make me wonder what it is she does to have a body like that.
For someone so tiny, I’m surprised by how long her legs look in her tight black skinny jeans. I’m dying for her to turn around so I can give her ass the appreciation I’m sure it deserves.
Fuck. The guys are going to be all over her.
Not your problem, bro. Football—do I really have to spell it out for you?
I can already see the appreciative looks she’s drawing from the room. Granted, the guys are also checking out Em and Quinn, who I’ll admit look hot too. The only difference is I don’t feel like stalking over and claiming mine like I do with Kay.
Fuck. Say it with me: F-O-O-T-B-A-L-L.
Quinn wiggles into the free spot next to CK on the couch while Em and Kay settle onto the wide armrests of Grayson’s recliner. I mentally fist-pump when Kay is forced to take the one closest to me.
“You know”—I tap Kay’s knee—“I wasn’t sure if you were actually going to show.”
“Eh.” She shrugs one of her bare shoulders, the line of her collarbone popping and drawing my eye. “You did promise to have my football game on. Plus…free beer.”
An unexpected bark of laughter escapes me. I highly doubt free beer was a motivating factor—not that I care. All that matters is she’s here.
“Who scored?” She hooks a thumb at the TV.
“Your boy Dennings,” I say, remembering she wore the tight end’s jersey.
Kay’s gray eyes flare and I think I hear both CK and Quinn cough, but that doesn’t make sense.
“Sweet. I love when I have a player in the Thursday game. Best way to start off the fantasy week.”
“You have a fantasy football team?”
What is she doing to me? She needs to stop revealing attributes that make her more attractive to me.
“She cheats,” Grayson whines, and a fan of hair flies through the air as Kay whips around to face him. “And she’s a bad friend.” He folds his lips in as if to suppress a smile.
“Excuse me?” Kay holds up a hand as if flipping him off, except it’s her ring finger. “You, sir, are lucky this”—she taps the orange band—“is also for Bette, or I’d take it off.”
“Don’t be salty, Smalls.” He takes her hand and kisses the ring. “If you ditched mine, you’d have to ditch JT’s too, and then you’d be out half your bling. So sit back, relax, watch your football, and at halftime, you and Em can go off on one of your dance parties.”
Kay mutters as she shifts to lean back. It’s nice to witness someone else get the less-than-welcoming side I always seem to bring out in her.
We watch the game for another set of downs until it goes to a commercial break.
“Thanks for having the game on,” Kay says, giving me my first ever unprompted sign of gratitude from her.
There was very little chance that it wouldn’t have been on anyway, but if I’m gonna be given credit for it, you’re damn right I’m gonna take it.
“You said you didn’t want to miss it, and it was easy enough to make it happen for you. We are friends, after all.” I flash her my dimples, and there’s no missing how her gaze falls to them.
“We’re friends?” That fishhook is back in her eyebrow.
“Albeit reluctantly on your part, but yup.” I emphasize the P.
Shit—do you hear yourself? Friends? You’re happy about being friends with a girl? It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore. I’m done.
Ignoring my inner coach has become a new habit of mine when it comes to Kay. Instead of retreating or all-out hitting on her like he wants but which would only be counterproductive, I take one of her hands in mine. It’s so small it almost disappears in my grip.
“There’s a story here”—I run a thumb over the two jeweled bands adorning her left hand—“isn’t there?”
She brings her other hand around, laying it across the inside of my wrist, and the slide of her fingertips brushing the sensitive skin sends a bolt of lust straight to my dick. Fuck me I’m further gone for this chick than I realized if that is revving me up.
“They’re the birthstones for all the people I consider family.”
“Not me,” CK says behind me, and Kay shifts her gaze to him.
“Don’t be like that, CK,” she cajoles. “G and Em are only on the board already because they are piggybacking off of existing people.” She holds up a hand to stop him before he cuts in. “But I’ll start looking for an emerald one I like.”
“All I’m trying to say is a bright green one would look good with your collection.”
It’s weird to see that eye roll when I’m not the cause.
Wanna know what else is new?
Kay hasn’t pulled away. I give the hand I’m still holding a squeeze, bringing her attention back around.
“This one is for Bette, my sister-in-law, and G.” She taps me with her right ring finger. “This is the ‘sister’ band because it’s for T and Em.” The diamond band on her middle finger sparkles as she taps it. “E and Pops.” The ruby stones shine when she points. “JT.” She holds up the finger on her left hand that bears a light blue ring. “And finally”—she flips me off to show the purple amethyst band—“me and Dad.”
I’ve overheard her use all these names in the time I’ve hung around, but I don’t know the significance of all of them. Unfortunately, an AK party is not the time or the place for a conversation like that.
Their little group heads off to explore the rest of the party at halftime, and I wait a few minutes, taking the time to fill my Solo cup with a fresh beer before going to find them.
Grayson and CK are standing against a wall not far from where the girls are dancing when I approach. He may have been here before the ladies, but poor CK does not look the least bit comfortable.
“Not your typical Thursday night?” I tilt my cup at him.
“Pfft. Not even close.”
“Blame Smalls.” Grayson grins knowingly.
“Have you ever been able to tell her no?” CK taunts.
“Yeah. Right.”
They bicker like an old married couple, and I damn near drown choking on a swallow of beer as I look up. Holy fuck Kay knows how to move her hips.
YESSSS! You’re finally speaking my language. That’s all you need to know. If she can move her hips on the dance floor, she’ll know what she’s doing when she rides your dick.
Watching is enough to have me chub up behind my zipper; I don’t need the added visuals my inner coach is trying to shove at me. The situation in my pants only intensifies when thunderous clouds turn my way.
Unlike how Bailey’s physical touch made my balls want to crawl up into my body last week, the way Kay’s eyes ghost over me has them ready to run for a ninety-yard touchdown.
I can’t help myself—I flex. Her eyes flare, and I smirk at the blush she tries to hide by turning away.
She can deny it all day long, but she wants me.
#Chapter17
My hips sway and my shoulders roll as Em, Q, and I dance along to “Shape of You�
� by Ed Sheeran. I try to get lost in the steady rhythm, paying no mind to the taunting of my inner cheerleader.
Look around you, Kay. She strokes the leather armrests on the Barcalounger she’s stretched out in. A girl could be really comfortable watching football here. Since the moment we arrived, she’s been trying to convince me to make this my new place to hang.
I cast a glance in CK’s direction, checking in, and my heart wobbles like it’s trying to save a stunt from falling at the sight of Mason with him. I know better than to stereotype, but I also know exactly what it means to CK for someone like Mason to not treat him like a social nerd.
Those seafoam green eyes burn as Mason blatantly eye-fucks me from across the room. My hormones take off in a standing full, and my panties? What panties? is more like it. They were incinerated under his heated stare.
Shit! If he can affect me with a look, I can’t even begin to imagine what he would be able to do if I let him put his Casanova moves on me.
I need to keep my distance.
Like a minimum of a full football field away from him.
Don’t be like that. My inner cheerleader pouts. Look how mouthwatering he looks tonight. Her bow may be huge, but I still see the tips of her devil horns peeking through.
Still, she’s not wrong.
He’s all olive skin, sexy black ink, snug black AK t-shirt stretched across his muscular chest, biceps pushing the sleeves up, and—the coup de grâce—that ever-present black baseball cap.
Black, black, black. All of it adds to his bad boy appeal.
Oooo, gurrrrl. You are so screwed.
He really needs to stop being so damn good-looking.
“How come we’ve never seen you ladies around here before?” A voice comes from behind us as two attractive AK brothers move into our circle, finally pulling my attention off Mason.
Why is it I have zero reaction to them?
They are harmless flirts; too bad the same can’t be said when Adam butts into our little cluster.