by Mariah Dietz
“I’m nervous, too.”
“It’s weird. It’s like high school but without the fear of parents showing up. And the guys are so much hotter. I’m not sure if that’s just because I haven’t known them since the paste-eating years, or if guys magically reach a new level of hotness once they hit nineteen.”
Her laughter pulls her lips into a wide smile, and then she loops her arm through mine. “Probably both.”
“You look cute, by the way.”
Poppy stops. “Cute?”
“Good cute. Hot cute. Not babyish cute.”
“Do I look like a freshman?”
“According to Arlo, that’s a good thing. Well … kind of.” I blink back thoughts of what he’d said earlier.
“Maybe I should…” She begins pulling on her V-neck tee, exposing more of her cleavage.
I reach forward to stop her. “You know me. I’m not going to judge you if you want to have meaningless sex as long as you do it safely. But…” I pause, waiting until she meets my stare. “I think you’ll regret sleeping with some guy who notices you for your boobs. Which, by the way, look awesome tonight.”
She lifts them. “It’s this bra. It’s a miracle worker.” She sighs deeply. “I just don’t want to be seen as a friend or a ‘nice girl.’ I want to be desirable. Sexy. Mysterious.”
“I think you’re working against that last one by showing off the twins.”
Poppy whacks my arm with the back of her hand. “You know what I mean.”
I do. Because I want it, too. This year, I want to shed my neon flashing sign that says ‘off-limits’ and experience all the fun. And if the first step of that is finding this possible mouth breather who plays rugby, then I’m up for the task.
“Okay, show me what Nick looks like again.”
3
“Paxton, Arlo, and Lincoln are playing patrol tonight,” I warn her as we round the sidewalk and head down the short driveway.
Poppy slows, her arm squeezing mine as she looks across the yard filled with people in various states. Some are casually talking, others are dancing, and a large group on our left is doing the limbo. A couple of guys are shirtless and manning a grill on the opposite side, cowboy hats and beers in hand.
“It’s so bizarre,” I say. “Everyone is older, and yet, reverting back to dress up and kid party games.”
Poppy chuckles, but it’s her nervous laugh. “Well, if the rugby team isn’t here, at least you have Lincoln to look at.”
I swiftly shake my head. “No. Remember, I am over him. No more Lincoln.”
Her smile is shaky, conveying she doesn’t believe me.
“Let’s go.”
We make our way up the concrete steps that lead to the house. The door is wide open, people spilling out onto the small porch. Poppy’s arm constricts even tighter as she slows, prompting me to lead the way.
Inside, friend groups are recognizable by matching outfits. There’s a small crowd of girls all wearing Catholic school uniforms, their tops consisting of white bikinis. Another group is dressed in red tees with white numbers and names painted on them. It takes me only a minute to recognize Lincoln’s name and number printed on three of their shirts, and only another second to find Pax’s. A group of guys are wearing sheets and drinking. Another is wearing board shorts and pin-striped suit jackets complete with ties, black hats, and shades.
“There are so many people,” Poppy whispers. “How do you know to dress up? And as what? Are these clubs? Popular kids? Are there popular kids in college?”
“I have no idea.” My denim cutoffs and black tee seem plain in contrast.
“Say, party!” a guy yells, snapping a picture of us on his phone before turning his attention to others nearby.
I blink away the blinding flash and turn to Poppy. “I’m pretty sure the ratio of girls to guys is at least four to one.”
“Seriously,” she says, peering over my shoulder. “There are barely any guys here.” She cranes her neck the opposite direction. “There’s Arlo.”
I turn to look in the same direction, hoping to find Lincoln with him. “Did he find the girls in the Catholic school girl uniforms?” I ask.
“He decided to keep things simple and went for the girls in the bikinis.” She points toward the back. “Oh, and look, their bathing suits go up their asses. That’s lovely.”
“Should we wander around?”
Poppy shrugs. “I have no idea.”
I suck in a deep breath, searching for the confidence that had me believing this was a great idea. “Maybe we should get some beer.”
“Yes. Beer.”
I nod. “Okay. Let’s just stick together.”
We make it through the living room when Poppy pulls on my hand. “There they are!”
“There who are?”
“The rugby team!” she hisses.
A girl bumps into me as I make a sudden stop. She giggles and wobbles, spilling half her drink on the linoleum floor and spraying my feet and legs. I reach forward to catch her arm. “You okay?”
She giggles again, her eyes glassy. “The beer sucks,” she says. “It’s warm. Warm beer sucks.” She belches.
Poppy’s nose wrinkles with repulsion as the girl pivots and moves away. “God, I feel like my mother right now,” she says. “I’m judging everyone.”
I laugh so hard I almost cry. “I wish I’d worn tennis shoes. Flip flops were a terrible decision.”
“Hey.” A deep voice says.
We both turn, Poppy’s hand clasping my wrist, channeling her excitement as we come face-to-face with two guys. They’re both blond, one has hazel eyes, and the other light brown. They’re medium height and build, but their smiles hold enough confidence to make them appear like they’re over six-feet tall.
“They’re rugby players,” she whispers to me, before she turns her attention to the boys standing in front of us. “Hi,” she manages, her voice verging on being breathy.
“How are you guys?” The brown-eyed one asks.
Poppy giggles. My best friend is proficient at flirting, while I remain skeptical of everyone’s intentions—even more so now that Arlo shared his view on lower classmen.
“Are you guys freshmen? Sophomores?” Hazel-eyes asks.
My uncertainly grows, silencing me.
Poppy looks at me, soundless questions bunching the skin between her eyes, before she looks at the guys and smiles. “We’re freshmen. What about you guys?”
“Juniors,” the hazel-eyed one replies. His attention goes to Poppy as she asks him for his name.
“Are you guys here with someone?” The other one asks me, leaning closer as the game of beer pong behind us grows raucous.
As I open my mouth to say ‘no,’ a clear “yes” is spoken. Heat presses against my back.
I turn around to see Arlo and frown. Paxton is behind him, glaring at the guys in front of us.
“They’re possessions of the football team. Sorry, asshats.” Arlo shoos them.
The two guys look from us to Pax and Arlo, curiosity and humor visible in their eyes.
“We’re not…” I pause and clear my throat, lowering my voice, because my first words were practically screamed. “We’re not here with them.”
“Really?” The brown-eyed guy steps closer to me, his gaze set on Arlo. A challenge has him squaring his shoulders.
Paxton matches his move, like pieces on a chessboard, his steps are strategic and purposeful.
“I just need to chat with them really quickly,” I say to the stranger who doesn’t seem deterred at all by the several inches that Pax has on him. Maybe Poppy is right. Maybe there’s something to these athletes who don’t wear pads on the field. Or, maybe it’s just the alcohol that has them feeling invincible.
I put a hand on Paxton’s chest, shoving him backward, but he barely budges. I look at Arlo, but his attention is squarely on the guy in front of me. I turn to Poppy, hoping she either runs off with the rugby player in front of her or has an idea on how to d
eter these two meatheads, both of whom I’m ready to disown.
Poppy forces a smile, but it looks like a frown.
I drop my shoulder into Paxton’s chest and face the two rugby players again. “Would you guys mind getting us something to drink? We’ll meet you over by the beer pong table in just a minute.”
Brown-eyes looks at me, then over my shoulder at Arlo and Pax before looking at me again.
“No, she won’t,” Pax chimes.
The rugby player looks at me, the left side of his mouth creeping up into a hint of a smile before he shakes his head. “I think you guys have your hands full at the moment. It was nice meeting you.” They turn, shaking their heads as they walk away.
I turn back to my brother, ready to slug him. “What was that?” I cry.
“Those two are a bunch of hornballs.”
“We just met them. We weren’t doing anything!”
“But they would have invited you to.”
I stare at Paxton for a long second, waiting for my easygoing and reliable brother to reappear and this overprotective and overbearing stranger to vanish.
“You don’t want them. They just want to use you,” he finally says.
“It’s not the who, Pax. It’s the what. You can’t follow me around, warning guys away. For your sanity and certainly my own.” I look from my brother to Arlo. “Same goes for you. No girls are going to come running toward you if they see you watching every step I take and every person I talk to.”
Arlo shrugs. “I don’t know. Jealousy seems to turn a lot of chicks on…”
“And if you want to have a wing woman one night, you can ask, and I will decide if I want to play that role. But, you guys can’t do this. You’re going to drive all of us crazy.”
“Can there at least be a couple of ground rules?” Paxton asks.
“Absolutely. No dating my professors. No dating married men. And making sure I am happy.” I tick each of the three rules off on my fingers, omitting the most important one: not dating his best friend.
“I’m—” Paxton begins, but I cut him off with a quick shake of my head.
“You don’t get to make the rules. I do. I promise to be safe and smart most of the time, but I’m eighteen. I’m supposed to be making mistakes.”
His head falls back on his shoulders, and if it were quieter in here, I’m sure I’d hear him sigh. I know his intentions are good. He wants to protect me and ensure I don’t get hurt or do something stupid. But, he needs to realize that sometimes the path to getting hurt and being stupid are the most important and memorable ones we can take. “Can we do a check-in system?”
I nod instantly. “Party nights, I’ll check in with you. Let you know when I’m home.”
“Mom and Dad made your curfew midnight? You goody-two-shoes, I had to be in by eleven.”
I shrug. “This is further proof why you don’t need to worry about me. I’m the good child.”
“And she’s got way better legs,” Arlo adds.
Paxton throws both of his hands in the air. “This. This is why my junior year is going to fucking suck.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have some rugby players to meet.”
4
On our way over to find the brown and hazel-eyed rugby players, Poppy informs me their names are Chase and Sam, and though I’ve not heard her mention them, she seems content in modifying our future to include them and forget about the other two she had originally chosen.
“Oh no,” Poppy says, coming up short.
“What’s wrong?”
She points toward a crowd of moving bodies, a strobe overhead making it difficult for me to focus and threatening to give me a migraine. “Sam is talking to some other chick.”
“That’s okay. Chase only had eyes for you. You should go talk to him.”
“But what are you going to do?” Disappointment twists her lips and creases her forehead.
“I’m going to find some of that warm beer and maybe get some revenge on Paxton and Arlo.”
“You mean go find Lincoln?”
Just his name makes my heart skip a beat.
I shake my head. “No. I’m actually hoping to avoid seeing him because the last thing I need to see right now is him making out with someone.”
Her lips pull into a line as she attempts to smile. “Why don’t I go with you?”
“What? No. Go. Flirt. Giggle. Get his number. Maybe he’ll lead you back to the rest of the team, and you can have your pick.”
Poppy’s mouth falls open as she laughs. “Oh my gosh. Stop giving me hope.” She glances back over to Chase and then me. “Okay. I have my phone on. If you need anything—anything—just call.”
“I’ve already got babysitters here. I’m good.”
She gives me a parting smile, and then her hips sway as she approaches Chase, his smile confirming he notices her.
The number of bodies in here leaves the air humid, carrying a sea of scents: fruity perfumes, a hint of cologne, an underlying of beer all working to compete against the smell of sweat.
Maybe I should move my plan for stepping outside of my comfort zone and dating to next year, after I’ve mastered the mechanics that come with choppy college schedules, parties, and the idea of few knowing my name after attending the same school for ten years.
I find the keg of beer and a stack of plastic cups, and without a purpose in my way, I head toward it and fill a glass.
“Kelly, right?” It’s Derek. He leans closer. His light hair is mussed, like he—or maybe someone else—has been running their hands through it. It’s sexy as hell.
Disappointment feels too similar to hope as I shake my head. “Sorry. Wrong girl.”
“Right girl, wrong name,” he says, taking a step closer to me. “I’m sorry. I’m terrible with names. I literally had to write my coaches name on my forearm so I’d stop calling him Steve. Tell me your name again. I swear, I’ll remember it this time.”
“Raegan.”
“Like the president.” He taps his temple, as though storing my name to memory. “Do you remember my name?” He smiles, taking the final step so there’s barely a gap between us.
He’s flirting with me, and it might be because he’s not supposed to, but I cling to the knowledge he talked to me before knowing I was Pax’s little sister and smile coyly. “It was David, right? Or Duke? Darryl?”
He laughs. “You’re funny.”
“Where’s your accent?”
He raises his eyebrows, and I take another drink of liquid courage. “My accent?”
“I thought you were from Texas?”
His smile grows. “You do remember.” His white teeth flash. “I’m from Rhode Island. I went to Texas for my freshman and sophomore years.”
“Really?”
He nods, grabbing a cup and filling one for himself. “What about you?”
“I’m a Seattleite, born and raised.”
“Really?”
It’s my turn to nod.
“Do you want to stay here after graduation?”
I nod. “I think so. What about you?”
Derek winces. “I don’t know. I’ve got to say, so far it looks way better than I’d expected.” He runs his gaze over me, slowly—purposefully, stopping when he reaches my eyes. I feel my heart beating in my neck. “Want to know a secret?” he asks.
I hold on to the facts of him being attractive and smelling really good as I wait for the pickup line I know will make me cringe.
He leans closer, flooding my senses with his cologne, the heat of his body, the fresh scent of whatever product’s in his hair. His eyes are expressive, his irises edged by a darker hue that create mazes I’m sure many have been lost in.
“I almost didn’t transfer here because I was worried it was going to rain all the time and feel depressing.”
Relief has me laughing. “October hasn’t begun yet.”
“Bad?”
“You get used to it.”
He slaps a hand across his c
hest and throws his head back like I’ve just skewered his hopes.
Laughter tickles my lips—natural and easy. I want to blame the beer running through my veins for the temptation to lean closer to him. To mold my body against each fold of his in invitation, but that would be a lie since I’ve only managed a few sips.
“Derek!” A girl appears, her arms winding around one of his. She has long, blonde hair, eyes round and wide as a doe, and a waist that is flat and toned, shown off by the cut off shirt she’s wearing.
“Hey.” He smiles at her and doesn’t try to pull free. “Chrissy, this is Raegan.”
He knows her name.
“Hi.” Her lips are pursed, eyes narrowed. If she had nails that contracted, I’m sure they’d be out and pointed at my throat.
I try to return the diluted smile and glance over my shoulder for an excuse to leave. “I need to meet my friend. Nice meeting you guys.”
I turn when Derek yells my name.
“See? I told you I’d remember.”
It’s ridiculous that I find another smile forming on my lips. Hopeless, maybe, but I’m not shameless, so I lift my glass and continue walking until I’m out of sight and pause, looking around for Poppy.
My chest feels heavy and conflicted. Disappointment from too many interactions weighing me down.
“You look way too serious. You must be a freshman.” A guy says, stopping beside me. His hair is slicked to the side with too much product, and he’s wearing a yellow polo with blue and white stripes tucked into a pair of jeans with a belt buckle that’s the size of my hand. His eyes are locked on my hint of cleavage, making the sinking feeling in my chest careen with a nosedive.
“I’m looking for my friend.”
He smiles, his thick neck bobbing as he makes a quick turn of his head. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“I should go. I…” Am really, really terrible at lying and making excuses, and he knows it, his face brightening with the knowledge.
“I’m pretty sure it was me you were looking for.” He offers his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Mr. Right.”
My laugh is automatic, and though it’s not meant to encourage him, he steps closer like it was.