Elite

by Carrie Aarons

  “Oh, darling … how cute.” I give him a sarcastic grin and keep my eyes at the alcohol shelf across the bar.

  “Excuse me?” The shock is evident in this boy’s voice.

  When I’m good and ready, I finally turn, crossing my legs and baring my teeth in full feral female mode.

  But I’m not prepared for the gorgeous wall of man meat standing in front of me. Taller than London Bridge and built like a Michelangelo statue on steroids, if I was considering strapping suitors, this one would make the cut. His hair is McDreamy-worthy, black as night and flowing in closely-cropped waves. His jaw is cut from steel, and there is a small mole just under his right cheekbone. Normally, that would look girly, but apparently on him, it works wonders.

  Yet it’s his eyes that capture me. Blue in the middle, with a ring of green circling that aqua pool. It gives them a hypnotizing effect, like I’m staring into a kaleidoscope created simply to transfix me.

  A grin paints those full, mauve lips. Oh, sweetheart, wrong move. Because I can tell he knows his effect on women, and that only serves to bring my sharpest claws out.

  “I said, how cute. As in, how cute that you think that just because I’m sitting here, enjoying a cocktail by myself, that I’m desperate to be picked up by any male specimen in this bar. In fact, you probably thought I was easy prey, a pretty girl sitting here alone, drowning her sorrows in martinis. And yes, I know I’m pretty, so there is no use using any pet names or calling me beautiful to try to win me over. Let me give you a little advice … whatever lame line you’re about to use next, I’ve already heard it. It’s already worked on me and lost its effect just as quickly. So save yourself the effort, turn around, and go back to your table of buddies who dared you to come over and talk to the single girl. I promise, your night will end a lot better if you follow those instructions.”

  Handsome tilts his head, pausing for a second as he stares first at my lips, and then up to my eyes.

  “You have quite a mouth on you. And you know what, half the girls in here would use their mouths to suck my dick if I merely looked at them, but I think I’d rather sit here and talk to you instead.”

  In one swift motion, he folds his big body onto the stool next to mine, people at the bar automatically making room for him. I’m so caught off guard by his casual reference to his plonker, that I almost don’t notice the way everyone is gravitating around him. But I see it, that aura, that spark … the special quality of air around him that people are just drawn to. I’ve seen it before, often really, with the inner circle I run with. Royals and diplomats, children of the highest politicians in the land … they all have it.

  It isn’t hard to guess that around here, this boy must be royalty.

  I plop my chin on my hand, half because I’m sloshed off of two double dirty martinis, and half because I’m thoroughly enjoying this cat and mouse game. I often find that banter is my favorite kind of foreplay, especially the naughty kind. Bugger, sometimes I don’t even need the sex if the talk is satisfying enough.

  I wait him out, his eyes roaming over my skin, making me tingle.

  “I’m Colton Reiter. Now you tell me your name. Or make one up if you need that protection from my charm. Either way, I just want to hear that accent again.” His breath smells like cinnamon whiskey as he leans in, extending his hand for me to take.

  I stare at it, then back up at his face. This one is exceptionally good, if not cocky as all the Queen’s men combined. But a yawn escapes me, the jet lag finally catching up. I realize I’m completely knackered, and that it’s time to go before Goliath here can talk me into staying.

  “You’re going to have to try harder than that, superstar.” I slide a few bills out of my wallet and leave them on the bar for the bartender, nodding in his direction.

  Turning to blue eyes, I smile genuinely. “Have a good night. Hopefully one of these girls will drool on your knob a bit so you can pick your bruised ego up from not getting my name.”

  I don’t want to hear his answer, but take delight in turning on my brown leather heeled boot and heading for the heavy tavern door.

  Oh yes, I think this semester is going to be just what I need.

  Four

  Eloise

  There is something eerily unsettling about living in the valley of the mountains.

  I’ve always been a child of the city, raised by the busy pavement and alongside the noise. Sirens were my bedtime story, and later on, I measured time by the street lamps as our limos flew down the roads.

  But in Thistle, darkness brings the kind of silence that makes you uncomfortable. The kind of emptiness that makes you jump at every hoot, every breaking twig. Even as the sun comes up, I can practically make out the lapping of the water at the lake’s frozen edges. The clarity only serves to make everything on Jade Mountain’s campus seem more hidden, and I stare at the invitation still sitting on the table by the door.

  I spend the day making my side of the room feel a little more homey, if that’s possible with how bland the white walls and generic oak furniture is. My five-hundred thread count sheets now cover the mattress that I’ve padded with a Tempur-Pedic pad, and a fluffy white down duvet is piled on top of that.

  My three favorite Kate Moss prints are hung above my bed, the black and white photography giving some class to the room. The hours give me time to organize my closet, color-coordinated and by designer, because clothes are way more important than memorizing my class schedule or doing some light reading before next week’s courses begin.

  My roommate doesn’t show up by four o’clock, and I assume she’s coming tomorrow, for the actual move in day to campus. I take that as a sign to open a bottle of Malbec, pouring myself a glass in the Baccarat set I brought with me.

  It might seem frivolous, but once you become part of the fortunate ones, it’s hard to go back to a normal life. Everything is brighter, everything tastes better, the textures feel better. I’ve become spoiled, I know that … but if I can afford it, why not?

  I’m two glasses in when I glance at the clock, the time reading six. I have to make up my mind if I’m going to go to the boathouse or not, if I’m going to give in to the temptation.

  Spotting a navy and red chunky sweater dress in my closet, I decide that it would be fun to get dressed up and at least check out whatever voodoo shite this is going to be. Plus, I have a really cute pair of over-the-knee boots that match it perfectly, and I’m nothing if not a sucker for a cute outfit.

  By eight forty, I’ve found my way down to the boathouse, which isn’t as easy to get to as I thought. I haven’t walked the entire campus yet, and I realize I probably should have before I wandered around out here in the dark by myself. It’s much larger than I imagined, even if it only houses about ten thousand students. I didn’t estimate the almost three quarters of a mile walk, and even though I’d lived in cities and was used to using my feet to get around, I’d also been spoiled with town cars and drivers for years. Especially while clomping around in subzero weather … this wasn’t really my cup of tea. But I was trying for something different, something outside of my comfort zone, so here I was.

  My mind flashes to the guy in the bar last night. Colton Reiter. I can’t say I hadn’t Googled him, because come on, I was a woman who genuinely admired a man with bollocks that large. Hundreds of articles, thousands of pictures and even some fan sites dedicated to his abs had popped up. Apparently, our Mr. Reiter was a bona fide basketball star, and had quite the reputation as a ladies’ man.

  While it would have been fun to verbally spar a little longer with him, I knew the boundaries. After a few nights together, I’d grow bored … and eventually I’d chew that weak American boy up and spit him out. Really, I was sparing him.

  The boathouse comes into view, a large glass structure with a stained-glass ceiling that sits just beside the giant shores of Jade Lake. It wasn’t as if I was the only student out at this hour; I’d passed numerous groups and singles walking about, and even down here I’d enco
untered a couple of people. But still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should keep looking over my shoulder.

  I entered the building, expecting to see someone, or maybe a group. The only thing I was met with was a singular candle on a table just inside the foyer, and a similar piece of card stock to the one that had arrived in my dorm room.

  Go down the stairs, to the triangle of bricks on the wall.

  Once you reach it, knock three times.

  Was this serious? What was with the riddles?

  I shrugged, chuckling to myself that this was like the start of every scary movie. I was totally the wanker who got killed off first, and I was basically walking into my own death trap.

  Doing as instructed, I reach the bricks and knock. After the third rap of my fist against the wall, it swings slowly open.

  “Holy shit …” I whisper, startled.

  This is like a scene out of some Scooby Doo cartoon, but I love the shockwave that moves through my heart as I start down a stone corridor only lit by candles. So much for the typical college experience. I’d come to Vermont in search of two-dollar beers on Tuesday, some coursework, and wonky college nightclubs. But something more sinister, something resembling the nights of my world, was pulling me in.

  The hallway opened up to a big stone room, and I looked around. There were other people here, though by candlelight and with the heavy red draping on the wall, I couldn’t make them out well. Four other girls stood in the middle of the room near me, and I could feel the vibrating air of other humans flanking the outside walls.

  “Now that our last pledge has graced us with her presence, we can begin.” A voice came from somewhere on the side of me, and I turned to it.

  A taller girl stepped out of the shadows, her face illuminated by the light. She was beautiful, in that WASP kind of way, with long black hair that was pin straight, a perky little nose, piercing green eyes, and a suede olive green dress that even I was jealous of.

  “Welcome to your first Charter House initiation.” She pauses for effect as the words sink in. “For those of you who don’t know who I am, which is your first mistake, I’m Gretchen Bauer, the president of Charter House. And you five are the hand-selected pledges for this semester. However, don’t think that means you’re in … no, you have to work a lot harder than that to gain access this exclusive.”

  Another girl steps forward, this one in a long-sleeve black velvet romper, her dark blond curls pinned up into a chic bun. “I’m your pledge master, Nina Kennedy. Any and all tasks must be presented finally to me for consideration and scoring.”

  These two stood in the middle of the room, and everyone else was silent. I assumed the rest were part of this Charter House, not that I understood what the hell this was.

  I clear my throat, not the least bit intimidated by these birds. “I’m sorry, what is this?”

  A flash of annoyance flickers across Gretchen’s face, but she smooths it with a cool smile. “Eloise Mason, right? Our British transplant, welcome. Charter House is one of the six social clubs at Jade Mountain; private societies where members are hand-picked and if you’re not in, you never can be. So be honored that an invitation was extended to you, because it’s rare that an exchange student gets to pledge.”

  Nina trails right on to the end of her sentence. “The first rule of Charter? No talking about what goes on here. You may not even reveal that you’re pledging the house, and you can definitely not speak of any missions or tasks you’re asked to perform. If one of the sisters asks you to do anything, and I mean anything, you cannot refuse. If you fail, you will be cut. If you chicken out, you will be cut. If you get caught, we will not vouch for you, and you better not mention our names.”

  The four other girls beside me, two brunettes, a black girl and a redhead, all listen intently. Meanwhile, my nails dig into my palms. I’m sorry, but proving myself to these people? Yeah, this totally wasn’t my thing.

  I clear my throat again, and the four heads next to me whip to my face, shocked that I dare to speak again.

  “Do you know who I am? Why would I want to be a part of your little … club?” The words sound so condescending dripping from my tongue, but this girl is beginning to piss me off.

  Gretchen brushes a long sweep of straight, shiny black hair over her shoulder. “Oh, you may be an insider back in Europe, but this is a new game, Eloise. New players, and unlike you’re friends back home, you’ll find that we don’t do fake politeness or conservative values very well. You wouldn’t have come if you weren’t curious, so come on, pledge. I can promise you that if you make it through, you’ll have one hell of a semester. And if you don’t … well, I won’t say that your life will be easy here.”

  Her thinly veiled threat snaps me right back in the mouth, and I can’t help but be impressed. These girls may be mental, but at least they had gumption, and I could respect that.

  I still wasn’t sure I was ready to be anybody’s servant, or as they say in the States, someone’s bitch. But the idea of this Charter House sounded enticing, and I could play games with the best of them.

  I leave the meeting with another piece of card stock, that has a do not open until this date scrawled across the front. And I already know I’m going to open it two days from now to see what this pledging thing is all about. I’m too gullible for this shite, but oh well.

  Five

  Colton

  Dribble, shoot, swish.

  Dribble, shoot, swish.

  Dribble, shoot, swish.

  I hit my twenty-fifth free throw and replaced the orange ball on the rack next to me, picking up my water bottle and surveying the empty arena.

  See, I may appear to be a prick with a larger than life attitude, but I worked fucking hard. Sure, I was one of those naturally gifted athletes; this gave me an edge that could never be taught. Like Michael Jordan, Pelé, Usain Bolt … I’d been born to play the game of basketball as if it was my destiny. But I also worked harder, longer, smarter than anyone I’d ever played with.

  I was the first one in the gym and the last one out. I didn’t take days off, instead lifting or practicing yoga to improve my muscle tone and agility. The team was on a week break until classes started again, and while most of my teammates have taken that opportunity to get drunk and goof off, I’ve spent three hours a day in this empty auditorium. One hundred made free throws, one hundred suicide sprints, one hundred push-ups, and a few games of HORSE, played against myself, of course.

  Getting soft, or allowing myself to fail, just simply wasn’t an option. Not when I had so much on the line. Not when I had to escape the demons running up right on my heels.

  I actually preferred the gym like this; quiet, dark, empty. Most players relished under the hot lights, the buzz of a crowd, the circus of TV crews and competitors in your face. But there was something beautiful about just me, the hardwood and the basket. It was pure, back to the basics … precious moments that I rarely got in my life anymore.

  From somewhere inside the center, but outside the court, a door shuts. Maybe a coach is here, or another player is leaving the weight room. I don’t venture out to check, instead keeping up my self-prescribed practice.

  After I finish here, then I can go reward myself with a night out at The Croc … the last one before courses start up for the spring semester.

  My mouth waters craving a rich brown ale, and my mind wanders back to two nights ago, when I’d encountered the new girl at the bar.

  She had to be new here, for a couple of reasons. First, Jade Mountain wasn’t really that big of a campus. With just under eight thousand undergrads, and the rest graduate students, you got to know a lot of faces. Especially the gorgeous ones. And when I’d gone back to our table, none of my friends could confirm that they’d ever seen her … and she was not the kind of chick you didn’t notice.

  Blond hair, dark blue eyes, body like a Victoria’s Secret model … this girl looked like one of those old school nineties models before being stick thin was the in thing to
be. Like Christie Brinkley or Claudia Schiffer … or Pamela Anderson in her Baywatch days. And that fucking accent … so clipped but aristocratic at the same time. It had me hard now just thinking about the way her mouth formed syllables.

  She hadn’t wanted to play my games … or she’d entertained the idea and then thought better of it. That was okay though, I enjoyed a little challenge. Had been searching for one anyway, and now that I’d met her, I knew what my mission would be for this semester.

  Not that thinking about her had stopped me from burying my cock in another girl that same night. I was a man after all, and one who was used to satisfying his urges at the exact moment they needed to be met.

  But … it hadn’t been the same. For a while now. Sure, I got off. Those couple seconds of white hot pleasure bordering on pain were euphoric, and I raced for those releases. It was the couple seconds of my day that I wasn’t thinking, worrying, stressing. But the lead up, having to foreplay, listening to screechy moans, the girls’ fake orgasm faces … it was all boring me.

  That sounded fucking insane, and I questioned why I was a mental case these days.

  My phone buzzed on the floor, vibrating around on the hardwood.

  Unlocking it, I see the text that just came through.

  Chuck: Do you have some new stuff for me?

  My hand shakes at my side, the other one gripping my cell. I flex my fingers, trying to get rid of the anxious tension that knots at the back of my neck.

  Me: I won’t have it until next week. Season starts back up, and I can get you a few things.

  I look around, as if someone is going to jump out from behind the bleachers and catch me in the act.

  Except, I’m not doing anything … at least not right now.

  But next week, I’d meet with Chuck again. And risk my entire future to support my family, just like I’d been doing for the majority of my life.