Elite

by Carrie Aarons

  He knows too much about me, and it’s unnerving. “And I suppose I don’t have to guess why you fall in as the ringleader of this crowd. Basketball star, ladies’ man, national sports hero. They probably clap when you take a piss, right? And those blow jobs you so fondly mentioned at The Croc, I’m sure you’re not left wanting.”

  “So you did a little looking up on me too? I knew you liked me.” He towers over me, walking in so that I have to back up, the cold stone wall boxing me in.

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” I want to get away, but my body is being traitorous.

  Colton Reiter is too handsome for his own good. And the fact he knows it only makes it worse.

  “Come on, let me show you around.” His fingers grasp my bare elbow, and I have to hold my breath from making a noise.

  Eight

  Colton

  Sometimes there is this feeling when you meet a girl, a connection that goes deeper than just thinking that she’s hot or that you want to strip her clothes off and run your hands over her most intimate parts.

  I can’t describe it, and maybe it’s better that way, but there is a base instinct, a spark of some sort that you can’t exactly put a finger on, but it’s there and once you meet her eye, it doesn’t go away.

  Usually, I recycle girls after a night, never giving it a real shot when the morning light appears. But a few rare times, I’ve actually pursued something more because of this … attachment. Three times that I can count, and they all ended when the respective she wanted to go deeper, know me more. See, I was capable of treating a woman well, being the good boyfriend or at least something that resembled it.

  But ask me to show you my soul, explain my childhood, let you into my most inner thoughts … and I shut down. No one would understand where I came from, or why I operated the way I did. And I didn’t want to lay it all out for them, let someone close enough to destroy me or my trust.

  So it scares the shit out of me that this flame exists between Eloise and I, that flickering mutual desire that has us circling each other like animals. Because I don’t want this … I don’t need, or have time, to entertain the idea of being with someone.

  Yet here I am, my hand resting against the small of her back as we walk through the party. I can smell the fresh flower notes in her perfume, mixed with something else spicy that has my mouth watering.

  We enter a room on the first floor where dozens of people are lined up at tables, flipping cups as fast as they can while drinking mass amounts of alcohol.

  “Want to play?” I peer down at her, and it turns me on how much taller than her I am. As if I could pick her up with one arm and pin her body against the wall.

  She rolls her eyes, that British accent wrapping around my balls and tugging. “What is this, the second year of primary school? And here I thought this party might be an upgrade from all of the American college shenanigans I’d read about.”

  I laugh at her naïveté. “You came for the kinky, huh?”

  Without letting her answer, I take her hand, lacing my fingers through it. Although I hear the sharp intake of her breath, and watch her cleavage rise and fall at my convenient angle, she doesn’t pull her hand back.

  I pull her along the dark hallways, echoes of laughter, speech and something more illicit bouncing off the walls. We make our way through the mansion, an old home that used to be reserved for the Dean of Jade Mountain, but has fallen unoccupied and in disrepair since the official residence was moved into town. Now the social clubs have claimed it, an unspoken agreement between campus heads and the influential backers of Charter, Keil and the like. As long as we kept our activities under wraps, and mild enough not to alert local police, they would not interfere.

  The East Wing ballroom opens in our path, and the ornate doors woven with gold are shut, nothing but a deep bass that vibrates from under the crack giving away the activity from within.

  “You asked for this.” I lean into her, my lips on her ear, and I can feel the shiver that moves between her shoulder blades.

  I’m already tingling with anticipation as I push the doors open.

  The entire room is bathed in purple and blue lighting, giving an outerspace feeling to the atmosphere. It’s crowded, but not to the point that little offset groups of people can’t be seen participating in different activities. Along the back wall is a bar, but from experience, I know there is more than just liquor offered here. And on the left bank of the room, deep red velvet couches line the wall, hookah setups rigged on each table in front. The smoke coming from the users there gives the whole place a foggy, hidden touch.

  “Oh my …” Eloise trails off, looking at the group just to our right.

  A woman in the middle, four men simultaneously sucking on different parts of her neck and upper body. She moans wildly, and her hands grasp two of the men’s bulges as they all pirate in around her.

  The crank of the wheel above the bar catches her attention. “What is that?”

  “Dare to play?” Her hand is still in mine, and I pull her gently over to the wheel.

  “And if I don’t want to?” she mocks me.

  “We could have a little party favor.” I shrug, planting my hands on the bar as we reach it.

  “An all-star athlete with a coke habit, didn’t see that one coming.” Her blond hair shines in the ghostly lighting of the room.

  “I don’t really mess around with that stuff, random drug testing and all. But I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to relax a little.”

  She scrunches her nose. “And let you or these mental broads take advantage of me? No thanks. Let’s focus on this wheel.”

  Eloise walks up to it, the bartender noticing her interest. The wheel looks like something out of a medieval Price is Right, with descriptions and pictures painted on a dark wood surface. Around the outside were ticks for amount of time, and the whole contraption had two hands, one that landed on an activity, and the other on the allotment of time you had to stick with it.

  “Have a threesome, take Molly, French kiss, heavy petting, anal … some of these are intense. Would you really have anal with a stranger based on a spin you had here?” She laughs, but quickly swallows it when she notices a couple in the corner engaging in something much heavier than dry-humping.

  “Why don’t you take a turn?” I challenge her, wanting to see if she’s as tough as she appears to be with all of her witty comebacks.

  “Why, so you can kiss me without having to work for it? I’m not that easy.”

  No, I didn’t figure she would be. “Okay, then I’ll spin it.”

  She lays a hand on my arm, her eyes sympathetic. “Again, whatever you land on, I won’t be the stranger completing the activity with you. So be my guest, if you’d like to feel up one of the girls in this room. But if and when you want to pursue me, you’ll have to work harder than a game of luck.”

  Her blue orbs flash with something, their color mixing with the light in the room, before she backs slowly away from me, never breaking contact with my eyes.

  I’m not looking for anything, and yet, it seems that Eloise Mason was sent here specifically to change my mind on that.

  Nine

  Colton

  “Mr. Reiter, you can have an extra week to complete that assignment. I know you have a game.”

  Professor Abel stops by my desk, his voice lowered so that no one within earshot can hear our conversation.

  “The one about markets in the emerging world …” I rub the back of my neck, a practiced move.

  He winces. “Ah, well, tell you what … you write that paper on whichever Fortune 500 company you want, just some words on it, and we’ll call it even.”

  That was more like it. Not that I’d be writing the damn thing anyway, that’s what tutors or hoop hunnies were for. “Thanks, Prof, you’re the man.”

  His smile splits his face, as if it’s a pleasure talking to the student who is openly cheating to get through his class.

  This is how it always goes. I show up with
my laptop, sit in the back row, don’t actually listen to lessons, and someone else does the homework for me. The teachers turn a blind eye, or knowingly pass me even though I’ve not gained one insight of knowledge from their course. I won’t say I don’t feel guilty sometimes, but most of the time, I just don’t.

  See, I came to Jade Mountain University for one reason, and one reason only. To play basketball. To be as damn good of a point guard as I could possibly be, and win this school championships. On their end, I brought in money and support. On my end, I got to participate in one of the nation’s top programs, with the top coaches, and propel myself to playing basketball on a professional level after all was said and done here.

  There was no major I had ever strived to succeed at; basketball was my major. It was the one thing I wanted a degree in, and it was kind of bullshit that they put so much emphasis on the student that came before athlete. If I failed at basketball, it wasn’t like I was going to fall back on some basic business career. I wasn’t smart enough for numbers and spreadsheets, and I didn’t plan on failing … that wasn’t an option.

  Some students here kicked ass at becoming doctors or other professions, my path was that of an athlete. I didn’t know why I had to pretend to be interested in school, when it was so obvious that the main reason I attended this college was to play a game full time.

  So no, I didn’t feel too bad that others did my assignments or that the teachers cut me slack. Hate me for it, but I knew what I was carving out for myself, what I was working for. And that was a lot more than I could say for some of the students here, who majored in beer pong and mediocre class work.

  Campus was buzzing by the time I walked outside, pulling the hood on my Jade Mountain Basketball sweatshirt up over my head to protect my ears from the frigid wind. As I passed, people nodded or waved, said my name. I didn’t remember half of them, but I smiled back, said a few words. I knew I had a part to play, just as everyone wanted to pretend that they had some little piece of me, and I was happy to do it. It meant that I was succeeding, and it was only preparing me for what was to come. Once you made it to the big time, you could never go anywhere without hundreds of people knowing who you were, trying to invade every little part of your privacy. I wasn’t at the point yet where it annoyed me, or made me want to withdraw … but I could see how someone could get there. Right now, I was just grateful I was doing well enough that people wanted to idolize me.

  I walked into the building that I spent more time in than even my own fraternity house, the Russell Isles Athletic Center. Named after the famous coach of the 1980s, the entire facility had been upgraded the year before I began at Jade Mountain. Fingerprint entry, non-skid floors, top of the line equipment, smoothie bars, massage rooms, float tanks, cryotherapy chambers … you name it, we had it. They’d spared no expense, and we were all fucking spoiled with the amenities.

  But today was the first practice back since Coach Yonnis had given us a week break before the school session resumed, and I could feel the adrenaline already flowing through my veins.

  “Feels fucking good to be back, man.” Larry, our monster of a shooting guard with polished dark skin and hands the size of the mountain that peered down over campus, slaps me on the back as he sits down at his locker next to mine.

  I pull on my school logo issued shorts, and reach for the brand new Jordans to lace them onto my feet. “I can’t wait … missed this smell.”

  We were all giddy as school girls, having been practicing without each other for a week. Our team was one who liked their down time to party, but underneath it all, our hearts beat for the game. Our air was that orange ball, our reason for being was running up and down that court. It was a rare brand of unity and drive that made this group of players mesh so well, and I was always amazed at how the scouts for our school were able assemble this lineup.

  “I’m going to score more points in three-on-three today than Reiter.” Our small forward, Nial, beats his bare chest like a gorilla.

  He’s one of the shorter guys on the team, but his ego more than makes up for it. Brown hair and olive skin, he’s of Mexican descent and has a temper to match.

  “Is that right? You’ll have to get the ball first,” I tease back, not realizing how much I missed my teammates.

  I didn’t live with all of them, and a lot of them had gone home for the week, using the time to see girlfriends at other schools or to visit their parents. Staying here was always the better option for me.

  We finish getting dressed and make our way out to the court. The gleaming light wood with the school logo in the center, the fresh white walls, state-of-the-art baskets and racks of newly-pumped orange leather balls. This was my sanctuary, the place I came to worship.

  “Let’s go men, you’ve got some time to make up for.” Coach walks in, his no-nonsense attitude so refreshing that I smile.

  He’s a good man, and a great coach. Been the head honcho at Jade Mountain for fifteen years, and he’s brought success to the school as well as sending dozens of players on to the NBA. There is no one I’d rather play for more, and I move into gear as I pick up a ball, dribbling around the court as my teammates fall in line with me.

  “Big game coming up on Friday night … Gloster College. They’re eighteen and one, nearly perfect, with a lineup that is stacked deep. But guess what, men?” He paces the sideline of the court as we run through warm up drills, passing to each other, shooting, running sprints. “We’re better. We’re perfect. Unbeaten. That’s a lot of pressure to keep on your shoulders, but it also shows you what you don’t want to become. You don’t want to become that one on the losing side of the column. And if you listen, if you watch, if you read the body language of your teammates and remember the plays we’ve drawn up … you will crush them.”

  His words send fire through my veins, making every move sharper, every play as we move through practice clearer. My body becomes a machine, running on learned skills and God-given intuition.

  No matter what kind of outside turmoil my life is in, no matter what girl I’m thinking about that day, I can always count on this. I can always come here to escape the person I’ve become, and the one I don’t want to be.

  Ten

  Eloise

  If Notes and Bouquets was a class I could pass in my sleep, then Geography of Wines was a course I knew like the back of my hand.

  It was unfair that I had been to almost every region of wine country in Italy, France and California, when most of the students in the sommelier program here had only dreamed of it, or watched YouTube videos on the subject.

  I take a seat at one of the desks in the rare classroom in the small food science building on the outskirts of campus, located near the vineyards and orchards. It was actually kind of nice, having a major at the university that only a few dozen students were permitted into. It was also one of the select programs that allowed, with parental permission, students under twenty-one to enroll.

  It meant that classes were small, I got to learn more about wine. And although, originally, I didn’t believe I’d be that educated here, there are some surprising things I’ve already learned. It also meant that the view from the building I was in had the best view, beautiful apple trees and the lake just outside the windows.

  “If this class isn’t bullshit, I don’t know what is.” A girl dropped into the seat next to me, her black leather Michael Kors bag spilling onto the floor.

  I snorted, I couldn’t help it. “If you don’t know the geography of different grapes or vintages, I’m not sure why you’d be studying to be a sommelier.”

  “Exactly!” She turns to me, her dark brown hair twisted up into a bun and green eyes laughing. “I’m Blair, nice to meet you.”

  “Eloise.” I nod, shaking her hand when she extends it. “So, you are going to snooze through this class as much as I am, then?”

  Blair leans back, relaxing into her desk. “Lord, I’ve been here almost three years now and all of these theory classes just bore me. I’d rathe
r be out tasting, or actually traveling to these places to test wines and processes. I spent a semester last year in Tuscany, it was incredible. How about you? You’re definitely not from around these parts.”

  I motion to my mouth, accentuating my accent. “How could you tell? No, you’re right, I’m from London … I’m actually studying to be a chef at the Sorbonne but needed a change of scenery and thought I’d add wine expert to my résumé. Makes me more desirable in the industry.”

  Blair leans in conspiratorially. “No shit, huh? You’re the real deal, Ms. Sorbonne. Now you have to cook for me. And you’ve probably been to every one of these places.”

  I chuckle, liking this girl instantly. She reminded me a lot of myself, no holds barred, said whatever was on her mind. “I can definitely do that.”

  “Good, you can come over on Thursday night. My roommate and I live off campus, in the Hill Apartments. We’ll supply the wine and games.”

  And now I loved her boldness, her follow through. “You sure you don’t want to vet me more, first? I could be a serial killer.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “No serial killer I know would have a penchant for Tory Burch flats and that Donna Karan sweater.”

  And she liked fashion. “I think I have a girl crush on you. Too bad I’m only staying for one semester, or we’d have to start dating.”

  Blair laughs, the rich sound filling the room. “I don’t swing that way, but for you and that accent I might consider it. So you’re only here for a few months? And how do you like Vermont so far?”

  Our professor walks in, greeting the class and setting up the computer screen on the white board from the overhead projector.

  I drag my attention back to Blair. “It’s been nice so far, colder than I’m used to but very pretty. And I’m adjusting to your American college life.”