“Nah,” Chris shook his head, moving closer. “Just know a bunch of them. We can’t party hard in season, but I like to show my face once in a while.”
Sam glanced out at the dance floor. Rita was grinding one out with a drunken frat boy who looked like he had multiple sets of hands.
“Social—?” she drawled. “That what they call this?”
“Is she your friend?” Chris asked, watching Rita as she threw her head back and laughed hard, arm looped around the frat boy’s shoulders. There was no way that guy was that funny, so Sam figured all the tequila had finally caught up to her.
“Unfortunately,” Sam admitted, sheepish. “I’m not sure if she’s dancing or trying to get laid.”
“Probably a bit of both?” Chris replied. “Either way, it’s not a bad way to start the year, is it?” he added with a grin, that hopeful look back in his eyes.
Sam considered him with a wry smile. “I’ll give you points for boldness and optimism, Chris. But that’s about it.”
“So you won’t dance with me?”
“I don’t make a habit of dating classmates, sorry.”
“Word is you don’t make a habit of dating anybody,” he replied. “And it’s just a dance besides.”
Sam’s brows rose. “Been checking up on me, Chris?”
“You’re the one who knew I was a football player.”
“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?” she taunted. “What the hell else would you be?”
“Stereotype much?” he replied, though he looked more amused than put off.
“Is it a stereotype if it’s true?” she countered. “Besides, you’re not the only one I’ve paid attention to in that class.”
Chris’s brow lifted. “So I do have competition.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged, smiling.
“Tell me the name of this other guy, and I’ll tackle him so hard, he’ll never get up again,” Chris joked, playfully smashing his fist into his other hand.
“No one in particular—I’ve just been paying attention,” she shrugged. “Are you aware that most of our projects this year will be in groups? I figure I might as well know who’s who if my classmates are going to have a hand in determining my grade.”
“And you don’t want to partner with me because you think I’m a dumb jock?” he guessed.
“No,” Sam shook her head. “That would be an unfair stereotype. You have a high GPA from what I’ve heard. It’s just that if I do decide to partner with you on a project, I don’t want you focused on my chest instead of my mind.”
He grinned. “Now I definitely want to dance with you.”
Sam smiled at his boldness.
Chris scratched his chin as he considered her. “I never met a girl who’d reconned a room of over fifty students for the sole purpose of engineering a better grade.”
“What did you think I was doing when the TA was droning on and on about the syllabus?” she asked, brows raised.
“Guess I was kind of hoping you were drawing those little hearts and curlicues around my name.” He drew a heart in the air with a blunt fingertip. “Chris and Samantha—forever.”
Sam smiled, enjoying the flirty banter. She liked Chris. He had a laid-back, easy-going way about him. He was clearly bright. Looking at the heavy slabs of muscles clearly visible on his broad frame, she could see he worked hard to maintain his shape and physique, so he had discipline too—a trait she admired.
“I’ve got a proposal for you,” she said after a moment.
Chris leaned closer, eyes twinkling. “Shoot.”
“You and me team up on this upcoming project.”
“Okay… ?” Chris replied quizzically. “And?” he prompted.
Sam sipped her water. “We get an A, and you just might get that dance.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Samantha.”
“Call me Sam,” she replied casually. “And I prefer to think of it as a win-win.”
Chris extended his giant paw of a hand. “You got a deal, Sam.”
“Perfect.” She smiled as they shook on it. “I’ll see you on Monday, then.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?” he protested, glancing at his watch. “It’s barely midnight.”
Sam looked over at Rita. Her friend was clearly two sheets to the wind as the frat boy groped her, both of them sloppy. “I’ve gotta rescue my friend before she wakes up with a hangover and VD.”
Chris followed her line of sight. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” he agreed begrudgingly. “I can’t tell if that guy’s trying to feel your friend up or if he’s looking for loose change.”
“Probably a bit of both.”
“Can I help?” Chris offered as she stepped forward.
“Nah, I’ve got it covered. It was nice meeting you, Chris,” she called over her shoulder.
“Likewise, Sam,” he called back, grinning. “Good luck with your friend.”
“I’ll need it,” she muttered, squeezing through the crowd.
*
August—Friday Night
Sigma Tau Fraternity House, College Station, Texas
W E S L E Y
The Sigs were some of his best customers, and tonight he’d be handing over ten freshly minted driver’s licenses at two hundred bucks a pop. Wes had a strict policy regarding his customers. He only accepted referrals from upperclassmen guys or girls who sponsored a freshman or a sophomore in need of a seriously good ID and had the cash to pay for it. That way, Wes knew his contact had skin in the game, and if any underager got caught with one of his fakes, they wouldn’t know who had supplied it.
The fraternities and sororities gifted legacy pledges with the fake IDs once they made it through Rush, making fall Wes’s best earning season by far. It was seconded only by spring breakers desperate to get into the bars down in Padre Island, if they weren’t lucky enough to make it to Cancun.
So in addition to enjoying a good party with plenty of beer and plenty of hook-up prospects, Wes would be pocketing some good cash tonight, and his mood couldn’t be better as he stepped into the fraternity house.
He spotted Chris quickly—easy to do with a guy his size. His roommate was leaving the dance floor when he saw Wes and waved him over to the bar area.
“You doing all right, buddy?” Wes asked, slapping Chris on the back.
“Hell yeah, I am,” Chris replied with a grin. “Met the girl of my dreams.”
“Where is she?” Wes asked, glancing around.
“Saving her friend,” Chris sighed mournfully. “She’s heading out early.”
“Hos before bros?” Wes teased.
“Hey, don’t call my future wife a ‘ho,’” Chris replied.
Wes rolled his eyes. “You say that about every girl,” he remarked, thanking one of the Sigs who handed him a fresh beer from the bar. “If you’d married each of the girls you’ve been in love with, you’d have a harem by now.”
“Yeah, well, this one’s different,” Chris insisted. “She’s smart, sexy, and she’s got a little edge to her.”
“Stay away from those edges, man. The last thing you need is to fall off a cliff.” Wes sipped his beer, amused at Chris’s longing stare across the room. He had no idea who Chris was hankering after in the throng of bodies he saw undulating and grinding to the heavy beat. Not that it much mattered. Chris was usually in love with a new girl each semester. By New Year’s, it’d be someone new.
“Hey, Wes.” A pretty sorority girl sidled up to him, tossing her arms around his shoulders. “Long time no see.”
“Well, hello there, angel,” he murmured, not bothering to try to place her face or name but liking what he saw. He slipped his free hand around her back, his thumb rubbing the warm flesh where her skimpy top rode up.
“You have a good summer?” she purred, her breath warm and sweet against his cheek as she pressed up against him.
“No way—Missed you too much,” he answered, smiling down at her.
Chris coughed a gruff “bull
shit” into his hand. Thankfully the girl didn’t notice as her friend tugged her toward the dance floor.
“Come find me later?” she asked, eyes sparkling with invitation.
“Sure thing, angel.” Wes nodded, winking at her.
Chris shook his head at him as the girls disappeared in the throng. “You have no idea who the hell that girl is, do you?”
“We’ve clearly met before.” Wes shrugged, sipping his beer.
“How is it that a guy who gets around as much as you do still gets more ass than he can shake a stick at?” Chris asked in mock consternation. “I don’t know whether to admire you or be afraid for you.”
“You just don’t understand women, Chris,” Wes replied sagely. “That’s why you have to work so damn hard for them. You want it too much.”
“You’d want it too if you knew what true love was like, asshole,” Chris countered confidently. “Nothing like it in the world. Best high there is. When it happens, you’re going to be a stupid, lovesick fool, and I’ll have a field day seeing some girl drag you to your knees.”
Wes looked on in amusement. “On occasion, I quite enjoy being dragged to my knees by the right girl,” he admitted. “With a little submission comes a great deal of power.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Chris rolled his eyes. “Do not tell me you’re into whips and chains.”
“I’m into pleasure and exploration,” Wes replied. “Who am I to deny a lady her accessories? If she wants to dress up like Catwoman and boss me around—then I say, ‘Why the hell not?’” He shrugged.
Chris shook his head at him. “It’s kind of funny, really.”
“What is?”
“You’re ‘Mr. I’ll-Try-Anything-Once,’ except when it comes to real emotions or commitment. Then you lock down tighter than a submarine.”
Wes caught the eye of another girl passing them. “For a smart guy, you’ve just never learned how to separate your cock from your heart, Chris. The sooner you learn to do that, the happier you’ll be. Mark my words.”
“Yeah, well this one’s different,” Chris replied, a happy grin stretching his mouth. “Hell, I’m half in love with this girl, and we’ve only been in class a week.”
“Always so eager to lose your damn mind.” Wes shook his head. “I’ll stock up on the whisky for when you get your shit kicked in.”
Chris just shrugged, like it was all so inevitable. “Where would we be without women to fuck us up?”
“And you think I’m the one into whips and chains,” Wes pointed out before he spotted the president of the fraternity and two of his minions approaching.
“How’s it going, man?” one of them grinned, already several warm beers in, while another was visibly distracted by all the fine ladies surrounding them.
“Be back in a few,” Wes said to Chris.
“Be careful,” Chris mouthed before turning away. Chris knew what Wes’s side gig was, and though he wasn’t exactly approving, he’d sponsored enough of his own football buddies to know not to preach. Besides, Wes knew Chris was just watching his back, worried he might get caught. But Wes was careful, and he was also smart.
He gripped the frat brothers by the neck, leading them away from the crowd, ready to do business.
*
August—Same Time
Sigma Tau Fraternity House, College Station, Texas
S A M A N T H A
“But it’s not even one a.m.!” Rita protested as Sam pried her off the drunken idiot who was pawing at her.
“Yeah, well, it’s close enough, and trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning,” Sam muttered, looping Rita’s arm around her shoulder as she guided her through the hot, messy throng of coeds grinding on each other like monkeys.
“I liked him!” Rita insisted, barely able to stand on her stilettos.
“Really?” Sam drawled. “What’s his name, then?”
Rita concentrated like she was trying to do advanced calculus in her head. “Rick!” she replied, snapping her fingers. “Or wait, maybe it was Ryan,” she mumbled uncertainly, her face pinching a little.
“I rest my case,” Sam replied, hitching an arm around Rita’s waist as she guided her toward the front door of the frat house.
“Oh my God, papi chulo!4 That motherfucker’s hot!” Rita shout-whispered urgently into her ear as they passed the bar. Sam saw Chris first, though his back was to her. And then she saw the object of Rita’s sudden attention.
Her photographer.
Sam would have recognized him anywhere. He’d been impossible to overlook that day she’d seen him on the Quad, totally focused as he took his pictures behind a tripod. Up close, her photographer was arrestingly attractive—all tousled, tawny bed-hair, sun-kissed skin, and easy masculinity. He chatted with Chris, his smile fast and blithe as a hummingbird, a flash of even, white teeth gleaming as he laughed at something Chris was saying.
Sam glanced away, uncharacteristically anxious, just like she’d been the day she’d seen him at the Arches. She doubted he’d recall seeing her on that windy, stormy day anyway, but she kept her face averted just the same as they passed.
“Wait, stop!” Rita slurred as Sam dragged her away. “I wanna talk to him—”
“No, you don’t,” Sam replied, determined to get to the door.
“Oh, yes I do,” Rita insisted, struggling to turn around and nearly falling over in her bid to make the connection.
Sam grabbed her friend’s arm again, catching a glimpse as a girl wearing next to nothing launched herself into her photographer’s arms. He caught her easily, his smile bemused as his hands circled her waist with easy familiarity.
“See?” Sam gestured, disappointment coursing through her. “He’s moved on. Perhaps it wasn’t lust at first sight after all.”
“But we could have been so good together,” Rita moaned, leaning heavily on Sam as she trudged toward the door. “He’s hot, I’m hot. He’s probably a knockout in the sack, and I’m definitely awesome in bed—”
“A match made in drunk heaven, I’m sure,” Sam agreed, cutting her off as she maneuvered them out the front door past the throngs of students still trying to get in.
“Who was that cute blonde dude you were talking to?” Rita asked, slurring a little. “He wasn’t fucking sexy like that chico guapo,5 but I could tell that vato was all into you.”
“He’s just a guy I have class with. We’re doing a project together.” They made it down the walkway toward the street where she’d parked her car.
“Oh, I bet he wants to ‘do a project’ with you,” Rita cackled loudly, amusing herself with her air quotes. “And you should let him do all kinds of projects with you, jaina. So uptight all the time.”
Trouble was, Sam didn’t think of Chris’s all-American good looks and winsome smile when she imagined doing any kind of anything with a guy. She imagined a photographer with just-ravished hair and bright golden eyes. But that same photographer made her feel hot and uncomfortable without even trying, and Sam wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that weird, new awareness.
“I’m serious, chica!” Rita insisted drunkenly as she stumbled toward Sam’s Mustang. “That boy could really loosen you up.”
“Rita, honey, you’re loose enough for all of us.”
“I am not a slut!” Rita smacked her back. “I’m an empowered woman!”
“Perfect. Then empower your ass all the way into my car,” Sam answered, unlocking the door. She helped Rita in, buckling her seatbelt.
“You gotta ease up sometimes, Sammy,” Rita told her tiredly as she settled in, her head dropping back. “Life’s made for living, you know? I just want you to be happy sometimes, chica.”
“I am happy, Rita,” she promised.
“Then how come I’m always having to drag your ass out?”
Sam didn’t have a really good answer for that, so she remained quiet. Truth was, she felt a little shy most of the time. She’d grown up with guys all her life—got along with them better than girls, in truth—but
when it came to girly stuff like dating boys and daydreaming about hearts and curlicues, well, she didn’t know much about that, all told.
So Sam went with what she knew. And that had always been acting just like one of the boys. Besides which, when guys came knocking, Sam never really knew what they were interested in—her or her daddy’s money. So she steered clear most of the time, figuring she didn’t want to end up anybody’s notch. Not on their bed and definitely not on their bank account. Maybe that made her a hardass. But that’s how it was.
“You should go out with that cute blonde bear,” Rita suggested blearily, still fixated on Chris. “Guy that big—I bet he’s hung like a—”
“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Sam interrupted, turning over her Mustang.
“Okaaay,” Rita sighed. “But you should listen to me, jaina. I know what I’m talking about.”
“I know you do, Rita.” Sam steered them out of the parking space, careful to avoid the drunken coeds roaming the streets, either leaving the Sig party or looking to get into it.
“Oh, and one more thing—” Rita held a hand up to her mouth. “You should also help unroll my window because I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be sick.”
Chapter 4
September—Monday, Early Morning
The Viz Lab, Texas A&M
W E S L E Y
Wes leaned over the light box, examining the negatives through a magnifier, in the cool quiet of the photography studio. At least a couple times a week, he woke up early to get in some time at the Viz Lab before the day became frenetic. He’d spend an hour or two looking for ways to draw out the subtleties in his work, before the lab got flooded with bodies and the subsequent noise.
Wes loved photography with a passion—had since his mother gave him his first camera, an old Polaroid beater whose film had been more expensive than the actual camera itself. He loved looking at the world through the lens, coaxing things out, capturing distinct moments in time when everything seemed to fly right by him most days. In the quiet coolness of the lab, he loved losing himself in the varied perspectives, the light, and the angles.
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