“I know,” I say quietly so she understands that I understand.
She draws a deep breath. “Fine. One hour.”
“Yay!” I let go of her hand and clap. “I promise, at the very least, it will be entertaining.”
“What is this event again?”
“Keg run for narcolepsy. Or something like that.”
She shakes her head. “Oh boy. Sounds enlightening.”
“Only if you check your IQ at the door.”
She chuckles. “Didn’t plan on bringing it anyway.”
There is no door to check our IQs at, we discover, as Elle and I arrive to the Alpha House and are immediately redirected by the signs to go to a park a few blocks over. Despite the sun setting, the September heat is sweltering today, and I’m praying they’re serving ice-cold water.
“So what exactly is a keg run?” asks Elle as we follow the crowd toward an area of the park that’s been blocked off with rope. Alphas in white T-shirts that say “Security” are stationed around the perimeter for the purpose, I assume, of keeping people from sneaking in.
My eyes scan the crowd inside and around the cordoned-off area, searching for Hunter. I don’t see him.
“Not sure,” I reply to Elle. “I’m guessing they’re selling beer for charity. Like we sold cappuccinos.”
We come up to a long line of people waiting to get inside the party area, and I quickly realize we’re not getting in. “Twenty-one and over.”
She steps to the side and takes a look at the sign for herself. “Well, let’s go back. I’m not paying five dollars to go over a rope and watch people drink beer, anyway.”
I can’t argue with that, but I’m here for another reason, too. And there he is.
“Ah, but look.” I point to a crowd over on the other side of the field. “We don’t have to pay to watch the entertainment.”
We both see Hunter and about ten other guys in their football jerseys, shoulder pads, and shorts, getting ready to lift what I can only assume are full kegs.
“Heeeey, Tassie,” says a deep voice to my side.
I look up to see a giant tree trunk. “Henry, how’s it going?”
“Fine,” he wiggles his brows, “now that you’re here, baby.”
Baby? Oh, wait. “Sorry, buddy. Don’t waste your time. I’m not giving up the V-card to you.” Dang, I did it again. Why can’t I sound like an adult when I talk about sex?
Henry’s face contorts into something resembling confusion.
“Yes, Henry,” I say, “I know about the scavenger hunt, which is why I’ve decided that Hunter’s getting the points.”
“What are you talking about?” Elle looks at me.
I look at Elle and contemplate if I should tell her the truth. I didn’t want to make her an accomplice, but she’ll probably figure out our sham. It was her idea in the first place.
I smile at her. “Yeah, sleeping with me is supposedly worth fifty points now. It was Henry’s idea, actually.”
Henry looks busted—big green eyes, mouth falling open, red face. “Well, I only—”
“That’s horrible!” Elle barks at him. “Who would do such a thing? Do you have a sister?” She places her fists on her hips and glares at him.
“Well,” he scratches the back of his head, “yeah. I have three.”
“How would you feel if some guys made getting into their pants a stupid game?”
“I’d be mad,” he says dejectedly.
It is completely barbaric, and I love that Elle just made Henry see the light.
“Sorry, Tassie,” Henry says in a quiet voice. “We were kinda drunk when we came up with that. I’ll talk to the guys and have them take it down.”
What? No. If they do that, then Hunter will lose the points. “No need. Just promise you’ll never put sex on the board again. But us women will let it slide. Just this once.”
“But, Tassie,” Elle cuts in, “that’s just—”
I give her a wink-wink to convey hush-hush. “I’ve already decided that Hunter gets to nail the virgin. It’s going to be awesome.” I sound like an imbecile.
Elle crinkles her nose. “Okaaay.”
“It’s starting. I gotta go,” says Henry. “Did you place your bets?”
“Bets?” Elle asks.
“Yeah, pick your winner over there.” Henry points to another table not too far from the beer corral’s entrance. “If your horse wins, your name goes into the drawing for a date.”
“With who?” I ask.
“The winning horse.”
I see out of the corner of my eye that the guys on the other side of the field are lifting the kegs and placing them on their shoulders.
“You mean you guys are going to race, carrying kegs?”
“Yeah, man. It’s a keg run. You really need to stop smokin’ so much weed.” Henry turns away and heads for the pack of “horses.”
I shrug at Elle and make a little loop with my finger over my temple to indicate Henry is crazy. She nods, knowing I’m not a pothead. Ah, but the day is still young…
Meanwhile, I realize Elle keeps glancing toward the direction we came from. She wants to leave.
“Come on. I’ll buy you a ticket,” I say.
“No. This is silly.”
“Of course. But it’s for charity, and I’m sure narcolepsy is one of those overlooked disorders, since the people are always too sleepy to drive awareness for their cause.”
“You’re such a smartass, Tassie.”
“It’s a gift.”
We walk over, and I buy her a ticket for Henry. I get a ticket for Hunter. Apparently, the “horses” have to lap the park three times, hauling a full keg. Sounds brutal, to be honest.
The gun goes off just as we step away from the ticket table. Right away, I can see Hunter is not going to win this. The other guys, like Henry, look like rhinos carrying rolls of toilet paper on their shoulders. One guy is actually running with the barrel pressed into his chest like he’s carrying a baby. Hunter is a big strong guy, but more like a cheetah—lean and muscular—not a bulldozer built for hauling boulders.
Still, I can’t help smiling because he’s laughing his ass off, struggling to keep his keg balanced.
“Oh! Come on, Hunter! Run!” I yell.
He sees me and shakes his head. The pack of rhinos are leaving him in the dust.
“Go, Henry!” screams Elle, to my side.
“You realize you’re probably the only one who has a ticket for Henry, right?” I ask.
She blinks and realizes that if he wins, she’ll likely be picked to go on a date with him.
“Go, Hunter!” she screams with a smile. “Go, anyone but Henry!” Luckily, Henry can’t hear her over all the yelling.
“Hey, Tassie!” says a cheery voice to my side.
I turn and see Jennifer in a Got Sleep? T-shirt.
“Hi. Nice to see you again,” I say.
She gives me a big hug that takes me by surprise.
“Uh, this is my roomie, Elle,” I say after Jennifer releases me.
“Nice to meet you.” Elle flashes her gapped teeth. It’s kind of cute the way she smiles. Reminds me of a little bunny rabbit or something.
“Same here,” Jennifer bounces up and down. “Who’d you guys get tickets for?”
“Henry.” I point to Elle and then raise my hand. “Hunter for me.”
“Awww…so sweet,” Jennifer says enthusiastically. “Never give up hope.” She holds out her fist, and I realize it’s that fist-bump thing. That’s definitely not proper geek etiquette, but I reciprocate anyway and do the whole hand explosion thing like I’ve seen in movies.
The pack of muscle heads shuffle by, grunting and sweating, and I go back to cheering for Hunter. He’s literally laughing so hard, he’s about to fall over as he passes us. I realize he’s holding his keg all wrong with the curve of the barrel pressed into his neck. With his shoulder width and body mass, the weight of the keg is resting more on the outside of his shoulder.
“How much do you think that weighs?” I ask Elle.
“My guess? It holds about fifteen to eighteen gallons of liquid and water weighs approximately eight point three five pounds per gallon. So with the metal container included, I’d say the keg weighs one sixty to one seventy.” She shrugs. “Just a guess.”
“That’s a fair guess.” I ballparked one fifty, but she’s smarter than me, so I go with her number. And Hunter is about six two and probably weighs about two twenty.
I break from the crowd and run to his side. “Switch to the flat side! Put the bottom of the keg on your shoulder and tip it inward toward you.”
Panting, he gives me a look. “Huh?”
“Shift more of the weight toward your center, bonehead.”
He rolls his eyes and winces, but then stops, wrestles with the one sixty (or eighty) pound beast and maneuvers it up on to his shoulder pad. He slides his hand through the slot at the top, which he barely reaches.
“Better?” I ask.
“Better. Thanks, my little nerd.”
I frown, and he winks.
“Get off the track!” the crowd starts yelling at me.
“Okay.” I hold up my hands and go back to the spectator position.
Before we know it, Hunter is closing the gap.
“Ha! There, you see. Math isn’t a waste of time!” I yell at Hunter as he approaches us on the second lap, looking like he’s going to keel over but still managing to hold his position in the middle of the pack of Incredible Hulks.
“I don’t need math. I have my nerd princess,” he barks back.
I laugh and watch him move toward the front. His arms are straining, biceps rippling, neck muscles pulsing and legs charging.
He looks pretty sexy. Not that I care.
Soon, they’re on the third lap, approaching the finish line near us, when the crowd of a few hundred people amp up the cheering and the horses’ egos kick in.
“Go, Hunter! Move that tight ass!” I yell.
Elle gives me a look.
“What? It’s really tight,” I say.
She shakes her head, but laughs anyway.
Hunter is almost to the end, second place, behind Henry of all people. Suddenly, I see Hunter step on something, twist his ankle, and the keg goes flying. He follows.
“Oohhh…” The crowd winces in unison.
I cover my mouth. “Oh no.” I hope he’s not hurt. Of course, none of the contestants stop to help him because they’re all genetically part caveman and must win the race.
I run along the side of the track and go to him.
Hunter’s clutching his ankle, rolling on his back, groaning.
“Oh shit. Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, just…ahhh…give me a minute.”
Elle comes up. “Is he all right?”
“It looks like he sprained it or something.”
“I’ll go get ice.” She scurries off, and I kneel beside him with my hands sort of doing this weird tapping thing on his arm. I don’t know if I’m supposed to touch him or not touch him or what to do. I realize I know almost nothing about sports injuries, but I can do the Heimlich and CPR.
Henry and a couple of the guys, all out of breath and dripping with sweat, finally come over.
“Dude, you okay?” Henry says.
“I think I sprained it.” Hunter groans.
“No. Fuck no, dude. We have a game on Saturday,” says one of the guys, who I really want to kick.
“He’s in pain, you moron,” I say. “Help him up so we can get him over to one of those tables.”
Henry reaches down and scoops up Hunter as if he were a little rag doll.
“My fucking hero,” Hunter grunts.
“Shut up. I’m trying to help, bro,” Henry grunts.
They march past Elle, who’s already holding a bag of ice.
“That’s kind of adorable, isn’t it?” she says to me.
“Errr…sure.”
Sadly, I’m now being shallow, too, because I’m already thinking about our plan and whether or not this will interfere.
Nothing wrong with making sure the show goes on.
I follow Henry inside the beer playground as they sit Hunter down in a fold-out chair and prop his leg up on another. Elle’s quickly got the bag of ice in place.
“I hope it’s just a light sprain because I’m really looking forward to having sex tonight like you promised,” I say loudly.
Everyone around us falls into a dead hush and stares at me, including Hunter, whose blue eyes are shooting WTF arrows.
“Sorry,” I mouth. “Too much?”
“Uh, yeah,” he snarls under his breath.
“Ha. Ha. Hahaha…” I laugh exaggeratedly loud. “Just messin’ around.”
The festivities continue, and I kneel beside him.
“What was that?” he growls.
“I’m sorry, okay. I just didn’t want to let everything get derailed because you decided to participate in the Thor-a-thon for beer lovers.”
“Harrumph!” He looks away and jerks his head at a few Gammas standing in their tiny tees and short-shorts, looking over and chatting about him.
“Hey, eyes over here, buddy.” I point to my face.
“What? They’re just friends.”
“No, genius,” I hiss, “they’re not. Because nobody is going to believe we slept together if you’re not at least pretending to be into me and, by the way, when were you going to tell me about the girl back home?”
Hunter’s chiseled features—cheekbones, perfect brows, straight nose and jaw—look like they’ve been washed away in a flash flood.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My brows furrow. “Bullcrap.”
“It is bullcrap. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, really?” I stand up and cross my arms. “Then let’s ask some of the girls here what they know—” I turn.
“Wait. Fine.” He leans in from his chair. “It’s just a story I made up—you know. To keep them away.”
“Why?”
The color returns to his face, but his expression is as serious as…okay, yes, a damned heart attack. I’m saying it again, okay?
“I can’t afford to fuck this up, Tassie,” he whispers.
“What?”
“This,” he hisses. “It’s my only chance.”
My mind usually outsmarts me, meaning it sees patterns and relationships before I ask it to. Images and thoughts, facts and memories flood my mind. Hunter’s big change the summer before last, his father’s business going under, the fights I’ve overheard for years flowing out of their garage—so many strong, harsh words coming from his dad that I often wondered how he could manage a smile the next day. Stupid. Loser. Lazy. The kinds of words that would scar me for life if my father or mother ever said them aloud. I know this because my own parents have merely implied they think these things about me and I ended up in the fetal position. Conclusion being that if I were him, I’d want to get away, too.
“What happened that summer before senior year?” I ask.
He jerks his head back, and toxic fury sparks in his intense blue eyes. His nostrils flare and the veins in his neck visibly throb. The rage is so palpable that I step back without even knowing it. I’ve pissed him off. I’ve hurt him. And I don’t know why. I only know that while I should show this guy no mercy after all the pain he’s caused me, mercy is the only thing I want to give.
“I-I’ll go,” I say.
“Yeah, good choice,” he scowls, still seated.
“O-okay.” I bob my head. “I hope your ankle’s okay.”
He replies with a turn of the head, and my heart sinks into the mud. I can’t breathe. Not that I really want to. It’s like that pain inside him is in me.
Toxic empathy. Why? Why the fuck would I care and have such strong emotion for this gorgeous asshole? He’s had everything handed to him for as long as I can remember, and I’ve succeeded despite him. Still, my
thoughts don’t match my heart, which knows I’m missing something.
I can’t do this, I think. I can’t operate in this space where I don’t know the rules or facts or understand the variables. I just feel bad. Really fucking bad.
Before I know it, I’m just standing there looking down at him, blinking back fat tears. I don’t know where they came from, just like I don’t know why I’m so upset or emotional or biting my lower lip so goddamned hard that I taste copper. I’m a cold mess inside.
I need to go. Without another word, I turn and leave. There’s this noise in my head, voices and conversations from the past that I don’t remember ever seeing or hearing until now.
I don’t stop until I’ve reached my dorm room, where I slam the door, climb into my bed, and pull the covers over my head.
What is happening to me? What the fuck is happening to me?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Friday morning, I’m up and showered before Elle. I head to my English class and push away the disturbing thoughts that haunted me the night before. I know whatever’s jabbing at the back of my mind, it’s not small. I know it’s horrible, life-changingly bad.
By one o’clock, I’m fairly sure that whatever this is, it’s going to trouble me until I confront it. But that’s the thing. I don’t know what it is. I only know two things: I don’t want to remember it. And, two, neither does Hunter because he’s never mentioned it—whatever “it” is.
I skip history and biochem and head straight to Hunter’s dorm. Ten minutes of knocking on his door tells me he’s not there. Standing in the hall, two floors above mine, I’m about to head for the Alpha House, but think twice. Even if Hunter’s not playing today, he’ll be at practice.
I turn and head for the stairs. I don’t remember walking to the stadium. I don’t remember climbing the stairs to the bleachers or looking down on the field. I only know Hunter is shaking me, saying my name. “Tass. Tass?”
I blink and gaze into his eyes. “Hunter?”
“Tass, what’s going on?” he asks.
I’m a wreck, that’s what. I must look like a crazy person because he looks worried. Really worried.
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