by Ginger Scott
Ty
Sexy ninja. It took her less than five minutes to have every videogame-playing asshole at this party by the balls.
“Dude, that was hot,” I say, punching Nate on the shoulder while everyone else in the living room scrambles to recover—Marcus and his brother, mostly. Once Cass defeated the game, they shut the Xbox off, clearly not wanting a repeat ass whooping.
“You have a strange set of standards for what’s hot, man,” Nate says, handing me an extra beer and heading to the back patio. The second we pass through the door, I see her sitting on the wall on the other side.
“Maybe I do, bro. Maybe I do,” I say, not able to take my eyes off her. Her legs are tan and long, and I love that she’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt. The high-maintenance chick that’s obsessed with salad dressing is with her, and she looks like she’s dressed for a goddamned prom. “What do you think…freshman?”
“I don’t know. Yeah, probably, I guess,” Nate says, half paying attention and pulling himself up to sit along the block wall. “If you hit that, you’re keeping that shit in her room, though. I need my sleep, and I’m not hanging around the hallway waiting on you to get some.”
“Oh, Nathan. You and your beauty sleep,” I tease, doing my best to eavesdrop on their conversation a few feet away from us. Cass keeps flitting her eyes my direction, trying not to smile. It’s cute, the way she’s afraid of getting caught.
“Come on, bro. You owe me one,” I say, untying one of Nate’s shoelaces and pushing forward to approach the two blondes.
“Goddamn it, Ty. I don’t owe you shit, and you know I hate it when you fuck with my shoes,” Nate says somewhere behind me. I’m already zeroed in on everything in front of me though, and the adorable smile playing out on Cass’s face as she bites the side of her bottom lip, trying not to blush.
“You read Gamer,” I say, knowing full well she does—based on the ass whooping she displayed a few minutes ago. I don’t sleep well, and when I can’t sleep, I play video games—all of them.
“Maybe,” she says, sipping at the beer in her cup. She’s being coy; it’s cute. “You…read Gamer?” she asks, one eyebrow cocked upward.
I grin in response, wink, and then tip my cup back finishing off my beer. Her cup’s empty too, so I take this opportunity. “Get you another?” I ask, brushing my hand into hers just to see how she reacts. She looks down when I do, rapping fingers against the cup where I touched skin—almost like she’s not used to being touched that way.
“Yeah, I’ll have another,” she says, handing me her cup. I notice the salad dressing blonde scoot in closer, nudging her in disapproval.
“Relax, I’m not an asshole. I won’t drug her,” I say, and her friend just stares at me, hard, her brow low and her facial expression clearly not trusting me at all. She grills me with that gaze for a few seconds before turning her attention to Nate, suddenly forgetting all about me.
“Be right back,” I say, holding both cups in one hand and pushing myself back inside.
The crowd around the keg is thick; I move toward the kitchen and pick up a few smaller cups, filling them with the tequila I brought. I pour eight shots, putting them on a plate in my lap, knowing I can probably talk Nate into doing a few with me. I know he said he was done with this…but I think he’ll play along just long enough for me to get in with Cass.
By the time I get outside, the other blonde—Paige was her name, I think—has made herself at home on Nate’s lap; I catch his glance and wiggle my brows at him. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes a little. I know if he truly hated having this girl crawl all over him like she’s doing—he’d put an end to it. My brother might think he’s done with his partying ways, but he also has a hard time saying no to certain things.
“Shots?” Cass says, wrinkling her nose.
“Beer line was long,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. When I turn back to her, I hand her the still-empty red cup from my lap, but not before noticing the name she’s scribbled on it. “Adrianna, huh?” I ask, glaring at her and wondering why she’s pretending to have a different name. I know her name’s Cass—I heard it loud and clear the other day, and there’s no fucking way I was going to forget it.
“That’s me,” she says, pulling it from my hand and kicking off from the wall, “and I’ll just get my own beer then.”
Her friend is still working on Nate, but I can tell my brother’s not taking the bait this time. He keeps checking messages on his phone, asking about scores when other people walk by—scores for games that I know there’s no way he’s interested in. Cass, or Adrianna, is standing on the tips of her toes looking over the crowded living room for the keg. The party is starting to really get going now, and I know she’s not getting to that keg for at least fifteen minutes. And when she does, there’s a good chance it’ll be dry anyway. She turns back to me; I hold up my makeshift platter of tequila and raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah, tequila it is, I guess,” she sighs, coming back to lean against the wall next to me. I hand her one of the tiny paper cups, and when our fingers touch, we both react, almost dropping the liquid.
“Damn, sorry. I thought you had that,” I say, catching it just before it spills, minus the few drops that splash over the side onto her. I’m nervous in front of her, and it’s really fucking weird. She licks the tequila from the top of her hand, then reaches to take a new cup from my lap, my pulse racing the closer she comes to touching me. What the hell?
“Paige?” she says, elbowing her friend and handing her a drink. They have an odd exchange at first—her friend looking at the drink for several seconds and then at Cass—almost like she’s scolding her. “Just take the stupid drink, Paige.”
Before the quiet grows any more uncomfortable, I pick up a cup and hand it to Nate, raising my brows high, urging him to do one shot—just one, man. Come on. After an eye-roll and a heavy sigh, he takes the drink from me, tilts it back, and lets it slide down fast, which thankfully, has Paige mimicking his actions and doing the same. Without pause, Cass downs hers quickly. Before I can blink, she reaches for another, and it goes just as fast.
I’m pretty sure she’s drunk way before she realizes it. I’ve had two, maybe three shots, but she’s gone and refilled the cups twice, which would put her at about…six, I think. “So…wanna play a game?” she slurs, as she sloppily pulls up one of the patio chairs, pushing it right in front of me, and sitting down—our knees touch. I can’t feel it, but I swear just seeing her bare legs grazing mine is the hottest sensation ever. Or maybe I’m drunker than I think I am, too.
“Sure, I’m in,” I say, moving the plate of empty cups from my lap to the table at the side of us. I lean forward and crack my knuckles, watching as she tries to crack hers. It’s cute, the way she acts tough. She holds her hands out flat and nods at me to do the same. When I hold them in the air in front of her, she studies them for a few seconds and then pulls them a little closer before resting her hand flat in mine, her knuckles on top.
“You hit the top of my hands, I take a drink. I hit the top of yours, you drink,” she says, and her friend coughs loudly behind me. “You’re not playing, Paige. Butt out!”
“I know I’m not playing, Ca—” her friend starts, but Cass interrupts.
“Adrianna!” she inserts, then pulls the corners of her mouth into a proud grin. She’d be the worst spy ever, but I’ll play along.
“Yeah, Paige. Wait your turn. Adrianna and I are playing now,” I say, keeping my eyes on Cass’s the entire time. When I stick up for her and use her fake name, she smiles and her cheeks flush red.
“Fine, Adrianna,” Paige says. “Just don’t go crazy with tequila. I’m not taking care of you.”
“Okay…Mom!” Cass says, breaking our stare, and raising her eyebrows a hint at her friend. “You go first,” she says, her gaze on me again.
I know this game. Nate and I used to play when we were kids during long car rides. I don’t think I’ve ever played it as a drinking game, though, so this sh
ould be interesting. I stare into her eyes and feel her hands hovering against mine; I twitch two or three times just to see her jump.
“When am I gonna do it? Is it…now?” I shout and jerk, but don’t really move my hands. On instinct, she quickly pulls her hands into her chest; I have to admit, I’m impressed that she’s still so nimble—given how lit she is on tequila. Slowly, she slides her hands back over mine, her eyes intensely watching for any muscle twitch or movements. Then, in a flash, she looks into my eyes again.
“Pussy,” she teases, a tiny smirk tugging at her lips, and holy fuck is it hot when she talks like that. I can’t help the grin that crawls up the side of my mouth as I keep my eyes locked on hers.
“Princess, I’m no pussy,” I say, slowly enunciating each word, and pushing my hands so they’re firmly against hers. Her breath hitches when I do, and her palms heat up from the friction of touching me. Her eyelids grow heavier, and I can tell the alcohol is really hitting her system now, so I don’t waste my time. With a swift movement, I swing my right hand out from under hers, reaching for the top of her left hand—catching her unexpected. Only somehow…what the hell? My hands are flat together, and I’ve missed her completely.
“I’m no princess,” she says, her hands untouched against her chest and the mischievous grin lingering somewhere between sexy and pissed as hell. “My turn.”
Yes, I do believe it’s her turn. Because I have no fucking clue what to do now, but goddamn do I want to figure it out.
Chapter 3
Cass
“How, in the name of all that is holy, are you awake…and moving!” Paige’s voice is muffled by her pillow, which she has secured over her mouth and eyes to block out the closet light I just turned on.
“It’s just easier if you push through the pain. Want me to open the window?” I ask, laughing when she pulls both hands away from her pillow to flip me off. I love teasing Paige when she’s hung over.
“Touch that curtain, and I will end you,” she seethes, which only makes me laugh harder. Paige has flair for drama.
We drank a lot last night, but I’ve drunk more before. It’s been a while, but my tolerance still seems to be okay. And we came home early—mostly because the guy Paige had her eye on left early, and she got bored. I could have played the flirting game all night though. We never talked about anything personal me and…huh, mystery man. No names—at least, not my real name. I think he knew I was faking it, but he played along, which was…nice.
I slapped hands with him for about thirty minutes, maybe longer, and our conversation stayed on the surface. Double-meaning comments, laced with flirtation, but nothing deeper. As soon as I could tell it was going somewhere, I left. He went to the bathroom, promising he’d be right back, and I told Paige I was ready to go home. I’m a little embarrassed by it now that I’m sober, but as far as he knows, I’m Adrianna—might as well be Cinderella.
“I’ve got a noon with the personal trainer. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” I whisper, knowing Paige has already drifted back to sleep.
When I found out they had someone on campus that worked with people…like me…I jumped on the appointment. Not that I really need anyone to push me through workouts, or to teach me things. I’m pretty self-driven when it comes to exercise, which my mom is always quick to point out I should do less of. The doctors disagree—or rather, they don’t all agree. So I do what makes me feel good. And since I left soccer behind in high school, I’ll stick with pushing my body in the gym.
Rowe is standing by the elevator, and I can tell she’s talking to someone, but I can’t see the other half of the conversation until I’m right behind her. And suddenly, he’s here. Our eyes are like magnets. My heart starts to literally throb, my chest pounding with a quick rhythm I’m pretty sure I can’t hide. My palms are sweaty, my mind racing with fear that he’s going to call me Adrianna—or that Rowe is going to call me Cass. Either way, I’m going to look like a lunatic to both of them. And I can tell by the way his mouth is curling into a knowing smirk that he’s ready to pick up where we left off—the flirting game. Thing is, I’m way better at that after I’ve had a few shots of tequila.
“You missed a hell of a party last night. You’re coming to the mixer with me tonight, no excuses,” I say to Rowe, looping my arm with hers, basically using her as a human shield for my embarrassment.
“Hey…” he starts to speak, and my body instantly flushes from the piercing stare of his eyes. “I think I met you last night.”
“Yeah, we hung for a bit I think. I got pretty shit-faced,” I say through a nervous laugh. I feel like such a loser, and I have no idea why I’m pretending I don’t remember every second of my time with him last night. He was the first vision in my mind when my alarm went off this morning…and I’ve been daydreaming about his stupid dimples and crystal-blue eyes ever since I first saw them at that burger joint I went to with Paige.
“What was your name?” He’s calling me on my bullshit.
“Cass.” I give in quickly, my secret identity of Adrianna now dead here in a freshman-dorm hallway.
“Cass,” he says, his damned dimples punctuating my one-syllable name as it glides from his smirking lips. “That’s right. I’m Ty.”
I can’t help but admire his arms as he stretches his hand toward me in introduction. They’re strong and toned in a way that screams of discipline, and as much as the girl part of me wants to admire them for the sex symbols they are, the physiology nerd in me wants to study his arms and learn how to make more just like them. I catch Rowe staring, too, and I realize we’ve both been gawking at him like a piece of meat for several seconds now.
“Rowe and I were just heading out to the gym. We were going to stop by a few of the buildings on the way. You know, scout out our classes? Wanna come? You look like you’re heading that way,” Ty says.
I have no idea how he knows Rowe, and I also have no idea where the jealous pang deep in my chest is coming from. All I’m sure of is that I hate the way it’s making me feel, and I’ll be damned if I act out on it and add to my checklist of crazy. “Sure, sounds great,” I say, plastering on a fake smile to hide the twisting feeling in my gut over the thought that maybe Rowe took my place in line for Ty’s attention.
The elevator ride is…awkward. Rowe’s hands are fidgeting together like she’s nervous, and Ty…he’s still grinning. I catch his glance at me, and I keep trying to speak, but every time I open my mouth, my brain shuts down. I’m utterly void of anything clever, funny, or interesting. God, why did I even get up this morning?
By the time we get outside, Rowe’s grip on my arm is so tight, it’s turning into a tourniquet. “Hey, are you…okay?” I whisper in her ear.
“Sorry,” she says, letting go of my arm, realizing exactly how hard she was squeezing me. “Not good with strangers.”
“You don’t really know him?” I ask, my nerves inching up another tick. Ty is a few feet ahead of us on the main walkway, but I swear he’s trying to listen to our whispering. His head is tilted just enough—it’s the same tell I have when I’m dropping in on someone’s business.
“Just met him this morning,” Rowe says, her arms stretched out on either side, her face panicked. Now I’m really curious why he was talking to her in the first place, and I can’t help but wonder if he knew she was my roommate—goddamned stupid hope and heart. I grab her arm again and tug her forward with me so we can catch up.
“So, ladies, where are you from?” Ty asks, and I catch his eyes start at my legs and work their way up to my face. The attention is intense, but I like it. This is way better than that jealous feeling I had a few minutes ago.
“My sister and I are from Burbank,” I say, and immediately I can tell he’s trying to see the relationship between Rowe and me. Rowe clears it up quickly though, explaining we aren’t sisters. Then, they’re both looking at me a bit puzzled.
“My sister’s our other roommate. You met her last night, too. Paige?” It hits me suddenly that P
aige and I never really mentioned this to Rowe, and her reaction is priceless. She stops short of calling my sister a bitch—not that it wouldn’t be accurate, or at least partially accurate—so I make her feel a little better by calling Paige’s bitchiness out for her.
“I’m from Louisiana originally,” Ty says, and suddenly the honey-glaze accent that smolders from his mouth comes together like a gorgeous puzzle. “I’m in grad school, but my brother’s a freshman. We thought it’d be cool to live together, so we both settled on the same school. They have a great business program here, and a hell of a baseball team, so it worked out.”
“Nate’s your brother,” Rowe says, and now I’m wondering who the hell Nate is. God, do I hope he’s not the guy Paige was all over last night…for Rowe’s sake.
“I think I saw him last night, too…” I say with a questioning face, just feeling him out on this. “My sister was all over him,” I say, and Ty quickly confirms it.
“I remember her. She’s cute,” he says, and I don’t know why it feels like such a massive punch to my ego that he thinks my sister’s attractive, but it does. “Not my brother’s type, though.”
Great. So does this mean she’s yours? I keep that conversation in my head, and do my best to look unaffected, letting my eyes take in the various buildings on either side of us, the trees, the other students—anything to keep me from frowning a big, fat-ass frumpy face.
When we get to the gym, Ty offers to find Nate for Rowe. I turn my focus to my friend and her bright pink face. I’m not sure when she met the man Paige called Mr. Dreamy Muscles half of the night, but it’s clear she’s into him. Her face grows even redder when he walks over, and when they talk she starts to stare at her feet. It sounds like they had plans this morning, and while she originally thought he stood her up, it turns out it was just miscommunication. When Rowe’s not paying attention, I let myself get a good look at Nate’s face—I can tell by the way he’s looking back at her that whatever is sparking between them goes both ways. Paige is going to be pissed. But she’ll get over it, and she’ll find herself a different poster boy to chase down. She always does.