“Well … that was intense.” Leah shudders dramatically.
“What was?” I ask and shut my laptop with all haste because Facebook is now sitting wide open, Kyle’s name blinking brightly in the search box.
“How Nicky went all fierce before he hung up. It was kinda hot actually.”
“Gross, Leah.” I stand up and make a grab for the purple dress she’s scrunching in her hands. “That’s my brother.”
“What? I can’t think your brother’s hot?”
“No. It’s a rule,” I inform her as I toss the dress on the bed and peel off my hoodie. I drop it on the floor. “Thou shalt not covet thy best friend’s brother or thy best friend shalt barf.”
Off goes my white tank top, and I peel the gym shorts down my legs without inhibition. After years of locker rooms, stripping in front of my friend and teammate isn’t much of a big deal.
“Thou friend has eyes in her head, and he’s hot as hell so shut your mouth.”
I snort in reply as I slide the purple dress up my legs and twitch it into place. It’s stretchy and strapless, and far too bright. My mother always taught me never to hate, so I’m going to say that I really, really dislike purple. It stems from my childhood fear of Barney the Dinosaur. He was my favorite plush toy, and I took him everywhere to the annoyance of my brother, most especially because Barney was afforded certain privileges, like his own candy treats after dinner, which would go to me, naturally, because poor Barney couldn’t swallow them. One day Nicky showed me a picture of Barney on the internet, complete with red eyes and wielding a bloodstained axe. I still live with the trauma and the fear of the color purple. Purple means Barney, and Barney is bad.
I cast my gaze down to take in the dress with a shudder. I don’t wear a strapless bra beneath the stretchy fabric simply because I don’t need it. My curves are less than remarkable. My lifelong membership in the itty-bitty-titty committee is firmly, and unfortunately, entrenched.
“Turn around,” Leah commands.
I turn around and she tugs at the back hem until it sits in its proper place, which is alarmingly close to my butt cheeks.
“Some guy is gonna eat you up tonight, Elliott. You look delicious.” She says it with glee, and only because she has Hayden, who’s like the asshole antithesis, so she doesn’t know any better. Even still, my thoughts turn immediately to the male who recently inhabited my room and I repress a shiver.
“I do?” Turning to face her, I fold my arms and arch a brow. “Better than I look doused in chocolate syrup?”
“We should go,” she says quickly and spins to leave.
“Not so fast,” I growl ominously and make a grab for her strawberry shirt. It’s my luck that it’s floaty and fans out behind her. I seize a fistful and she halts in her tracks, wary of it tearing right off her body.
“It was awesome!” Hayden shouts from somewhere inside the apartment. By the echo I’m guessing it’s the fridge and he’s got his head stuck in it. Leah’s boyfriend has a colossal frame that comes with a matching appetite. The dude needs constant fueling just to breathe. “Leah showed me photos!”
I gasp loudly and let go of her shirt, my eyes rounding in horror at her betrayal. “You posted the photos?”
“I only showed them to Hayden. Honest. I wouldn’t post them online. Come on, Jordan,” she needles and starts petting my shoulder. “Everyone gets hazed. It’s a rite of passage. And it was only a little bit of syrup.”
“A little bit?” Hayden shouts again, and the sound is muffled because his mouth is no doubt full of food. The fridge door slams shut, and the tinkling sound of jars and bottles reaches my ears. “Where did you even find that much? And can you get more? I want to lick—”
“Okay, Hayden!” I yell back, cutting him off because I don’t need to hear about him licking Leah’s body parts. Not ever, but especially not right now, not while my skin feels too tight for my body and my mind is entertaining wild fantasies about a guy I’m supposed to be tutoring.
After sliding on a pair of gold-colored sandals, I get Leah to help me with my makeup. I know where my talents lie, and facial enhancement is not one of them. My attempt at sex kitten eyes usually makes my face look like a cat attacked it with a black marker. At least Leah knows what she’s doing.
When she’s finished, she picks up a plastic bag off my bed that’s full of something suspiciously flamboyant.
“What’s that?” I ask warily, because the bag appeared atop my sheets as if Leah conjured it with evil magic. She reaches in and plucks out a pink lei, slinging it around my neck before I can protest. I’m then handed a pair of sunglasses, the plastic frames a matching fuchsia with dark lenses. “Um … What the hell?”
Leah puts on her own lei in eye-gouging yellow, slides on sunglasses in the same color, and grins brightly. “It’s a beach-themed party.”
“Seriously?” I groan and jam the pink glasses on my face, because at least then I can barely see her.
“Yes, really. Be thankful we’re not in bikinis. Hayden vetoed that idea,” she mutters.
We arrive at the party and a shirtless Hayden, wearing only board shorts and flip flops, slings a heavy bicep over both mine and Leah’s shoulders.
“Look at me with two dates,” he says with a leering grin, maneuvering us toward the house. “It’s like I’m on the set of The Bachelor.”
“Just remember who gets the rose at the end of the night, He-Man,” she says with a mock growl and elbows him in the side. With a fortifying shot of vodka already under our belts, it causes the three of us to stumble slightly.
Hayden’s arm slips from my shoulder and he wraps Leah up, lifting her off the ground with ease. She squeals and tugs awkwardly at the hem of her shirt where it rides up her torso.
“Always you, beautiful,” I hear him murmur in her ear.
His expression is soft, the way it always is when he looks at her, and while I don’t begrudge their loved-up relationship, it’s so very intense it sometimes makes me feel like a lonely, solitary island.
“Save the humping each other for when you get home,” I suggest as we make our way up the front path.
Pulse-thumping music blares through the open doorway where two young, burly guys stand sentry. Bouncers for a frat party? That’s either really smart, or they’re really elitist. I’m hoping for smart. If it’s one thing I cannot stand, it’s snobs and bullies.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find you someone to hump too, Elliott,” Leah replies, her voice brimming with encouragement.
As if on cue, a guy dressed in a French maid outfit complete with frilly knickers bursts from the front door, whooping. Two guys race out giving chase, both of them engulfed in thick white foam from head to toe. With their eyes barely visible I’m surprised they can see, and I realize they actually can’t when one of them stumbles and goes down, face planting in the grass. He doesn’t get back up.
I turn raised brows on my friends. “Maybe him, you think?”
A bikini-clad girl comes trotting out to bring up the rear, drink in hand. She teeters on her heels, waving her arms to get balance when she comes to a stop by the prone foam-covered form on the lawn. She crouches and leans into his ear, yelling, “Are you okaaayyyy?”
He doesn’t move.
Bypassing the pair, Hayden leads us inside, through hordes of partygoers, until we arrive in the backyard where a keg stand is set up in the corner. Strings of green-colored lights adorn the fence line like a parsley garnish, and plastic blow-up palm trees decorate the lawn. An inflatable slide takes pride of place in the center. I watch a guy barrel down it face first, smacking into a pile of shrieking girls huddled in the little pool at the bottom.
Leah hands me a Solo cup of beer, and I take it, knowing I’ll be sitting on it all night. I don’t doubt it’s cheap, nasty stuff that will leave me disgustingly bloated. I take a small sip, grimace, and a mechanical surfboard set up opposite the inflatable slide catches my attention. It’s nestled in a bed of sand and being ridden by a be
efy, shirtless guy dressed in a Baywatch lifeguard outfit. In one hand he holds a cup of beer, his arm outstretched so it doesn’t spill.
The crowd surrounding him chants, “Hassel-hoff! Hassel-hoff!”
He’s doing really well until he gets shoved off by a guy wearing a yellow grass skirt and a coconut bra. Everyone cheers when Hasselhoff staggers and falls over, his beer tipping over his face and chest.
“Really?” I rip the sunglasses from my face so Leah can get the full brunt of my glare. “This is your idea of good night out?”
Leah waves a hand at both the surfboard and the wasted Hasselhoff, who has apparently decided stripping is preferable to wearing beer-soaked shorts. The crowd chants anew at his antics.
“What? You don’t want a turn?”
“Does it make me a killjoy if I say hell no? Because I’ll happily wear that tag.”
Leah laughs and after jamming the sunglasses back on my face, she grabs hold of my arm. “Come on. There’s dancing in the basement.”
We abandon Hayden to his circle of friends, and I’m led back inside the house and down a narrow set of stairs. It’s hard to see, even more so with the dark lenses, so I traverse them carefully, one hand on the railing and the other holding my drink.
We reach the basement and it’s overflowing with bodies, dark corners, and flashing multi-colored lights. “Happy Little Pill” by Troye Sivan plays, and hips thrust to the deep, sensual beat, hands sliding over exposed skin, tongues entwined as people make out on the dance floor.
“Chug your beer so we can dance,” Leah orders from beside me where we stand on the fringes.
“No, I’m good. I can hold it and dance at the same time.”
“Just do it. I don’t want you sloshing it all over my new shirt while you crack out your Sprinkler move.”
“I’m a professional athlete,” I snap, highly offended because I did it one time. One time! And only because Hayden pretended he’d never heard of it. Jerk. “I know how to bust a move without losing control.”
“Of course you do,” Leah says, her tone soothing as if I’m an enraged beast.
I chug the damn beer.
Her grin is smug.
We’re on the dance floor for mere moments when two hands plant themselves on my hips from behind. I tense and spin around, my eyes landing on a flirty grin and deep dimples.
“We meet again,” Jaxon says.
He’s like a bad, sexy penny, popping up all over campus. “So it seems.”
“Cool outfit, Jordan. Very original.”
“Are you teasing me?”
Jaxon’s hazel eyes light up and his fingers dig in, pulling me close until there’s no space between us. “That depends. Do you like being teased?”
“Only if it’s done right.”
Those pretty eyes of his slide down to my mouth. I shouldn’t do it, but I bite down on my bottom lip, running my teeth over it until it’s a little red and swollen. His gaze heats and a tinge of color hits his cheeks. He groans and I’m genuinely surprised I’ve managed to get to him.
“And you’re a master.”
I laugh because surely he’s joking.
Jaxon spins me around, making me move with him to the music. I look over his shoulder for Leah. The crowd of dancing bodies have swallowed her, but I spy Hayden with his back to me. He’s now wearing her yellow lei and sunglasses. His arms are wrapped tight around a body wearing a strawberry shirt, so I know she’s okay.
“I didn’t see you at the soccer match,” I say, my eyes returning to Jaxon.
His lips curve with pleasure. “You looked for me?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“How can you maybe look for someone?”
“I just happened to notice you weren’t there.”
The song ends but Jaxon doesn’t stop dancing. He keeps hold of me until another one starts. “Did you win?” he asks.
“Of course.”
Two girls try cutting in on our dance over the next two songs, the last one moving off with a glare aimed my way. “You should’ve danced with her,” I tell him, my eyes following the girl as she stalks away.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know what you want, Jaxon,” I say in all seriousness and lift the sunglasses from my eyes to rest them on my head, “but I’m not looking for anything with anyone, so you shouldn’t waste your time with me.”
Jaxon stops dancing and I still along with him when he stares down at me, a gleam hitting his hazel eyes. “Is that a challenge?”
“No!” I choke out, overwhelmed by his persistence.
“I’m going to the little girls’ room,” Leah yells in my ear from behind.
I turn my head. Hayden has hold of her hand, his jaw tight and his eyes on fire. Oh seriously? They’re going to do the nasty here? She glances between Jaxon and I uncertainly.
“You uh … okay?”
“I’ll look after her,” Jaxon replies without taking his eyes from mine.
“See that you do,” she says before they disappear up the stairs.
Jaxon slides his hands down and over the curve of my ass.
“Hey!” My reaction is reflexive. I give him a little shove and take a step back. As if waiting for just such a moment, another girl is on him, determination her expression of choice. Jaxon lets out an audible growl when she steps between us.
“What do you want, Lindsay?” he asks.
With Jaxon distracted, I make my escape, my intent to find another drink and see if Paige and Becker are here. Turning, I smack into a hard chest. It’s attached to two brawny arms holding shot glasses of clear liquid. They rise quickly to avoid spillage.
“Sorry, I—” My apology dies quickly when I look up into the face of Kyle Davis. My pulse skyrockets.
His gaze rakes me over slow and deliberate, his eyes peeling away my dress, leaving me exposed and breathless.
Just when I’m starting to turn blue from the oxygen he’s sucked from the room, he leans in close, lips brushing my ear, and says, “You wore the fuck me dress.”
My toes curl in my pretty gold sandals. “The fuck me dress?” I repeat dumbly, my voice low and embarrassingly breathy. He was paying attention to my phone conversation with Leah.
“The very one.” He pulls back, his height and wide shoulders overpowering the entire basement. I tip my head back to meet his eyes. They’re impish, but they’re also hungry, and it sets off an ache between my legs that throbs to the beat of the music. “You wear it well.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m unsettled and suddenly parched, so I steal one of the shot glasses that rests in his hand. I tip it down my throat, the burn of tequila making my eyes tear up.
His nostrils flare. “What did I say about taking drinks from people you don’t trust?”
The dark tone of his voice has me reaching for the second shot. He sounds like my brother, but I definitely don’t think of him that way. I down it too, trying not to choke.
“What are you saying? I can’t trust you, Mr. Kyle Davis?”
He cringes and rakes fingers through his tousled hair. “Jordan … can we talk?” His eyes glance about the room before they return to mine. “Somewhere private?”
The blessed warmth of alcohol has loosened me up—enough that I agree to his request against my better judgment. “Okay.”
Removing the plastic shot glasses from my possession, he tosses them away. Then he takes my hand, enclosing it in his large, calloused palm. Zings shoot through me. “Where are we—”
I break off when I realize those nearest us are staring. The music still pounds, and dancers still grind, but they’re doing it while watching us, Jaxon and Lindsay included. Jaxon’s eyes are on our joined hands before they slide up, confusion clouding his eyes. The girl he’s with doesn’t look confused. She looks ready to maim.
Unnerved by the focus, I shift backwards and the grip on my hand tightens.
“You two know each other?” Jaxon asks, and there’s hurt in his tone that I don’t
understand.
“Yes,” I blurt out, for a moment forgetting the confidentiality of our tutoring agreement in my haste to explain. “He’s—”
“We’re dating,” Kyle interrupts quickly.
“What?” Lindsay screeches from her narrow-eyed stance beside Jaxon. She looks at me. “You’re dating Brody Madden?”
“What?” A hush falls over the room. Even the music is kind enough to hit an instrumental so everyone can eavesdrop with ease. “No! I— Wait … Brody Madden? I don’t—”
“Let’s go,” Kyle growls. I’m pulled roughly from the basement. People sweep to the side like he’s parting the Red Sea. I’m oddly breathless, and confused, and somehow still managing to enjoy the heat of our joined hands.
“Stop,” I gasp when we leave the basement.
He ignores me and I’m dragged toward another set of stairs. We pass by Leah coming out of a side hallway, fluffing her hair and readjusting her top. She stops dead and her eyes are dinner plates. She tries to say something but her mouth resembles a fish, opening and closing without speech.
“What …”
Kyle doesn’t pause his determined stride. I find myself jogging up the second set of stairs behind him or risk getting dragged along the ground. “I’ll be down in a minute,” I call out to Leah over my shoulder. “We’re just going for a quick chat.”
“A quick chat?” she bleats weakly.
Leah disappears from view as we walk along a dim, narrow hallway. He shoves open a door, and I’m pulled inside behind him.
“Hey!” shrieks a girl in her bra and panties. She’s wrapped around a shirtless guy in a pair of jeans.
“Out,” Kyle commands.
“Dude! What the f—”
The guy spins toward us, eyes livid. His anger drains quickly when he looks at us. “Oh sh-shit. Brody. Sorry.” He ducks, grabbing at clothing and dragging his half-naked girl out behind him. The door shuts swiftly behind them, closing us in together.
It’s suddenly quiet, the basement music a muted thump from below. We stand facing each other in the darkened room, and it’s like I’ve been thrown in the lion’s cage at the zoo. Pale moonlight shines through the window, and I see his chest moving up and down, his pulse throbbing in his neck.
The End Game Page 8