Kissing Princeton Charming (The Princeton Charming Series Book 1)

by Frankie Love

He laughs and shakes his head. “Only for you, Charlie. Only for you.”

  An hour later, Spencer and I are all decked out in black and orange and walking into Princeton Stadium. It’s packed with students and faculty. We’re playing Harvard today and one side of the stadium is filled with fans in crimson and gray, and our side is filled with tiger stripes. Just like the ones I painted on our faces.

  Usually the season ends in November, but this game is the first weekend of December. The chill in the air seems to bring the festive nature of the event to life. The place is swarming with people, and Spencer reaches for my hand.

  “I don’t want to lose you,” he says against the shell of my ear.

  I lift my eyes to meet his, and if we were alone I’d silently beg him for another kiss, but we aren’t, everyone on campus is here, and all of these people have an opinion on the man I’m with.

  “We have seats in section five,” I tell him. He nods, leading the way.

  As we weave through the crowd, we’re stopped a dozen times. Everyone looks from him to me, and I notice all the stares, but Spencer either chooses to ignore it or is just living in a different reality. A reality where he can do no wrong, where there are no repercussions for his choices. A world where privilege is king, especially for Princeton Charming.

  Kick off happens as we find our seats and for the next three hours, we are caught in a hailstorm of chanting and cheering. Tatum is killing it on the field and I practically lose my voice shouting his number, twenty-three, as he runs in two touchdowns.

  Prescott finds us at halftime, delivering popcorn and soda, and handing Spencer a flask.

  “In all these years I’ve never seen Spencer have so much school spirit,” Prescott teases.

  “Maybe Charlie is a good influence on me,” Spencer tosses back.

  Prescott smirks. “Call it what you want, Charming. Blackjack is calling my name, motherfucker!” He waves us off, and I ask Spencer what that was all about.

  “Prescott is a douche, that’s all you need to know.”

  “I thought he was valedictorian of your graduating class?” I ask.

  “You seem to know a lot about him.” Is that more jealousy in his voice?

  I shake my head. “Not really, just that for all his games he’s still impressively smart.”

  Spencer scoffs. “I take offense, Charlie.”

  I laugh. “Aww is your ego bruised? You’re not happy with being the hottest guy on campus, you need to be the smartest too?”

  Spencer laughs as the second half begins. “Right now I’m just happy to be here with you.”

  5

  Spencer

  The game was lit, but the party after is going to be seriously off the hook if the amount of texts I’ve received over the last hour is any indication. Everyone is going out tonight. We may attend an Ivy League University, but our parties are just as down and dirty as any school’s. Tonight is no exception. While the football players and their fan clubs head toward the Tiger Inn, I assume we’re going straight to the Ivy.

  Once we’re out of the stadium I ask Charlie if she wants to grab some food before we go. I’m an eighth generation of the club, my family practically owns the place, and tonight I want to own Charlie. I’m already imagining myself in a big leather chair, pulling her into my lap, returning to the kiss we left off on hours ago.

  She furrows her brows. “Um, I won’t be going to the Ivy tonight, Spencer. Or ever, most likely.”

  “Why’s that?” I frown. I wouldn’t even consider going anywhere else.

  “Because it’s the most elite eating club on campus. I didn’t rush for a reason. It’s not my thing. Besides, I promised Tatum I’d meet him at the Tiger Inn.”

  Trying not to get offended I shrug. “You trying to ditch me, Hayes?”

  She rolls her eyes. “No, I’m saying if you want to be my date, come to a real party, at a real club. The Ivy sounds stuck up and boring.”

  I smile, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “See, I didn’t realize the unassuming Charlie Hayes was such a partier. Now I know.”

  She laughs. “Maybe I’m not an Animal House level of partier, but I can hold my own pretty well.”

  I hate sharing her with anyone, especially Tatum Madden, but I see the stubborn tilt of her chin and know that my choice is either her or Ivy. It’s an easy choice. I place an arm possessively over her shoulder, not caring who sees and lead her to my car.

  The party is in full swing when we pull up to the century-old Tudor-style mansion that’s one of the four main eating clubhouses on campus. I get a text from Prescott wondering where the hell I am and write back with a wince that I’m staying at the Tiger Inn with Charlie.

  Douchebag: You already pussy whipped?

  Me: Fuck off.

  Douchebag: No way, asshole. I’m heading there now. Oh, and fyi, Winslow is with me.

  Shit. I turn off my phone and shove it in my pocket.

  “Everything, okay?” she asks over the hammering of music as we enter.

  I give a tight nod, placing my hand on her lower back, feeling overly protective. I’m used to eyes on me, but it’s not just me they’re staring at now. And I get it, Charlie is gorgeous, but by being here with me, she’s also just earned a reputation she doesn’t deserve.

  I see the smirks from the guys, the way their eyes scan over her like she’s prey. See the glares from the girls, the way they peg her as competition. The damage is done, but thankfully Charlie doesn’t seem to notice. Or if she does, she doesn’t seem to care.

  Someone places a cup of foaming beer in Charlie’s hand, and when she starts to take a sip, I take it from her.

  “Hey.” She pouts up at me.

  “You should know better than to drink something someone just hands to you.”

  “You’re my dad now?”

  I frown down at her. “I’m serious. There are guys who would put shit in—”

  “There’s my girl.” Tatum comes up behind Charlie, and sweeps her up, spinning her around until she’s smacking his chest and telling him to put her down.

  It’s clear the guy has already been drinking, his eyes are glassy, and he’s got an even dopier look on his face when he grins down at my girl.

  “That was a great game.” Charlie smiles up at him with the familiarity of old friends. Seeing them together, I’d think there was something going on between the two of them, but she doesn’t look at him the way she was looking at me earlier.

  “Where’s your drink?” Tatum asks, starting to pull her away “We have to get you--”

  “Uh, wait.” She glances over at me, but I catch a familiar face in the crowd and a blonde ponytail that quickly disappears out the back door.

  Shit. What is she doing here?

  “Spencer, do you want anything?” Charlie asks, but my focus is no longer on her. It’s on the trouble that just disappeared around the corner.

  “No.” I give her a tight smile before turning and following the ponytail outside.

  When I catch up to the girl, I grab her arm and twist her around. Green eyes widen when they land on me.

  “Spe-Spencer. What are you doing here?”

  I grunt, glaring down at my sister. “I’m here with a friend, because I’m legally allowed to be.” I take the plastic cup from her hand and toss it into a nearby bush. “Are you kidding me with this stuff?”

  “God, Spence, you’re worse than Mom and Dad.”

  “Because Mom and Dad don’t give two shits what you do. You’re only—”

  “Nineteen. I’m not a kid, I don’t need you watching out for me.”

  Except I can already hear the slur in her words.

  “Come on,” I take her elbow. “I’ll drive you back to your dorm.”

  “No.” She yanks her arm back and a few heads turn in our direction, including Charlie who has come out on the deck with Tatum. She frowns at me before turning and walking back inside.

  “I’m staying here,” Ava slurs, pouting up at me.

&nbs
p; I glance back to where Charlie disappeared, feeling a tug, and not knowing what to do, but when I turn back to my sister, she’s already slipped away.

  “Damn it,” I mutter, moving back inside. I know Ava is right. I was doing a lot worse at her age. And I’m not her father, even though I know our own will have my balls if I ever let anything happen to her.

  I search the large house, but my sister is gone, or at least dodging me. And Charlie is surrounded by Tatum and his jock friends when I find her in the great room.

  “Sorry, I had to deal with that,” I say, pulling her away from the looming giant who is way too handsy with her.

  “Girlfriend troubles?” Her gaze is hard, and she takes a sip from a new plastic glass she’s acquired.

  I sigh. “Ava’s my sister.”

  “Oh.” She tugs her lips between her teeth and looks slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t know you have a sister. She’s cute.”

  “She’s trouble. And considering she’s never had any real supervision, she thinks she can do whatever she wants.”

  “Perks of being Princeton royalty, I guess.”

  “You think I’m the same?”

  “Aren’t you?” Her brows raise. “What have you ever wanted that you haven’t gotten?”

  “You.” I lean closer, and grin. “But I’m working on it.”

  I see her tremble, feel the heat rise between us.

  “Princeton Charming.” Tatum’s words are slurred as he wraps a large arm around Charlie’s waist, and I see her flinch. “You look like you could use a drink,” he hollers over his shoulder. “Someone bring the prince a bourbon.” He looks back at me. “That’s what you rich folks drink, right? Or do you plan on slumming it with us tonight with some warm beer and cheap whiskey?”

  I don’t have a chance to respond. Slim arms wrap around my waist, and the scent of expensive perfume fills my nostrils as a blonde leans into me, staggering so that I have to hold her up from falling.

  “Spencer,” she whines. “I knew you’d find me.”

  “Winslow?” I push her chin up to see her face, but her eyes are half masked, pupils pinpricks, mascara smudged beneath. “Jesus.”

  “Another sister?” Charlie asks, but I hear the sarcasm in the question.

  “He’s my fiancé,” Winslow says, her breath reeking of vodka. “We’re getting married.”

  Charlie coughs and her mouth drops open, but it’s Tatum that gives a hard laugh. “You really are a douchebag.”

  “We’re not...” I try to push Winslow off me, but she staggers again, and I have to hold her up. “She’s drunk. And we’re not engaged.”

  Charlie shakes her head and starts to walk away.

  “Charlie.”

  “Who’s Charlie?” Winslow asks, eyes now practically closed.

  “The girl you just ruined my chances with. Where’s Prescott. He said he was with you.”

  Her arms wrap around my neck. “Take me home, Spencer.”

  I know I have to. I’d never hear the end of it from my parents if I left her like this. But I clench my jaw as I watch Charlie move farther into the crowd and see Tatum hovering over her possessively. The dickhead even has the nerve to look back at me and grin triumphantly.

  “Spencer,” Winslow whines again. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s usually poised and self-controlled, worried more about what people will say about her than having fun. Which apparently she’s had too much of tonight.

  “I swear if you puke in my car, you’re paying for the cleaning.”

  “I want you to clean me,” she murmurs in my ear as I help her outside, fingernails dragging down my chest and snaking under my shirt. “I want your tongue to lick every dirty—”

  I grab her wrist. “Not happening, Win. Ever.”

  “But you love me,” she pouts. “We’re going to get married.”

  I help her into my car, then buckle her seatbelt. “I care about you. Always will. But you and I will never happen.”

  As I shut the door, I swear I hear her giggle and say, “We’ll see.”

  6

  Charlie

  I shouldn’t be surprised that Spencer left with Winslow. The woman is everything I’m not. Drop-dead gorgeous, perfect, rich. And I can’t help but admit that they look good together. I reach for another beer, but before I get a single malty sip, Tatum is pulling me away from the kitchen and leading me to the dance floor.

  He grins. “Wait for it, Charlotte.” He points to the ceiling just as the bass drops on one of our favorite songs: “No Diggity.”

  I may have a penchant for vinyl records of a bygone era, but I also have a love affair with nineties R&B. Blackstreet starts blaring through the speakers and everyone starts shouting, singing along, grinding in a way that reminds me that no matter how Ivy League this group may be, we still like to back it up.

  Tatum and I work the dance floor - we’re terrible, but we’re having fun, and really on a night where he deserves to feel like a champion for winning the game for the Tigers, that is all that matters.

  “Nice moves, Hayes,” Decan, one of Tatum’s football friends, says in my ear, grinding up against me. The guy has always given me the creeps, so I just laugh and move away from him, closer to Tatum, who doesn’t seem to notice that his friend’s dark gaze is locked on me.

  The dance floor parts as Tatum does his haphazard break dance moves and everyone is clapping, impressed as they should be. He’s drunk, and I offer him my hand so he doesn’t fall on his ass. He’s so much stronger than me though, that it’s me falling onto him.

  His hand is on my waist, and the dancers move in on us as the song ends, a pulsing electronic beat replacing the laughter. When he looks down at me, I know he sees something he wants, but I shake my head. I love Tatum, but I don’t want to kiss him.

  I know that if things got physical between us, it would ruin our friendship. And his friendship means so much.

  He immediately retreats, his eyes going dark, replacing his desire with a shrug. “It’s cool, Charlotte.”

  But it’s not, he’s moving through the crowd, upset. I did that to him. Me. What kind of friend am I? I weave through the crowd, reaching for his hand, and pulling him down a hallway. It’s quieter and I’m grateful. I want to talk to him. I want him to hear me.

  “You don’t have to explain,” he says. “You have your sights set on that rich fuck.”

  “Hey,” I say, bruised for Spencer, but also for me. “You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”

  “You know I always thought we’d end up together, Charlotte. Ever since the first day we met freshman year.”

  Tatum’s had a lot to drink and I don’t want him to say something he might regret. I shake my head. “You don’t have to do —”

  He cuts me off. “Let me say my piece. I thought there would be time, for us. But when I saw you with that douchebag earlier, outside your room, I knew I was too late. I thought you’d wait for me, but it looks like he got to you first.”

  I scoff, irritation taking hold of me. “Spencer Beckett and I aren’t together if that’s what you think. And secondly, if you wanted me so bad why didn’t you say anything for the last three years?”

  Tatum runs a hand over his neck. “Because I don’t want a fling, Charlotte. If I have you, it will be for keeps.”

  Tears fill my eyes. Why is he doing this tonight, of all nights? I’ve imagined Tatum and me over the years, but he has never given me any signal to make me think he saw me anywhere but in the friend zone.

  “You’ve been my one constant at Princeton, my shoulder to cry on. Tatum, you’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose that.”

  He smirks and I hate it, that look. It isn’t him, it’s not the Tatum I know and love. “Right, you wouldn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

  “I don’t.” I blink, hot tears in my eyes.

  “What kills me, is that you’d rather have Spencer Beckett than me.”

  “I don’t have Spencer. He just left with Winslow Harrington. H
eiress and supermodel. I don’t think he’s interested in me.” The tone in my voice gives me away though and I know Tatum hears it.

  “But you wish he were, though. That’s the problem, Charlotte. If you want a guy like Princeton Fucking Charming, you’d never be happy with me.”

  I wipe my eyes, hating the way this night has gone down. “I love you, Tatum.”

  “I love you too.” He drops his head, closing his eyes. “Problem is love can mean a million different things.” He pulls me to his chest, kissing my forehead and I hate that I’ve hurt him, that he’s hurt me.

  It would be easier to sink against him, to let his familiar arms wrap around me and hug me in a way he’s never hugged me before. It would be easy to try this out, friends-to-lovers and see if it took -- but it would be wrong, and it would be fake.

  I love Tatum but not like that.

  He pulls away, giving me the saddest smile a game-winning athlete has ever worn.

  “What now?” I ask, hating the idea of things getting awkward between us.

  He laughs. “Dammit, you really killed my vibe tonight. It was all go big or go home.”

  Cringing, I apologize. “I’m sorry. But don’t go home. Tonight is your night. Can you go get drunk and forget about me?”

  He raises his hands in the air. “A boy can dream, Charlotte Hayes, a boy can dream.”

  With swagger in his step, he walks away, but I know it’s taking all of his strength to keep it together. I hate that I’ve hurt him, but I hate the idea of lying to him even more.

  Still, the night is filled with way more drama than I expected.

  I head out the front entrance of the house, wanting to get home to cozy PJs more than anything else. It’s cold as I step outside, and the frosty air nips my nose. Christmas is going to be here before I know it, and if I want to celebrate with my family, I need a job more than I need any guy problems.

  There were way too many males vying for my attention tonight. And the reason I’m a wreck is because I wasn’t even torn. Yes, I hate the idea of hurting Tatum, but my heart - okay, that’s not true - my body wants Spencer. A man so off-the-table it’s embarrassing to crave more of his kisses.