by Ellie Wade
We follow Bethany into the kitchen, where a group of guys stands around a metal keg, filling up red Solo cups with the amber liquid.
“There’s beer or this punch.” Bethany motions toward the large plastic tub that sits on the counter, filled with red liquid.
“What’s in that?” Quinn asks.
Bethany shakes her head. “Who knows? But it’s good!”
“I guess I’ll go with the mystery punch,” Quinn says, grabbing a Solo cup and filling it. “Alma?”
I shake my head. “I’m good.”
“Come on, just try. You don’t have to drink it all.” She pushes the cup toward me.
I reluctantly take it.
Cups in hand, we follow Bethany as she winds us through people standing around. She takes us to a back room, away from the speakers blaring music so loudly at the front of the house. The music can still be heard, but it’s not as deafening. This seems to be some sort of a game room. There’s a pool table in the center, a card table in the corner, and a dartboard on the wall. Several couches face each other in a makeshift seating area, and as we approach, cheers ring from that area, welcoming Bethany back.
“And I brought friends. This is Quinn and Alma,” Bethany introduces us.
I wave casually and squeeze in next to Quinn on the edge of one of the couches.
I take a sip of my punch. I have to admit, it’s decent—better than I thought it would be. A grin teases my lips as a thought comes to mind. What if it’s just a big tub of generic-brand Hawaiian Punch? How funny would that be? That’s what I’d do if I were part of a frat house and hosting a party. I have to assume that alcohol is expensive. Why provide it for the masses? Let them trip over each other, thinking they’re drunk, when in reality, they’ve only consumed a load of sugar.
My thoughts prompt me to drink more. When I lower the cup from my mouth, my breath hitches as piercing blues steal my gaze. The guy I ran into earlier is sitting on the couch across from me, his eyes burn into me accusingly. I swallow and pull my eyes from his, turning toward Quinn.
What a creep.
I take another sip of the juice. Quinn is regaling the group with some story, and several people are cracking up at her tale. I missed the first part of it, and now, she’s talking about chickens and Superman ice cream. I’m trying to figure out how those two connect when, against my better judgment, I chance a glance back toward the weirdo. He’s still staring, and I don’t like it.
I stand from the sofa and dart from the room. After navigating my way back toward the kitchen, I refill my cup with the sweet liquid and take a sip. Standing in front of the screen door that leads toward the back deck, I take a few moments to people-watch. I know it’s only my first night at college, but I still feel like an outsider, looking in.
“Wondering what you’re doing here?” a male voices my insecurities from behind me, and I startle.
Turning around, I find the grumpy douche standing behind me, an evil smirk across his ugly—fine, gorgeous—face. A slight shadow lines his square jaw and chiseled cheekbones, making my insides flip in betrayal.
“What?” I snap at him.
“Why’d you come here tonight?” he demands.
“Why’d you?” I retort.
“This doesn’t seem like your scene,” he says flatly, not an ounce of concern present in his tone.
“Why do you care? And why are you even talking to me?”
He might be right. Perhaps I am a fish out of water here, but it’s not his place to say anything about my life and choices. I have a reserved personality by nature, but I never back down from a bully. When I feel wronged in a situation, I gain courage.
I’ve been fighting for myself for almost nineteen years. Exquisite DNA doesn’t give anyone the right to talk down to someone else.
Quinn’s voice breaks our staredown. “Alma, you okay?”
He takes Quinn’s presence as his cue to walk away.
“What was that all about?” she asks me.
“I don’t know. I ran into him at dinner earlier, and he has a chip on his shoulder for some reason.”
She nods. “He’s definitely perfected the dark and moody type, hasn’t he? Do you know who he is?”
“No,” I answer.
“His name is Leo Harding. He’s the son of the actor Victor Harding,” she says in a hushed tone.
“Really?”
Victor Harding is a huge actor, very popular. I heard he lived in a rich Detroit suburb.
“Yeah.”
I raise my eyebrows. “And he goes here?”
“That’s what I’m told,” Quinn answers.
It doesn’t make sense that Leo would choose to attend Eastern Michigan when he could go anywhere. I’m sure there are few schools that his influential father couldn’t buy his way into.
“From what I can tell, every girl here is obsessed with him,” she says. “He is pretty hot.”
“Yeah.” I can’t deny the obvious.
He has that bad boy meets star quarterback air to him. Sexy and brooding with a quality that makes him seem irresistible. He’s tall, lean, and muscular. His chestnut hair is short with just enough length on the top to allow it to fall in adorable chunks across his forehead.
“But he’s an ass. Good looks don’t give you a free ride to be a dick.”
“That’s true,” Quinn agrees without much conviction.
We top off our drinks and make our way back to the group. Besides our neighbors, Gabby and Bethany, there are several other girls and a handful of guys. They all seem nice enough.
“We should play Never Have I Ever,” someone suggests.
“Have you played before?” Quinn asks me.
I shake my head.
“We’ll go around in a circle, saying something that we’ve never done. If you’ve done what the person says they haven’t, you take a drink. It’s really easy. You’ll catch on right away,” Quinn whispers to me.
Bethany starts. “Never have I ever had sex on a boat.”
A few people drink.
Oh, so it’s this kind of game. Great.
“Never have I ever had a threesome,” Gabby says.
A couple of people bring their drinks to their lips.
Some guy named Josh says, “Never have I ever eaten sushi.”
One person takes a drink while someone in the group groans, “Lame,” followed by, “Dumb,” and other disapproving sentiments.
Josh just chuckles. “What? I haven’t.”
“Never have I ever had sex with two different people on the same day,” a girl named Jess states, and I hate that my eyes dart across to Leo.
He takes a long gulp from his cup.
Pig, I think.
When he stops drinking, his gaze is narrowed in on me. He smirks as if he knew I’d be looking to him. I pull my eyes away as quickly as I can.
“Never have I ever participated in a threesome that included double penetration,” a guy named Ethan says, and another girl squeals and throws something at him.
I lower my gaze, staring into my cup of punch. I’ve never heard of whatever it is that this Ethan guy says he hasn’t done, and I don’t want to know. I don’t have any desire to see who’s done it and who hasn’t. Despite never having heard the term before, I think I can figure out what it means, and my brain just can’t handle that.
The game proceeds, going around from person to person, each never have I ever is some version of where or how the speaker hasn’t had sex. I don’t miss that Quinn drinks a few times but not for any of the truly vulgar ones. I hope no one catches on that I haven’t drunk once.
Honestly, it doesn’t bother me that I haven’t had sex yet. I’m eighteen, not forty. I have time. It’s not like I’m against it or saving myself for marriage. Finding someone to hook up with in high school wasn’t a priority.
Although I haven’t drunk once during the game thus far, the room is starting to wobble around me, and my head is getting fuzzy. So much for my Hawaiian Punch hypothesis. The
re’s definitely alcohol in this cup.
My mind clears when Leo’s voice breaks through my senses.
“Never have I ever sat at a frat party and played a game about sex when I’ve yet to have it.”
Lifting my face, I zero in on Leo. Unsurprisingly, he’s staring right at me.
“What?” he says to the group, though his gaze is on me. “No one’s drinking. No virgins in this room?”
A few people snicker—at me or just in response to Leo, I’m not sure, and I don’t care. I’m over this party.
I lean in toward Quinn. “I don’t feel the best. I think I’m going to go,” I whisper before standing and walking out of the room as fast as I can.
Quinn calls after me, “Wait, Alma.”
Once I’m out of the game room, I stop my retreat and turn to face Quinn.
“I’ll come with you,” she says. “I don’t want you walking home by yourself.”
“Do you want to go?” I ask her.
She wears a slight frown. “Sure, I guess. I was having fun. But we’re a team, right? I’m not letting you leave to walk back by yourself.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “Just three blocks. You shouldn’t have to end your night early because of me. Come back with Gabby and Bethany later. I’ve never really been drunk before, and whatever is in that punch isn’t sitting right with me. I just need to go to bed, I think.” I press my lips together in a grin.
Her eyes widen in response. “Well, if you’re feeling sick, I’m absolutely not letting you walk home by yourself. No way. It’s fine, Alma. There will be other parties.”
“I’ll walk her home.” His voice comes out of nowhere.
Quinn and I both whip around to look at Leo.
“What?” I shriek.
“I’ll walk you home. I was getting ready to leave anyway.” He takes another step toward me.
“No,” I protest. “I’m fine. I don’t need you to walk me.”
Quinn places her hand on Leo’s forearm. “I’ll go with her. Thanks anyway though.”
Leo’s eyes dart from me to Quinn. “What’s the issue? I know you don’t want to leave,” he says to Quinn. “Your groupies back there, Bethany and Gabby, are practically crying over your departure. Just go back and have fun. I’m heading out anyway. I don’t understand what the problem is. I said I’d take her. I’m not going to touch her.” He says the last sentence like the idea is almost repulsive.
“Whatever. I don’t care,” I grumble.
“You’re okay with him walking you back? Are you sure? I promise I don’t mind,” she says to me.
I plaster the most reassuring smile I can muster. “It’s fine. Go have fun. Just please be safe and come back with the girls.”
“Okay, I will.” She pulls me into a hug. “I’ll see you later.” Before I can respond, she’s skipping back to the game room and most likely the sex drinking game, which Leo so eloquently pointed out I had no reason to be playing.
Without giving a second of attention to Leo, I turn and walk out of the fraternity house as fast as my unsteady legs will carry me.
FIVE
Alma
“It’s like watching a baby deer walk for the first time.” Leo laughs behind me as I stomp off across the fraternity lawn.
“What?” I halt.
“You. You’re all wobbly and stuff. Let me guess. You’re the token sheltered girl from a small Midwestern town. You’ve never been touched by a dude, and tonight was your first taste of alcohol. I bet your dad’s a preacher or some shit.”
“Yes, and I’m also forbidden to dance.” I glare. “You busted me. I came straight to college from my home in the Footloose VHS tape.”
“Feisty. I like it.”
I turn back in the direction of the dorms. “I couldn’t care less what you like, and you’re wrong about me.”
“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t sound convinced. “About what part?”
“And so what if I don’t drink much? A tipsy college student is hardly abnormal. I’m sure you sleep with one on the daily.”
“Is that your idea of a burn?” he questions, now keeping step beside me. “How much did you drink anyway?”
“Like, a cup and a half. Hardly anything. Not a big deal.”
“I know it doesn’t taste like it, but that shit is strong.”
“Like you care,” I snap. “Why are you following me—again?”
I pick up my pace, focusing extra hard on not tripping over my flip-flops. Have these shoes always been so floppy? Also, why are the streetlights becoming blurrier, the closer I get to the dorm?
“Why did you decide to go here?” I ask Leo.
“What do you mean?”
“This college. Why? I know who you are, by the way. Quinn told me earlier.”
I don’t know why I’m talking to him, and yet I can’t seem to stop.
“Oh, you know who I am? Who’s that, Alma? Tell me who I am.” His words are clipped, his voice angry.
The tone of his voice causes me to pause and not say anything else about his family, fame, or money. I shouldn’t have said it to begin with. What does it have to do with anything?
I quickly change the subject. “There’s my dorm. I’m safe. You can go.”
He ignores me and keeps walking at my side.
I don’t say anything else as I step inside the building. Holding on to the railing, I climb the steps to the second floor. There seems to be a lot more steps than before. When I open the door of my hallway, I’m breathing heavily.
I can’t wait to go to bed. This has been an emotionally and physically exhausting first day.
When I reach my door, I throw my hand in a wave behind me. “Bye now.”
As I unlock the door, Leo pushes it open wide and steps in before me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, startled.
“Calm your tits. I’m not going to touch you.” His eyes pierce mine. “Come in.”
Against my better judgment, I step into my dorm, letting the door slam behind me.
“I’m not … I’m not doing anything with you. So, you can just go,” I stammer.
Leo lets out a dry chuckle. “Number one: I can go back to the party and have the pick of pretty much any girl I want there, and I wouldn’t have to ask twice. Why would I chase you? Number two: who said I wanted you in the first place? Have I done anything indicating that I want in your pants? Because I don’t. Don’t flatter yourself.”
I hate that his words sting. I wish they didn’t. They shouldn’t. But they do.
“Number three,” he continues, “if I wanted you—and that’s a big if—all I’d have to do is ask, and you’d gladly give me your virginity. With zero protest.”
“That’s not true,” I argue.
“Yes, it is,” he hisses. He opens up our mini fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. “Here, drink this. All of it.”
“No.” I glare at him.
He can’t just come in here and boss me around.
“As someone who drinks a fucking lot, I can tell you that you’re going to feel like utter shit tomorrow if you don’t drink that.” He plops down on the futon.
With a sigh, I chug the water until it’s gone. “There. Now, go.”
“Lie down on your bed and close your eyes. Tell me if your head starts spinning.”
“Why?”
“Because if it does, you need to go make yourself puke. I’m not leaving you here to choke on your vomit.”
“Why do you even care? And I told you, I’m fine. I didn’t drink that much.”
I grab a pair of cotton shorts and a T-shirt from my drawer and lock myself in the bathroom. I take a long time, getting ready for bed. I start with a shower. The water feels good, and I happily wash the ick of the night off. I decide tonight is a perfect time to condition my hair, so I apply the deep-conditioning treatment that needs to soak on my hair for ten minutes. As I wait the allotted time, I shave and scrub every inch of skin. After the shower, I brush and floss. Getting through f
lossing only proves I’m not drunk, just tipsy. Leo’s worry, or whatever that was, is misplaced. After filing my nails and applying lotion, I finally gain the courage to leave the bathroom. He’ll definitely be gone.
I fully expect an empty room when I emerge from the bathroom, ready for bed. Instead, I find Leo still sitting on the futon.
“Why are you still here?” I hold back a whine. “I’m going to bed. I promise, I’m fine. Can you please go now?”
If Leo thinks I’m going to let him watch me sleep, he’s delusional.
He doesn’t argue though. He simply stands and walks toward the door.
“Wait,” I call out before he opens it. I take a few steps toward him.
Yes, he’s been throwing attitude and dirty looks my way since I first ran into him, but maybe I judged him too harshly. He did just walk me home and made sure I was okay, just as he’d promised Quinn he would.
“Thank you,” I tell him sincerely.
He surprises me by taking a step toward me until we’re separated by a fraction of space. His breath is warm against my skin. His scent—a combination of spice, sweetness, and intoxication—fills my lungs.
“For?” he says in a husky whisper, inching closer.
I swallow. “For getting me back safely and making sure I was okay. Maybe you’re not such a bad guy after all.”
He bends, closing the gap between my face and his. Stopping a breath away, he asks, “Maybe I’m not such a bad guy after all?”
My tongue peeks out of my mouth, licking my lips. As I feel his breath against the skin of my face and the warmth of his body so close, my heart picks up speed. I don’t like him. Yes, he did something kind, but I don’t want him. And yet I can’t quiet the pounding of blood through my veins, heating my body as it rushes faster and faster.
Clamping my eyes shut, I pull in a deep breath in an attempt to steady my mind. My brain tells me to step back and instruct him to leave. Something else makes me stay put and keep quiet.
“Alma,” Leo whispers my name. The sound from his lips is tantalizingly hot.
“Yeah?” The lone syllable comes out airy.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” His lips are so close now, hot and inviting, and I can almost feel them. Almost.