Caught Stealing (Leighton U #2)

Prologue

Holden

May — College, Sophomore Year

“Unless you’re looking to be plastered before nightfall, you might want to slow down.”

I glance up from the keg and over to where Oakley’s leaning against the deck railing, watching me with those Judgy McJudgerson eyes of his.

He’s the only person at this stupid Kappa Sig party who’d try being the voice of reason at the last kegger of the semester, a task no sane person would ask for.

I raise my solo cup toward him in cheers, because little does my best friend know, his tip is already lost on me.

He’s right about one thing, though—there’s easily still another couple hours of daylight left.

Maybe it is a little too early to be as far gone as I am, but in my defense, I’ve been here since two o’clock.

And it’s the last day of finals week, so why wouldn’t we start partying the second we hand in our exams to the proctor?

“Too little…” I start before drinking the overflow from my cup. “Too late.”

“C’mon, Hold,” Oakley says, crossing the grass and making a grab for my drink. “Give me the beer, and let me get you back to the house.”

“I’m fine,” I slur, pulling away from his grip and trying my damndest not to stumble on the uneven ground. “And last time I checked, you’re my roommate, not my fucking babysitter.”

“It seems like you need one right now,” he rebuts, his brows crashing together as his brown eyes harden. “You can be one sloppy drunk, you know that?”

“No one said you had to stay and watch,” I mutter, and honestly, all of me wishes he wouldn’t.

It’s probably better for our friendship if he goes home now before I get really bad.

Any other day of the year, fine. He can take care of my drunk ass all he wants.

He’s done it plenty of times in the past couple of years since we’ve become friends.

But not today.

Certainly not like this.

Oakley rolls his eyes before holding his hands up in surrender and backing away. “Fine, just don’t come bitching to me in the morning when you’re hungover on your flight back home to Cali.”

Home.

My mind snags on the word, and in my intoxication, I fixate.

On the word, on the meaning of it.

On what is missing from my home, which is the entire reason I’m this fucked up to begin with.

Because today marks the anniversary of when I lost them.

As if reading my mind, Oakley’s gaze softens. “Your parents wouldn’t want you doing this shit,” he says, barely loud enough for me to hear over the thumping bass. “You know they’d want you to move on and keep living.”

“Living is exactly what I’m doing,” I say, a small hiccup leaving me on the last word. “Which is a lot more than I can say for them.”

He winces, as most people do when I choose to make a morbid dead-parent joke. But hey, what doesn’t kill you just gives you seriously fucked-up coping mechanisms and one massive self-destruct button.

“Can you just text me so I know you make it on the plane tomorrow?” His brow hitches up before he tacks on, “Please?”

“Yes, sir.” I toss a mock salute his way, completely done with this whole conversation. Which is why I’m glad to see him roll his eyes again and head toward the gate leading to the alleyway where he parked.

“Now that my babysitter’s gone,” I mutter under my breath.

I move inside, where more people are laughing and dancing to whatever shit is blasting through the speakers, because the K-Sigs are known to have the worst taste in music.

Taking another sip of beer, I head up the stairs, doing my best to brush aside the empty feeling Oakley’s words have brought to the forefront of my mind.

Still, the thoughts have infiltrated the drunken state my mind’s been occupying most of the day, forcing me to, once again, think about things I’d rather forget.

Or at least ignore, if only for a little while.

That’s when I spot a dark-haired guy with even darker eyes staring at me from his spot in the hall, even while he’s in the midst of a conversation with someone else. His eyes heat my skin, and when his gaze lifts to collide with mine, I know exactly how I plan to escape every thought plaguing me.

It’s improbable, but not impossible, that I’m mistaking his attention for interest, but from the way his eyes track me as I close the space between us, I’d bet my throwing arm I’m in the clear with this one.

My lips part, and I’m about to interject his conversation when a familiar voice drags me away from the dark-haired hottie I’m two seconds away from propositioning.

“I thought Oakley was taking you home ten minutes ago.”

Theo.

My gaze shifts to another one of my roommates, and I glare daggers at him. “Wasn’t in the mood to be bossed around by Dad tonight,” I reply, my tone clipped. “So if you’re looking to take over the role, do us all a favor and walk away now.”

Theo’s dark brows hitch over two light green eyes, but there’s more amusement than irritation written in his expression. “Someone’s testy tonight.”

“You would be too if your roommates were trying to babysit you all evening,” I remind him, my own brow arching before allowing my attention to drift back to the guy I came over here for. “Now, you could stop being rude and introduce me to your friend here.”

Understanding about what I’m attempting to do crosses Theo’s features before he lets out a sharp laugh.

“Not a fucking chance, Hold.” He glances from me to the sex on a stick beside him before clapping him on the shoulder.

“I’m heading out, but you played one helluva game, Merce. Don’t think too hard on it.”

Merce.

Even drunk, I’m able to deduce the nickname must mean he’s one of Theo’s teammates. Meaning Theo could get me an in with Merce —if he was a real friend and roommate.

“Thanks, man,” Merce says, and shit, he has a nice voice. Not too deep, but a little rasp that’s sure to sound phenomenal saying my name while we—

Theo takes a second to clap me on the shoulder too, before leaning in to whisper in my ear. “You’re in the clear. Good luck.”

All right, so maybe Theo is a pretty good roomie for confirming that I wasn’t barking up the wrong tree with his teammate. Something all my roommates have saved me from in the past when it comes to hooking up with the male population of Leighton, especially when I’m too drunk for my gaydar to work.

Merce watches Theo head down the stairs before he drags his attention to me, only to find I’ve been watching him the entire time. His eyes really are dark—almost black in the dim light of the hallway—and they bore into mine with a heated intensity capable of searing me to my bones.

God, he’s fucking beautiful.

And tonight, he’s gonna be mine.

A semblance of a smile curls his lips as he leans his shoulder against the wall. “Well, that’s one way to get a guy’s attention.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” I muse, stepping closer to him.

“Apparently so.” His brow lifts, attention flicking between my eyes and my lips. “I’m Phoe—”

“I don’t care,” I mutter, and before I can think, I crush my mouth to his.

No preamble, no names, no more mincing words.

Nothing.

If I was even an ounce more sober, I probably should have exchanged names before straight-up mauling him in the middle of a frat house, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Though I was right about one thing: this is exactly what I needed.

Just the feel of his mouth on mine—tongue slipping between my lips on impact—calms the chaos inside my mind.

Takes the edge off. Every glide it takes against my own, twisting and tangling in an erotic dance, makes my already drunken brain a little more intoxicated.

Not to mention the way it goes straight to my cock.

He might’ve been surprised initially, but he recovers quickly, only to turn things up a notch.

His hands grip either side of my face as he spins us, backing me into a door and turning this kiss into a full-body experience.

I feel every hard inch of him when he rolls his hips into mine.

Not just of his cock, either. Every toned line and muscle of his body presses against me, crushing me against the wall in a way I’ve never been handled before.

If I wasn’t already intoxicated from the alcohol swimming through my veins, this kiss would easily do the trick.

“Let’s get out of here,” I murmur when he breaks the kiss to bite down the column of my throat.

He nods, hands gripping my hips. “Where?”

I don’t have it in me to wait for an Uber or to walk back to the townhouse, so those are out. “Your place close?”

“Not close enough,” he mutters, the sexy rasp in his voice telling me he’s just as desperate for this as I am.

I can work with that.

A smile tilts the corner of my lips as I fumble blindly behind me for the doorknob that was just digging into my spine. I give it a twist once I find it, praying to whatever God exists for some sort of horizontal surface behind the wood.

Merce and I stumble backward into the dark space, his arm swinging out to close the door, and we only stop when the back of my knees collide with a mattress.

Bingo.

I drag him down onto the bed with me, need and desire the only driving forces for my actions. They’re the only things that matter now.

The pitch-black room does nothing to subdue the fuzziness creeping further into my vision, and it only seems to get worse as he continues kissing me like I’m the oxygen he needs to survive.

His hands slip beneath my shirt, and the first true brush of his skin against mine sends my pulse into hyperdrive. Every inch his fingers skitter up my abs only serves to build the need inside me to an insurmountable level, until I’m overcome with lust.

And that’s before his hand moves to cup the underside of my jaw, tilting it when he breaks the kiss and opting to explore my neck instead. Every bite and nip down my throat sends an electric shock straight to my dick, the appendage throbbing behind my zipper.

“Fuck me,” I whisper, gripping his shirt at the hem and ripping it over his head.

He does the same, peeling mine off before his entire body weight pins me to the mattress. Yet there’s a small amount of hesitation in his touch now as he continues exploring me in the darkness.

“I…I’m not this guy. The one-night-stand kind.”

Oh, how the irony of his statement isn’t lost on me, knowing full-well my reputation around campus.

“Seems to me like you’re doing a great job of it,” I tell him, my hands gripping his smooth, muscled biceps. “But if you’re planning to implode afterward, at least let me sneak out so I don’t have to watch.”

He groans, his hands tightening at my throat for a brief second before his mouth collides with mine again, no doubt in an effort to shut me up. I don’t mind though, because his tongue works magic as it fucks into my mouth, drawing a moan from my chest before he swallows it whole.

It could be the alcohol or the heat from our kiss, but the need for oxygen comes far too soon, and I’m forced to break away for air. But even as I pant against his lips, I make my request known once more.

“Fuck me.”

His head drops into the crook of my neck, a breathy chuckle floating over my skin. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Sounds like a problem for tomorrow.”

There’s a moment of silence where I wait for him to decide, but lust must win out over common sense in the long run, because his mouth is on mine again. More aggressive this time. More desperate for me to meet every press of his lips and roll of his hips.

The darkness and the intoxication I’m feeling take over as every nerve ending in my body becomes overwhelmed by his touch. His taste and scent.

My brain seems to be drowning in equal parts alcohol and him until it’s fully submerged in pure black.

One I’m lost in, only to wake up the next morning with no idea whose bed I’m in, how I got there...or a single recollection of the events from the night before.