2. Sebastian
Chapter 2
Sebastian
The black SUV pulls up to the curb, and I open the door, the thumping bass of shitty party music already giving me a headache. I nod to Stewart and get out before he drives away, leaving me standing outside the frat house.
Another fucking party.
Great.
Just what I need after getting berated by dear old Dad about it.
I roll up the sleeves of my button-down shirt, which was freshly ironed by the house staff before they shoved me out the door to a spontaneous meeting with Dad’s business partners this morning. His stern warning still echoes in my ears. Don’t embarrass me. You’re a Barron.
Yeah, yeah. How could I forget ?
If I’m lucky, I can avoid running into any of the drunk idiots I call brothers and crash before this headache splits my skull open.
The party’s in full swing when I step inside, music pounding from the speakers as people grind on each other in the living room, and the stench of cheap beer and sweat assaulting my nostrils. I keep my head down, pushing through the drunken crowd, trying to get upstairs.
My bed calls me.
“Yo, Bash!” Brandon calls out. “Where you been, man? We got freshmen at the table tonight. Cute ones.”
I spot him and Connor at the beer pong table, facing off against a couple of chicks. One of them, a petite brunette. Dark, straight hair spills halfway down her back, contrasting with her pale shoulders left bare by the little black dress she’s wearing. She’s concentrating hard, her brow furrowed as she lines up her shot.
I’m about to brush past, mumble some excuse, but then she throws. The ball arcs through the air and lands cleanly in the center cup. A genuine smile lights up her face.
“Take that, assholes,” her friend says.
Is that Ju?
I move closer, leaning against the wall.
At first, I didn’t recognize her, but no one else would taunt the guys like this.
“That’s my girl.” She hugs her brunette friend. “You guys are going down. ”
Brandon lines up his next shot, his usual cocky grin plastered on his face. The ball lands with a little splash inside a cup.
The brunette’s face falls. She eyes the beer in the cup like it’s a vat of toxic waste, her nose scrunching up. I have to squeeze my lips together to keep from laughing out loud. So she’s not much of a drinker.
Slowly, reluctantly, she picks up the cup, tipping it back and taking the tiniest sip possible, her face contorting in disgust.
“Chug it!” Brandon yells.
The people around them hoot and holler.
“C’mon, you can do it!” Ju jostles her shoulder.
The brunette grimaces and starts chugging, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk’s. She surfaces, gasping for air, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Good job.” Ju pats her shoulder.
The brunette shakes her head, looking a little green.
There’s something endearing about her, trying so hard to fit into a scene she clearly doesn’t belong in. Where did Ju pick her up?
Should I go over… and what? Introduce myself? Offer to get her a real drink? I don’t need to get involved. I should head upstairs, forget I even saw her.
She picks up the ball for her next turn, tucking that dark hair behind her ears while her pink tongue pokes out the corner of her mouth.
Don’t think too much .
She tosses the ball, and it sails through the air, bouncing right off the rim of the cup and dropping onto the floor.
Her cheeks flush pink as Brandon and Connor whoop and high-five. Connor sinks his next shot easily.
Ju empties the cup and throws an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “We need a new strategy.”
The brunette nods and picks up the ball, weighing it in her hand.
Fuck. This is exactly the kind of ‘ridiculous college antics’ Dad was talking about. I shouldn’t care, but for some reason, I do.
The game continues, and the guys land one cup after another while the girls miss almost every shot.
I stifle another yawn. The pounding in my skull is getting worse.
“Good luck, boys.” I give a lazy salute to them. “Try not to get slaughtered by the newbies.”
Brandon flips me off as I turn and head for the stairs, the smell of cheap beer and stale sweat clinging to me now. Fuck, I need a shower. And about a gallon of coffee.
When I get upstairs, I head straight for my room, ready to crash face-first into my bed. But as soon as I open the door, I stop short. “What the fuck?”
Blake is sprawled across my sheets, wearing nothing but a lacy red bra and panties. Her long red hair spills over my pillows as she gives me a sultry look .
“Hey, Bash. I was waiting for you.” She grazes her collarbone with her nails.
Right now, she’s the last thing I want to deal with.
“Not tonight.” I drop my bag in front of the bed. “I need you to go. Now.”
Her pout turns into a scowl. “Come on, don’t be like that!” She crawls to the edge, reaching for my belt.
Usually, I’d be down for a quick fuck, blow off some steam after the shit day I’ve had. But right now, with the pounding in my skull and her reeking of cheap booze, I’m so not in the mood.
I catch her wrist, stopping her. “Blake, I said no. Get dressed and get out.”
“Come on. I know you want it.”
Releasing her wrist, I grab her chin roughly, tilting her face up to examine her eyes. Dilated pupils and a flushed face beneath the freckles. She’s high as a fucking kite.
“What did you take this time, huh?”
She jerks her head away. “What’s it to you? I just wanted to have some fun.”
“Not tonight, you don’t.” I stride over to the chair and snatch up her dress, throwing it at her. “Get the hell out. I’m done dealing with your drug bullshit.”
She gapes at me incredulously even as she slides the dress over her head. “Are you serious right now? You’re gonna kick me out? ”
“Damn right, I am,” I say. “I’ve got zero patience for junkie fuck-ups tonight. So either get your shit together and have an actual conversation with me, or find someone else to screw around with, ’cause I’m over this.”
Blake huffs, scrambling off the bed to shimmy the dress down over her hips. “You know what, Bash? Go fuck yourself.” She shoves past me toward the door. “Let me know when you stop being a dick.”
“Back at ya, B,” I call after her as the door slams shut.
Christ. I scrub a hand over my face and sink down onto the bed. Even when I explicitly tell her I’m not interested, she still tries to push it. I care about Blake. I really do. But I can’t keep enabling this self-destructive shit. It’s time I stop messing around with her altogether…
Sighing heavily, I toe off my shoes and flop back. I’m too damn exhausted to think about it now. All I want is to pass out for a few hours and give my aching head a break from this fucked up day…
Barron.
What if I don’t want to be a Barron?
I need a drink, but I can’t go down like this.
I stalk into the bathroom, stripping off my clothes and leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor. Cranking the shower knob all the way to hot, I step under the scalding spray, welcoming the sting against my skin .
The water sluices over me, and I place my palms on the cool tile, letting my head hang between my shoulders. The pounding behind my eyes starts to ease a bit as the steam rises around me.
Dad’s words keep echoing in my head, that same old bullshit about ‘upholding the family name’ and ‘making smart choices.’ Like he’s one to talk.
And then there’s Blake… I groan, tipping my head back to let the water stream over my face. I shouldn’t have been such a dick to her. I mean, yeah, she was high. But I could’ve handled it better.
Reaching for the soap, I lather up, scrubbing harder than necessary. Like I can wash away the memories, the fears, all the fucking baggage that comes with being a Barron.
I need to get my head on straight and focus on football. That’s what I’m good at. That’s what’s gonna get me out of this goddamn mess of a family legacy.
I shut off the water and step out. Didn’t do shit to wash away the stress or the pounding in my head, but at least I’m clean. I towel off and pull on some joggers and a white shirt, not really giving a fuck about my appearance right now. I style my hair on autopilot. One drink. With the music blaring, I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.
The sound of my door slamming makes me pause. For fuck’s sake, if it’s Blake again, I swear…
I stop short .
It’s the brunette from the beer pong game, the one who could barely make a shot. She’s on the floor, covering her ears and mumbling something incoherent.
Fuck, she looks devastated. She’s not my problem. I don’t even know this girl. And I’m not exactly in the comforting mood.
Wait, is that…? No.
I should tell her to leave. I don’t need any more drama tonight, and getting involved with some random, distraught chick is the last thing I should be doing.
But I can’t throw her out. Maybe it’s the raw pain in her voice or the way she seems so small and fragile huddled there on the floor.
Or I’m a fucking sucker for a damsel in distress.
Shit.