Oblivion (Alphaholes #4)
1. Sammy
1
SAMMY
G oose bumps pebble along my arms, and I fight the urge to rub at my skin. The massive old house had been intimidating from the outside, but being inside, with his eyes on me, makes it a thousand times more daunting.
The guy who invited me in shouts something up the stairs, but I’m not listening because with his gaze fixed firmly on me, everything else has sort of faded away. It feels like my body has recognized him as a predator and forced me to zone out everything except the clear and present danger he poses.
Neither the blond surfer-looking guy who opened the door nor him have introduced themselves. Instead, they’re both just staring at me like I shouldn’t be here. A third guy steps through a doorway, and oddly, his presence seems to crack the pressure vacuum that’s been slowly crushing me since I stepped into the house.
As I turn to look at him, I notice a fourth person lurking in the shadow of the stairwell. Looking between the four of them, I have to stifle a giggle. The intensity rolling off them in waves is insane. The blond guy is studying me like he’s not sure what to make of me. The huge dude who just arrived is smiling. The guy half-hidden by the staircase is glaring at me like I’m a threat. And then there’s him .
His hair is dark and styled neatly into a preppy side part. Black-framed glasses cover intense eyes that feel like they’re searching out all of my dark and dirty secrets. I’ve never been looked at the way he’s looking at me before. Like I’m the start and the end all at once. I don’t even know his name, and yet a part of me deep inside already knows that avoiding him is the only way I won’t end up in his bed.
I’ve only ever had one boyfriend. Drew is the kind of guy you take home to your parents. He’s polite and trustworthy and…husband material.
When I told him we should split up, everyone thought I was insane. Drew is a catch. He’s the catch. The guy that everyone wants, but knows they’ll never get, because he was so devoted to me that they knew no matter what they offered he’d never stray.
He was perfect. So, so, so perfect.
But being perfect is hard. Drew was the perfect boyfriend, so I had to be the perfect girlfriend. Drew was student president, head of the debate team, a young Republican, and valedictorian.
Drew believed in leading by example, and he thought I should believe that too. So, at his bidding, I was president of the yearbook committee, homecoming queen, prom queen, my high school’s darling. Everyone thought we’d be together forever, that we’d graduate from high school, go to college together, get married, and I’d be the perfect first lady when Drew eventually took office.
Instead of dirty words or sweet nothings, Drew would kiss me. Then he’d tell me how perfect I’d look at his side when he was sworn in. How perfectly I’d support him while he chased his dreams. How I’d be the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect everything.
Our entire relationship was about how perfect I’d be for him, but somewhere along the line, he stopped questioning how to be perfect for me.
When I got waitlisted for Harvard, I was relieved. Going to a different school, away from him, was a chance for me to see how my life would look when I wasn’t being perfect.
So now I’m here at Kingsacre, a private university, hours away from my parents, Drew, and all of the preconceived notions that suffocated me in high school.
Here, I’m not Samantha Hartley, daughter of Grant and Elizabeth Hartley. I’m not Drew Merrick’s girlfriend. I’m just Sammy Hartley, awkward freshman, and it’s glorious.
My parents are sweet, warm, lovely people, and I’m their miracle baby. They tried for years to have kids, and by the time they found out they were having me, they had long since given up on the idea of being parents. Like many only children of comfortably rich parents, I’m spoiled, indulged, and revered. In my parents’ eyes I’m utterly perfect, and I love them for that, but sometimes it’s okay not to be perfect…right?
My mama is a classic Southern belle who raised her only daughter to be just like her. So, when I moved into my dorm room, my suitcase was filled with twin sets and honest-to-goodness antique pearls.
Because my parents wanted as much time with me as possible this summer, I didn’t get to school until the day before orientation, and I didn’t realize just how out of place my clothes would be until the first day of school, when I compared my white tennis skirt, pale blue polo and cashmere cardigan to the clothes of the other people on campus that day.
Since then, I’ve done a lot of shopping, and my country club Barbie clothes have all been packed back inside my suitcase for when I go home.
Tonight, my new friend, Starling, and I are going to a party in the woods, and if my mama saw my outfit, or found out my plans for the evening, she’d have me on a plane back home before I could explain, that here, not every outfit requires antique jewelry to be socially acceptable.
Apparently, the new me likes to experiment with her wardrobe, and shopping for myself has been life-changing. But when I allow my gaze to rest on the guy who is giving off evil Clark Kent vibes, I wonder if he’d be staring at me like this if I was wearing my old clothes and not the skin-tight leopard print skirt and black silk cami I have on right now.
Like he heard my thoughts, Clark Kent’s gaze rakes over me, dropping to my feet, clad in sexy black pumps, and slowly lifting all the way up my body until he reaches my face again. When he arches an eyebrow at me, my core clenches.
The sound of footsteps descending the stairs is the lifeline I didn’t know I needed, and I force myself to look up as Starling comes into view.
“Starling,” I gasp, pushing all thoughts of scarily sexy boys out of my mind as I smile up at my new friend.
“Hey, Sammy, do you want to grab a drink here first or just head straight over to the party?” she asks, ignoring the guys as she makes her way to me.
“You’re going to a party?” Clark Kent asks, speaking for the first time, his brow furrowed as he turns to Starling with a strange look in his eyes.
I hate that a flash of jealousy fills me. I don’t know this boy. I don’t even know his name, but there’s a longing in his expression as he looks at Starling, like she’s the one that got away, and he’ll never get over losing her.
“Yep,” Starling says, popping the p as she continues to ignore all four guys, grabs my arm, and tows me toward the kitchen.
I hate that I kind of hate Starling a little right now. Evil Clark hasn’t even glanced in my direction since she came down the stairs, and I can’t help feeling like I’ve lost my chance with him. Which is stupid because we literally just met, and guys with the kind of bad-boy energy he’s exuding don’t go for good girls like me.
“Who’s your friend, Sis?” Clark Kent asks. “And which party are you going to?”
Sis? Sis? Did I hear that right? Did he just call her Sis…as in sister? Hope flares to life in my chest, and I dart a look between him and Starling, silently willing one of them to explain.
After a moment passes and neither of them says more, I turn to Starling. “Sis?” I question, running my eyes over both of their faces to search for similarities. Only apart from them both having dark hair, they don’t look alike.
“Ignore him. We’re not related. This is Evan. He is my mom’s new husband’s son.”
The hope that had swelled in my chest collapses again. Clearly, Evan is pining for his stepsister, and even though I don’t really understand why, I suddenly hate them both a little.
Starling gets me a drink, then before I’ve drank half of it, she suggests we leave, practically dragging me out of the house while the four beautiful boys all watch us go.
Unlike normal college campuses, Kingsacre doesn’t have real dorms. Instead, the students are housed in actual houses. All of the offices, classrooms, and cafeterias are clustered together, surrounded by manicured lawns and mature tree-lined paths. But the majority of the campus is split into mini suburbs of houses that increase in size the further from the main campus you get.
The scholarship students are all housed in row houses right next to the cafeteria. Then the houses get bigger and farther apart until you reach the legacy houses, like the one Starling and the four boys live in. Their house is a huge Queen Ann Victorian-style home enclosed by a fence and an electric gate.
Each house is allocated golf carts for the students to use to commute across the sprawling campus. As Starling and I sit side by side in my cart, waiting for the massive metal gate to swing open and allow us to leave, I have to swallow back the hundred questions that are swirling in my head about Starling and Evan’s relationship.
She doesn’t owe me any answers. She and I are new friends, but I can’t help the feeling that the way Evan was looking at me before she came downstairs was more than just him wondering who I was to his stepsister. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I want him to be interested, and so I’ve imagined the way his eyes devoured me.
When the gates finally start to open, Starling makes a weird, pained noise. Glancing her way, I expect her to say something, but instead, her expression is blank, her eyes focused ahead like she hadn’t even made a sound. Pulling away from the house, I try to think of a way to encourage her to tell me about Evan without me having to ask, but before I have a chance, she suddenly bursts into tears.
Slamming my foot to the brake, we jerk to a stop, and I turn to look at her. “Are you okay?”
Slowly lifting her tear-filled eyes to me, it turns out I didn’t have to ask after all. The moment Starling starts to talk, she word vomits all the details of her past with the four boys she lives with. I just had no idea that what she was going to tell me would change everything.