Royal Scoundrel (Frat Wars #4)

Chapter 3

3

Dash

“Where’d you go?” Larry asks, locking the front door of our apartment behind us. “Spoiler alert: I went swimming, and now this earache has only gotten worse.”

“You make shitty decisions when you’re drunk. Go figure.” Like I’m one to talk.

He heaves his backpack further up his back and starts the walk toward campus. “Made out with a total ten though. Tits like this.” He makes a hand motion in front of his chest.

“I’m so happy for you?” I try to imagine his reaction if I were all, “dude had balls like this ,” and mimed holding two bowling balls between my legs. Not gonna test that out though.

“What about you?”

“Eh, no luck.” Not that I didn’t have my chances. Instead, I chose to hang around that party like a bad smell, hoping Levine would hunt me down to get his crown back, but I didn’t see him again. I wouldn’t be surprised if he avoided me after his kiss since the guy is so deeply closeted.

It sucks knowing I have a chance but don’t actually.

We reach campus, and Larry splits off for the science department while I head toward the math buildings. I fucking love studying economics, which is good because my whole being here is dependent on good grades. I’m smashing my classes, I’m smashing my social life, and once college is done with, I can get serious about life, but for right now, I’ve got a Kappa crown, and I’m going to be using it to pull at parties this weekend.

What better way to grab attention and start a conversation?

I ignore the fact that I’m after very specific attention and pretend to myself that anyone will do.

Like my thoughts have summoned him, I hear his rich-boy voice before I see him.

“You have my crown.”

Well, look at that. I didn’t even need to be wearing it to catch his attention. “Careful, someone might see you talking to me.”

He glances around. “I don’t care.”

“Right. Sure you’re not drunk again?”

He goes to bite back and shakes his head instead. “I need it back. Today, preferably.”

“Might help if I knew what you were talking about.”

“The one I was wearing and dropped when we … talked.”

“Ah. That crown.”

“Yes. And I need it back.”

I shrug like there’s nothing I can do, getting a sick satisfaction from taunting him into continuing this conversation. “I’ve invoked the age-old lore of finders keepers. There’s nothing I can do.”

“I’m not playing.”

“Finders keepers isn’t a game.”

“Look, Dash?—”

I gasp and hate that I do it. “You know my name.”

His jaw tics. “Yes … well, you know, you did get naked. And people talk.”

“That almost sounds like you were stalking me.”

“I wasn’t stalking anyone,” he snaps. It’s hot. Levine is so proper and put together it’s fun to see little cracks in that facade.

“Yet you know my name without me telling you. Let’s face it, you’re basically obsessed at this point.”

“Crown. I’m here for my crown.”

“I think you mean my crown.”

“No, I—” He cuts off and takes a long inhale. “Fine. What do you want?”

“Want?”

“Yes. Money? Name your price.”

I turn to him so fast I get whiplash. “Wait, are you … You’re serious.”

“Obviously.”

“Fine. One million dollars.”

The choking sound he lets out is glorious. “Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“It’s a piece of plastic.”

“Okay, so go and buy another piece of plastic. I’m sure you can find one with all the exact Kappa insignia on it that yours has.”

His nostrils flare. “I’m going into law, and you’ve picked the worst person to mess with. What you’re doing is illegal. Stealing.”

“I told you?—”

“There’s no precedent for finders keepers. That’s not actually something that will hold up in court.”

“Oooh, so now you’re taking me to court over the piece of plastic?”

He abruptly stops walking, fingers burying into his hair. “Why are you making this so difficult?”

“I like annoying people.” It’s true, especially when he scowls. “And let’s face it, we both know you need an excuse to talk to me.”

“Excuse me?”

I keep walking, and he scrambles to catch up. “You said it yourself. The crown is basically worthless, so the only real reason you’re asking for it back is because you want to be able to approach me.”

“Or maybe it’s because my brothers will question me endlessly about it.”

“Nah, I like my theory better.”

“This conversation is anything but enjoyable, so I can promise you that’s not it.”

“Really? I’m having fun.” I pause outside the math department and turn to look at him. Fuck me, he doesn’t get any less hot. It should be a rule that as soon as a guy locks his cock in the closet, he immediately loses his appeal.

It would make things a lot easier on me.

His gorgeous eyes are wide. “I just need it back. Can you stop messing with me?”

“Why?”

“Because if they start asking questions about where I left it and how you ended up with it …”

“You really think they’ll jump to the conclusion that you wanted me to suck your dick?”

“Shh.” He glances around. “Keep your voice down.”

“Literally nobody has ever given a shit about me before, so I don’t know why you’re freaking out.”

“Because—”

“You’re you? And people care about the great Archibald Levine.”

His tongue swipes his lips. “Well. You certainly do. You think I’m great?” He cracks a smile. “Stop flirting with me.”

Ooh, that’s an opening. It’s the universal way of telling someone that you do, in fact, want them flirting with you. I love that kind of opening, but with him … I hesitate. I’ve dreamed of having his attention for way too long, but this guy is going to fuck with my head. That isn’t a guess; it’s a guarantee. The real question is whether I’m going to let him.

And whether fucking with his head in return will be a worthy trade-off.

The thing is, if Levine is closeted, he has his reasons. I don’t want to risk outing him, I don’t want to push things, but a chance to hook up? To get to fulfill every fantasy I’ve ever had over the guy, no matter how slim the chance?

I’m a selfish, weak man and can’t let the chance slip by.

“Maybe I like flirting with you.”

Delicious red splotches rise over his cheeks, and when he talks again, it’s softer. “I just need the damn crown.”

“Don’t sound very convincing.”

“Please?”

I can’t resist. “How did you know a cute guy begging is my weakness?”

“ Dash .” He hangs his head back with a groan.

“Hey, you started it.”

“I certainly did not.”

“You’re either lying or adorably oblivious. Either way, I can work with that.”

“There is no working with anything. I’m not … not …”

I wait him out.

“It should never have happened.”

“Liked it that much, huh?”

“Why are you so difficult?”

“Part of my charm.”

Levine scruffs another hand through his glossy, copper curls. Fuck, his hair looks as soft as it felt the other night, and it’s a crime if I never get to feel that again. “I have to get to class.”

“Me too.”

Neither of us makes a move.

“Can I come by and pick it up later?” he asks.

I’m tempted to play dumb, but even I know that’s pushing things too far. “Put your number in here.” I hand over my phone.

Levine hesitates a second before doing it. Then he calls himself. “Done.”

“I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

“I guess you will.” He hurries to clarify. “Just so I can pick up what belongs to me.”

What would he say if he knew my fantasies belonged to him too?

“See you in a few hours.”

“Okay.” He turns to leave, and I can’t stop myself.

“My roommate’s working late.”

Levine’s long footsteps falter, but he pushes through and disappears around the corner before replying.

Then, because I want to make sure he knows where I stand, I pull out my phone and text: U r so cute when u blush.

I almost swallow my tongue when he replies.

Fuk u I’m cute always .

Jesus. Just when I thought I was the one in control of this thing, he’s gotta go knocking my expectations out of the park. I want to text back. Desperately want to see if I can draw more flirting out of him, but that annoying niggle of self-preservation reminds me of what this is.

I’m not the type of guy people come out for.

It’s cool with me; I’ve never wanted to be the take-home kind, especially when it comes to someone like Levine. His frat brothers make me uncomfortable enough, let alone older versions of them. Let alone homophobic older versions of them.

And if I’m not the kind of dude he’d be ready to get serious with, then I’m definitely not going to be tempting enough for him to risk being outed over. Still, a guy can dream, can’t he?

Levine hasn’t been able to stop me yet.

Almost as soon as I tuck my phone away, it goes off in my pocket. I walk into the lecture room and find a place off to the side where I can pull my phone out without drawing attention. Sure enough, it’s him again.

No smartass comment 2 that. I’ll take it as confirmation.

You know what? Fuck it. If Levine is going to get flirty with me, why should I be the one holding back?

I thought ur existence was ur confirmation of being king of the world?

Levine:

It’s nice 2 be reminded I’m right.

Me:

Happy 2 be of service 2 ur ego.

Levine:

Thank u. My ego does love a good servicing.

I let my laugh sneak past my lips, glad he’s not here to witness it. While normally flirting comes to me as easily as breathing, when I look at his messages, when I imagine those long fingers typing out his replies, the pressure piles on. I want him to like me. To be impressed by me. To maybe find me so damn irresistible that he can’t hold back from fucking my lights out. I’m not his type, given the gorgeous, rich women he dates, but hey, maybe he wants to slum it for a night?

I’m down for that.

Me:

What about the rest of u?

I set my phone down and try to concentrate on the professor and not the lack of messages on my phone. Probably a good thing since I can’t afford to text back and forth all day, but it doesn’t stop me from worrying. Did I push too far? Is this past the limits of his comfort?

And mostly, more importantly, why do I care so much?