FRAT PARTY PART ONE
Qiang’s POV
The lights are down low, and the strobe lights are pulsing. The music is cranked up high while way too many bodies are bouncing to the beat in the main living space of the Zeta Tau Xi House.
The heat is oppressive. It’s that time of year when it’s either too hot or too humid, and tonight it’s so humid it’s hard to breathe. Cramming this many bodies into a tight space, with the humidity and the alcohol flowing, is way too much.
I don’t know what’s worse, the gawd-awful heat in here, or the damn near ice-frigid drive on the way here.
Everyone was quiet. Since he was driving, Tristan was paying attention to the road; Marcus’s jaw stayed decidedly tight as he stared out the window, and Qi’s long, disapproving glances in my direction weren’t exactly subtle.
I don’t even know why I came. Every effort I’d made to make Qi feel better by accepting tonight’s invite, I effectively destroyed by squashing this thing with Marcus before we even left. I know Qi’s not mad at me because I axed some crush. He’s mad at me because of why I did it.
It’s like he’s paying too much attention now and making it up in his head that everything I do is a negative reaction to Kingston showing up and not having dealt with the emotional baggage I’ve been carrying around for years.
I mean, he’s not wrong; it’s just that I don’t know how to cross this divide without biting the bullet and taking steps I don’t want to take.
I know I need to, but I also remember how difficult and uncomfortable it was when I tried this years ago.
I try to hold back my internal groan when Imani spots Marcus almost as soon as we walk through the door and makes a beeline straight for him.
I’m not surprised, since she hasn’t exactly been subtle about her crush on him, despite his lack of enthusiasm.
Not sure if he’s being purposely thick or just been too distracted with his crush on me, but she’s a great girl, and he could do a lot worse.
Not sure if the universe is purposely trying to test my resolve, but I keep chanting that this is for the best as I scan the crowd, hoping for at least one familiar, friendly face to mingle with.
Just because I know Imani is a catch doesn’t mean I need to stand close and watch it happen, especially after having just told him he needs to move on to someone else.
“I was hoping you’d show up,” she practically shouts so he can hear her over the music.
Qi, giving me another very pointed look before he and Tristan make their way onto the dancefloor, distracts me from having to hear Marcus’s response.
Fuck, I should have just stayed home. I wouldn’t have done much better than lying up in my room and imagining how disappointed Qi is in me, but at least I wouldn’t have to face it in reality quite this hard.
The few sad-eyed looks Marcus has sent my way aren’t helping either.
Not to mention the fact that I know he’s not doing it for sympathy or to make me feel bad.
I can practically feel the effort he’s making not to look at me at all, and the few times we’ve made eye contact have been accidental, especially given how quickly he looks away whenever he gets caught.
“Hey, little pixie, you look like you’d rather be anywhere other than here,” a deep, familiar voice echoes in my ear.
I look up to see Cade standing right next to me. His lips are curled in a mischievous smile, and he looks like he’s up to something. Then again, Cade always looks like he’s up to something. If mysterious had a picture, it would be Cade’s icy blue eyes and mischievous smile.
He’s been at Iver’s Sphere as long as I have, but I didn’t meet him until late into my second year at a benefit ball the university threw for trans rights.
The guy is a charmer, so needless to say, I left the ball with him.
His rules are mostly the same as mine, and after arguably one of the best nights I’ve ever spent in someone else’s company, we remained friends.
I’m not usually much for staying friends with my hook-ups afterward, but the two of us seemed to run into each other frequently enough, and, with both of us on the same page, the awkwardness between us was left out of the conversation enough for a friendship to build.
Well, at least as much of a friendship as one can have with Cade Murphy.
He is definitely famous for keeping most of his cards close to his chest.
“Am I that obvious?” I ask as my eyebrow lifts in response to the mischievousness of his smile.
Cade’s smile grows at my response, and he holds his hand out towards me. “Come on, maybe a dance will ease you up and change your mind,” he says, nodding towards the excessively crowded dance floor.
It doesn’t look nearly as inviting as I think he thinks it is, and maybe I’d be more into the idea of a dance if I weren’t in a surly ass mood.
Despite knowing I really don’t want to, I still feel my head nodding in agreement, because it’s really the distraction I need to get away from Imani and Marcus.
I see Marcus' eyes unhappily trained on us. Something that Cade notices, and has his lips curling back into his previous mischievous smirk. I don’t know what Cade’s game is, or if he is just tasting the tension and trying to figure it out.
Part of me wants to stay back; the dancefloor isn’t exactly inviting, and Marcus’s unhappy intensity behind me is twisting my gut uncomfortably.
But that’s the point; I need him to understand that what I said earlier was solid.
The fact that I absolutely hate that I’m causing him discomfort is something I need to just deal with quietly and on my own.
The more I give into it, the more hope I’ll give him, and the more hurt I’ll cause when I have to rip the band-aid off yet again.
Add that to the reality that I’m getting dangerously close to giving in to the urge to reach over and claw Imani’s hands off Marcus’s arm, and it means focusing on anything but them is probably best for all parties involved.
Marcus’s unhappy face turns into an outright scowl when I put my hand in Cade’s and allow him to pull me towards the throng of gyrating, overheated bodies.
Cade’s hand weaves around my waist, and he pulls me closer to him.
Not obscenely, like so many other couples on the dancefloor, but close enough for me to easily wind my arms around his neck and move to the beat with him.
“Surprised you came tonight. I don’t think you’ve ever come to one of the parties we’ve thrown here,” Cade says loudly to be heard over the music.
I shrug at that. “Qi wanted me to come.”
I leave out the part where I’m pretty sure Qi is regretting asking me to come out with them since I kicked off tonight by acting as what I’m sure he believes to be an ass.
But I tune all of that out, and just focus on Cade.
He’s a good dancer, and it’s a good beat.
It’s easy to get lost in it. But then, a flicker of movement to my right, and I notice Marcus has followed us onto the dancefloor with his arms around Imani.
And that itch to claw her away from him resurfaces hard.
I told him to do this. These were my exact instructions. And yet, his arms around her have every nerve in my body on edge. My jaw hardens, and Cade’s arms start to feel more like shackles than the easy dance from moments ago.
There’s a war in my head that screams to keep going because walking away would undo everything I’ve already done, while the other side screams to take Imani’s place.
It’s completely unfair and all-consuming, and the curious look on Cade’s face tells me I’m wearing every bit of my discomfort on my face.
I need him to stay, though. I need to make it through this dance at least, so I shoot him a reassuring smile and tighten my arms around him.
I have a hard time looking at him, though, because his face is very obviously the wrong face.
Staring up at his icy blue eyes is a stark reminder that I would rather be staring at a pair of obsidian ones, and I shift my gaze to the left to avoid both pools of blue and obsidian.
And if ever there could be a claim to the biggest mistake of the night, it was looking left, because the moment I do, my eyes meet neither icy blue nor obsidian but bright blue instead.
Of all fucking people, why him? Why now? And why the fuck can I not come up with a better mental spiral than that whenever Kingston shows his unwelcome face?
Because I already know the answer to both of those questions.Why him? Because the universe fucking hates me. Why now? Because like an idiot, I agreed to go to a frat party with a bunch of fucking football players.
Kingston’s eyes blatantly rake across my form as though I’m not in someone else’s arms. Sure, I’m not interested in the arms that are holding me at all, but there’s no way in fuck Kingston needs to know that.
And he’s got a pretty girl in his arms, too, so why is he looking at me like a prize just landed in his lap?
Fuck that shit! I may be in a mental tailspin that this asshole is back in my sphere, but it’s not because I’m burning some sort of torch for him; he’s just the physical embodiment of the very cruel mistakes I made in my younger days, and the prices paid for them.
But Kingston himself no longer holds any temptation for me, unless it’s the bile-purging kind.
He pulls his partner closer to him, almost obscenely, as if he’s trying to make me jealous.
The notion is so utterly ridiculous that the only solution really is to make a completely unmistakable statement, so he knows I couldn't care less about his eyes on me, or whatever the fuck he does with his dance partners.
“You wanna step outside for some fresh air, or do you want me to pull you in closer?” Cade’s voice is in my ear again while his hands pull my hips against him sensually.