Jess
By the time I make it to Ralph’s and see how completely dead it is inside, the fire I had in my belly when I stormed out of the KKB house is all but ash.
Suddenly it doesn’t seem like a brilliant idea to push Jarrett’s buttons, and seeing as how there are only three other small groups of people in the bar other than myself, there aren’t exactly a lot of options for pawns in my game.
There’s a small group of girls, all giggling and playing pool, having their version of a Friendsgiving, I assume.
I recognize Landon, the guy Erin had a fling with last year, in the corner with some of his buddies.
He’s off limits since he was with Erin, but even more so, the guy gives me the creeps.
Other than that, I don’t see anyone standing out.
Maybe it’s because none of the guys, no matter how hot they are, hold a candle to Jarrett.
Sighing, I order a vodka tonic and drop my phone onto the bar top in front of me, dropping my head into my hands with my eyes still on it, willing it to ring.
Jarrett hasn’t talked to me since our fight on Monday.
He has a right to be pissed, and I’m fully prepared to apologize, but I also won’t deny that I’m a little disappointed he hasn’t apologized yet, either. And now, a little after seven on Thanksgiving, he’s still yet to call me. Or answer my call.
The bartender is a slight little thing that I assume to be my age, probably staying around campus just because someone has to serve the poor suckers like me who stumble in here on a holiday weekend.
She pops my drink down in front of me and then kicks back against the register at the other end of the bar, texting away on her phone with a giant grin.
She looks like she’s texting someone she cares about, someone who cares about her. I know that goofy grin.
I used to wear it.
Twirling the ice in my glass with the plastic stirrer, I keep my eyes on my phone, pushing the home button every now and then just to make sure I didn’t somehow miss a text. I’m so focused on my pathetic pity party that I don’t even notice the guy who sits down next to me until he speaks.
“You know, I’ve tried that method,” he says, breaking my daze. I glance over at him, eyes widening at the bright, boy-next-door smile I find there.
“Excuse me?”
He nods toward my phone on the bar. “The whole stare at it until it does something method. I’ve tried it. Usually leads to sucking down booze like water and drunk texting someone I know I shouldn’t.”
For the first time tonight, a tiny smile breaks on my face, and I don’t even hide it as I take the time to check this guy out.
The first thing I notice is his smile — I have never been so attracted to someone’s teeth before.
They’re bright white and perfectly straight, like a dentist commercial, and one little dimple pops on his left cheek when that smile reaches its full wattage.
All his features are dark — the jet-black mop of hair on his head, the deep brown of his eyes, the glorious tan skin stretched out over the amazing muscles on his arms, the perfect-length stubble on his jaw.
This guy is the definition of tall, dark, and handsome — and suddenly, my game face is back on.
“Maybe I want to send drunk texts.”
He laughs. “No, you don’t. No one wakes up the morning after sending five unanswered texts in a row happy about it.”
This time it’s him who lets his eyes wander, and though it feels nice to be devoured by his eyes, it doesn’t change the fact that he isn’t Jarrett. Every guy just seems so… blah, compared to Jarrett. He’s ruined me.
“I’m Jess,” I say when his eyes finally reach mine again.
“Greg. You’re in Kappa Kappa Beta, right?” He motions for the bartender, holding up his empty beer bottle before turning to face me again.
“I am. Are you Greek?”
“Omega Chi Beta.”
“Oh, shit, the probation boys,” I tease. “I have a really good friend in your fraternity — Bear. Although, he’s kind of pissing me off currently.”
Greg rolls his eyes. “He’s been pissing pretty much everyone off since the beginning of the semester.
I think he’s just taking the probation thing hard.
He’s helped us a lot, though. There were still a lot of brothers being stupid after the meeting with nationals — me included — but he reminded us what’s at stake.
Still,” he adds, tipping his new beer toward the bartender before taking a long pull. “His attitude is a lot to handle.”
“I think he and Skyler got into some kind of fight, but neither one of them is saying why.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Those two are pretty tight, even if they aren’t getting along right now.” His lips find his bottle again, eyes still on me. “Anyway, enough about them. Tell me about you. Any particular reason you’re in Ralph’s on Thanksgiving instead of home with family?”
“Ugh,” I stick the plastic stirrer in my drink like a dagger, fishing out an ice cube before popping it in my mouth. “That’s a long story. You should probably answer that question first.”
“My parents took a cruise for the holiday,” he answers easily. “So, I stayed here to party with a few brothers. But if I had to guess by the way you’re watching your phone, your reason involves a guy, doesn’t it?”
I chew my ice cube. “Maybe.”
“Boyfriend?”
I pause mid-crunch, swirling the cold remains of the cube with my tongue as I debate how to answer. I could easily lie, play the game I was set on playing when I walked in the door, but suddenly it all feels stupid. So, I just answer with a nod.
“Ah, figures,” he says, a defeated smile on his face as he peels the label off his beer bottle. “Doesn’t make sense for a girl who looks like you to be single.”
“You’re sweet.” I watch him for a moment, waiting for him to make some excuse to walk away. “Guess now that you know I have a boyfriend, in your mind I’ve practically sprouted three heads and a dick now, huh?”
He chokes on a laugh, that damn dimple making an appearance again. “Not at all. I was actually going to ask if you would still be okay with a little company tonight. You can talk to me about him, if you want,” he offers with a shrug. “Or, I can talk your ear off with turtle facts.”
This time it’s me who nearly chokes. “I’m sorry?”
“Biology major,” he answers. “I’m doing a marine mammal and sea turtle rescue internship next summer, so I’ve been studying, upping my turtle game.”
I laugh, finally feeling marginally better and oddly thankful that Greg wandered into Ralph’s tonight. “Okay, you have my attention. Hit me with a turtle fact.”
And, so he does. For the rest of the night, we make easy conversation, first with his hilarious but fascinating knowledge of sea turtles and eventually we end up talking about our families, our majors, our love for pizza, our favorite songs and movies.
I lose count of how many drinks we both have as well as how many laughs we share.
All I know is that it feels good to sit in a bar with an attractive boy who can’t stop staring at me but is respectful enough not to make any moves since I have a boyfriend.
It’s refreshing, and maybe some attention was all I needed, after all.
A loud commotion breaks the spell Greg has me under somewhere around midnight.
We eye each other cautiously before abandoning our drinks at the bar and rushing outside.
Landon is cursing and screaming, his buddies all gathered around him trying to calm him down.
When Greg and I step around the first row of cars in the parking lot, we see why.
“Oh, my God.” I cover my mouth, trying to hide my smile and fight down the laugh I feel coming on.
“WHOEVER DID THIS IS DEAD, DO YOU HEAR ME?!” Landon screams, grabbing his friend’s beer bottle and hurling it across the parking lot. It hits the brick wall of Ralph’s and shatters, splinters of glass raining down on the sidewalk like a parade in his honor. “DEAD.”
“I wish I would have grabbed my phone off the bar,” I say to Greg, eyes wandering over Landon’s car. “I so need a picture of this.”
“Something tells me you’ll see one on social media in about two minutes,” he says, nodding to the group of girls who were playing pool earlier.
They all have their phones out, giggling and snapping pictures before Landon sees them and roars for them to put their phones away.
I can’t blame him for being mad, but even more than that, I want to know the genius behind the prank.
His entire car is covered in dildos.
And not just any kind of dildo — tiny, micro-penis dildos, all Saran Wrapped to his hood, his doors, the roof, the windows.
It’s impossible to even get inside the car without breaking through the cellophane first, and thus breaking loose at least a hundred tiny, rubber dicks.
The tires are shredded, the windshield busted, and nearly all the paint has been keyed up.
And to top it all off? There’s a message, loud and clear, written in bright red paint on the hood.
Now the outside matches the inside. Go fuck yourself.
I’m still laughing when the police show up and Greg and I dip back inside Ralph’s, finding our place back at the bar and slipping easily back into the conversation we were holding before. The night is turning out to be much better than it started.
“We should take a picture,” he says about an hour after the dildo commotion, smacking his palms on the bar. “To commemorate one of the best Thanksgivings I’ve had in a long time.”
I chuckle. “A Turkey Day selfie, huh?”
“Absolutely.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, flipping the camera to face us before reaching down and grabbing the edge of my barstool. He pulls me closer to him, hand finding the small of my back as he holds the phone up. “Say turtle.”
I laugh, and he snaps the picture with my hand on his chest, my eyes staring up at him, mid-laugh. His smile is wide and lazy, both of us clearly a little intoxicated, but as we both look the picture over, I can’t help but think we look cute together.
“Are you allowed to be here?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I was going to post it,” he says, nodding toward the picture. My barstool is still touching his, our bodies brushing. “Can I tag you?”
It’s funny, how the exact thing I was going to do — the mission I had been on — ended up happening even after I’d dropped the notion.
I had my goal set on coming in here and finding some poor sap to use to make Jarrett jealous, but I’d gotten so caught up just having fun with Greg, I’d dropped the initial thought.
Frowning, I realize I haven’t checked my phone in a while, and I turn, grabbing it off the bar and clicking the home screen.
No missed texts.
No missed calls.
My heart sinking, I drop the phone back to the bar with a sigh, turning back to Greg with what I’m sure is a pathetic smile. “You know what? Tag me.”
“You sure?” he asks, eyeing my phone before finding my gaze again.
“Positive.”
He watches me a moment more, his eyes flicking to my lips, but he swallows and tears his gaze away and back to his phone. I watch him type out a caption, draining the last of my vodka tonic as the loading bar fills on his phone, and then the screen re-loads and he grins.
“Posted.”