Chapter 2 #3
I bite my bottom lip as the three little dots appear on my phone, letting me know my parents are responding.
Feeling guilty, part of me feels like I deserve to have them rage at me, so when I read their message and it says that they are relieved I’m okay and hope I’m getting a little bit of fun in tonight with my friends, I only feel worse.
“Please tell me your dog didn’t die.”
I glance up, startled, and find a brown-haired guy with light hazel eyes standing in front of me. He’s not overly tall, but I wouldn’t say short either. Firmly in the middle-king category.
“Um, excuse me?” I ask, confused.
He gestures to my phone. “You looked pretty upset. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t serious. And if so, see if I could help.”
I blink up at him, only now realizing that he’s kinda cute.
“Oh, this?” I ask with a bit of a nervous laugh. “No, it’s just my parents checking in on me.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?” He seems genuinely surprised. “Wow, that’s really sweet actually.”
“Yeah, well, we’re really close,” I say, feeling awkward.
What nineteen-year-old college student has their parents checking in on them on a Friday night? I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
“That’s cool you’re so close with your parents,” he says, and then tries to slide his hands into his pockets, but the blue and gold pom-poms sticking out stop him.
With a sheepish look that somehow makes him even cuter to me, he drops his arms and shrugs.
That’s when I notice his t-shirt says, “Go Ceilings!” I cock my head, trying to figure it out, when he pulls the pompoms out of his pockets and gives them a shake and repeats the phrase on his shirt.
“I’m a ceiling fan,” he says with a lopsided smile. “Get it?”
I laugh. “Clever. I like it,” I say with a smile.
He shoves the pompoms back into his pockets, his gaze drifting down the long line of people, mostly women, still waiting for the bathroom. “It looks like you might need some saving after all.”
I frown, not catching his meaning.
He leans closer, and I can smell some sort of spicy cologne or aftershave. It’s nice. Especially since the air around us is tinted with sweat.
“Don’t tell anyone, but I have a private bathroom upstairs if you want to use it,” he says quietly.
When he pulls back, he gives me another one of those crooked smiles. “I’m just another flight up. If you want to wait, that’s fine. It’s up to you.”
I glance to the left and right to see if anyone overheard and is annoyed at not being invited to use a private bathroom, but the girls in front of me are talking in a group, and the couple behind me is making out.
I bite down on my bottom lip again, unsure.
I don’t know this guy, but he seems nice. And all I’m doing is using the bathroom. Besides, if this takes too long, Tate and Kendra are going to start worrying, and this line is moving at a snail’s pace.
“Sure,” I answer with a nod, and his smile ramps up.
“Great. This way,” he says, gesturing for me to go in front of him. A move I find chivalrous.
As we climb another flight of stairs, I’m not worried at all he’s looking up my short skirt, because the red cape covers me from shoulders to ankles.
Eventually, we find ourselves at the start of a long hallway that feels a bit like a dorm, with doors lining both sides all the way down to a window at the far end.
“It’s the second door on the right,” he says, no longer having to shout or raise his voice now that we’re on the third floor to be heard.
“I don’t want you to feel trapped or anything, so I’ll wait out here.
Just don’t judge the mess too harshly. I wasn’t planning on bringing any pretty girls up here tonight. ”
He thinks I’m pretty? No guy has ever told me that before.
A warm feeling blooms over me. “No promises,” I say with a sly smile.
Am I flirting?
And if so, I wonder how I’m doing. If the smile he gives me back is any indication, I think I’m doing all right.
“I’m Carter, by the way,” he says.
“Haven,” I answer.
“All right, Haven, I’ll just be out here, holding my breath for your verdict when you get back.”
I laugh lightly and enter the room. There’s an open doorway in the corner that leads to the bathroom.
I sneak a quick glance around the room on my way there and note that it’s actually pretty neat for a guy college student.
No stacks of dirty laundry on the ground or stale food strewn about.
The bed is even made, which is more than I can say about my own.
Ducking into the small bathroom, I quickly do my business, wash my hands, and then return to Carter, who’s waiting exactly where he was before.
“So?” he asks with anticipation.
“Hmm,” I say, pretending to think it over. “The made bed was impressive, but I did spot some dirty socks on the floor, so I’ll have to dock points for that. Otherwise, it would have been a perfect score.”
His shoulders sag in mock despair. “If only it weren’t for the socks . . .”
“If only for the socks,” I echo. “But you get half points restored for the organic chemistry textbook.”
Okay. Totally flirting. And totally crushing it.
“You snooped in my textbooks?” he asks with raised eyebrows. But the easy smile on his face tells me he isn’t upset about it.
“Not so much as snooped, but more recognized it.”
“You’re pre-med too?” he asks, looking impressed.
I shrug, suddenly feeling a touch self-conscious. The topic of my major is a sticky subject in my household. It’s my dream to be a pediatrician someday, but my parents think that’s too public of a profession. They want to find something that I can do remotely, to limit my contact with people.
“Still figuring it out.”
“That’s a chunky class to take if you’re still figuring it out,” he says, and he’s not wrong.
It’s arguably one of the hardest undergrad classes, but the sciences fascinate me.
It’s essentially the human form of magic, and if I’m not allowed to figure out my own magic, I might as well dive into theirs.
I shrug again.
“Professor Chandler?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
Carter whistles. “He’s a toughie, right?”
I nod. He’s tough but fair in my opinion.
Carter and I chat as we make our way back down the stairs. I sneak a glance at him over my shoulder, taking in his shaggy hair and lean build. We reach the landing to the second floor and I’m about to start down to the main level when he catches my hand, stopping me.
“Umm, I was wondering if I could hang out with you a bit more tonight,” he asks, looking almost nervous. I find that endearing since I feel the same way.
“Well, I’m here with my friends, actually,” I say, and his hopeful expression falls, so I quickly add, “I’m sure they won’t mind if you want to join us. We’re just dancing, really.”
He rubs the back of his neck, like he’s trying to decide something. “I was actually hoping I could show you around the house a bit. There are some decorated rooms up here that are pretty cool I thought you might want to see. Only the brothers know about them. It’s like the VIP areas.”
“Oh, well,” I hesitate. I can’t just ditch Tate and Kendra.
Picking up on it, he rushes to say, “It’ll only take a few minutes. I promise your friends won’t even miss you at all. We’ll go find them right after.”
I glance down the stairs, half expecting to see Tate or Kendra start up them looking for me, but of course they’re not there.
“Just a few minutes, I promise,” he says, and I find myself nodding.
Still holding my hand, he tugs me down the hall in the opposite direction as the bathroom, stopping when we reach a closed door with the sign, “Private” hanging on it.
“Should we be going in here?” I ask, suddenly nervous as Carter reaches for the handle.
“Absolutely. It just says that so only members of the frat enter.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, but something doesn’t feel right.
I tell myself I’m being silly as Carter opens the door and leads me inside. At first, it’s hard to see. The lighting is really low, and the entrance of the room is filled with smoke from a fog machine. I take a mouthful of it and start coughing as Carter pulls me forward.
I clear my lungs at the same time as we emerge from the fog-filled entrance, blinking against the sting in my eyes.
If I had to guess, I’d say that this was some sort of game room.
Couches line the perimeter of the room, and beneath the window at the far end are what I think are an air hockey table and a pool table, both draped in black tablecloths.
Flickering jack-o’-lanterns cover their surfaces, providing the only real light and casting everything in an eerie glow.
The vibe in the room is completely different from downstairs, as if once we closed the door behind us we were cut off from the rest of the world.
That unsettles me.
The music here couldn’t be more different from the lighthearted beats downstairs where I was dancing with my friends. This melody is slow and sultry, dark in a way that makes my skin prickle and my nerves tighten.
There’s not a dance floor in this space, per se, but that’s not stopping a handful of couples from moving together, their bodies and limbs tangled enough to make heat shoot to my cheeks and ears.
The more I look around, the more I get eyefuls of acts I wish I hadn’t.
There are pairs, and sometimes even threes, pressed up against walls and lying on the couches making out everywhere.
There’s a couple in the corner that I’m sure are doing a lot more than kissing, and someone recording them on their phone while they do it.
I can’t imagine that’s consensual until the girl looks up from the boy, who’s now sucking on her neck, and blows a kiss to the guy filming her.
A sour knot settles in my gut.
I don’t want to be here.
Backing up a step, I bump into Carter. He steadies me, but then he doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans down and kisses my neck.
I rear away, my pulse hammering in my chest, a jolt of fear running through me.
“What are you doing?”