Chapter Twenty Two
This very night, two years ago
I fucking hate parties. The noise, the destruction.
More than that, I hate the version of myself I must become to host them.
The golden haired boy who opens the gates with a whiskey bottle in hand and devilish smirk plastered across my face.
I welcome them in, stay for a few photos to prove I was present, then I slink away to the only room in this house that still feels like mine.
Lifting said whiskey bottle, I simply inhale it in an effort to root myself to the present.
Then, I loosen my tie and toss my jacket aside, counting the minutes until it’s over.
This persona I’ve been forced to create isn’t by choice.
It doesn’t care for order or spreadsheets or preparation.
Being a Calloway comes with expectations.
The carnage downstairs being one of them.
Between the music slamming against the walls and the sound of yet another window shattering, I pinch the bridge of my nose and sink into the leather chair.
My phone lies facedown against the desk’s polished wood, discarded but not forgotten.
The call with my father ended less than an hour ago, his voice still reverberating in my skull with the monotone of disappointment.
He’s seen the headlines of Meg’s victory, and he’s pissed to say the least. ‘Control the narrative. Don’t let it control you,’ he grumbled before hanging up.
I can still hear those words in my head, playing on a loop, twinged with what he meant.
Don’t be a fucking failure all your life.
Some academies build their reputations on soccer or basketball, grooming prodigies from childhood like prized racehorses. Hollowbrook’s specialty is lacrosse, and Meg O’Connor is its new shining jewel.
There’s something to be said for natural talent, something that can’t be manufactured no matter how much money is thrown around.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve been running drills with a ball since I was old enough to walk.
Despite being a sophomore, Meg’s female team have secured a huge grant to become the academy’s sole representatives, while mine is officially out of all main championships, left to compete in small-time leagues that are only an option due to my last name.
Had I been anyone else, we’d have been benched for good, and I can’t say I would have hated it.
Maybe for once, I’d have been able to get a feel for who I am, what I actually like.
Downstairs, someone whoops loudly as furniture scrapes across hardwood.
I lift my bottle and watch the whiskey catch the lamplight, amber and calm despite the tremors running through the house.
I throw these parties because I’m expected to assert my dominance and remind this campus who runs it.
In fact, it’s my father’s legacy I’m mimicking.
Yet, there’s nothing dominating about broken glass or the noise complaints waiting to happen.
There’s nothing impressive or intimidating about a reputation I inherited instead of built.
Suddenly, the door to the room bursts open, a spill of light producing a beaming, stumbling brunette. I raise a single brow, wondering what cruel trick of manifestation has brought her to me. Until she sets her dazed blue eyes on my face and raises the red cup in her hand.
“There you are,” Meg straightens and does her best to put one foot in front of the other. With her free hand, she slams the door closed.
“You’ve been looking for me?” I ask carefully, sitting upright.
She’s still wearing fragments from the interview panel she attended this afternoon.
A Hollowbrook jacket half-zipped over a fitted top, jeans hugging her long, powerful legs.
Her hair is free and full-bodied from the celebration, a flush set high on her cheeks that suggests she’s had just enough to drink to soften her assertive edge.
“I thought you’d want to congratulate me.
” Ahh, there it is. The cocky confidence that irritates me on anyone else, but not her.
She’s earned it, after all. I’ve seen her on the field, flooded by the stadium lights, sweat-slicked and defiant as she lifts her stick in victory.
She doesn’t crack under pressure, she thrives on it. And for that, I admire her spirit.
“Congratulations, Meg.” I lift my bottle and take a long swig.
Her lips curve into a slow, self-assured smile.
She moves around the edge of the study, her fingertips grazing book spines, her eyes purposely avoiding me as she pauses briefly at the window.
Students are still swarming the gates in hopes of getting inside, not that there’s a single sliver of room left.
Twisting my chair, I knot my fingers over my shirt.
“Shouldn’t you be downstairs celebrating?”
“It’s rather loud down there. I figured I would enjoy something…
quieter,” she replies, her gaze dipping briefly to the glass in my hand before lifting again to meet mine.
There’s a dangerous heat coming off her skin.
Exertion, alcohol, adrenaline, and dare I say, lust. The combination brushes against the edges of my mind like a warning.
One I quickly decide to ignore when she takes a step closer.
“Nothing about you is quiet,” I comment, my throat going dry.
Meg takes another step towards me, her eyes half-lidded and unable to withhold her intentions.
I widen my seated position, permitting her to plant herself in between my legs.
Footsteps thunder down the hallway outside, laughter crashing against the door like it’s demanding entry.
The spell between us fractures slightly, and awareness floods back into her eyes.
“I should go,” she breathes, licking her lips.
“Probably,” I reply, my voice roughened by restraint. Instead of moving back, Meg lowers, placing her onto her knees in slow motion.
“I’m kinda tired of doing what I should.
” That smile creeps back onto her face, a slight shrug to her shoulder.
My chest compresses between my ribs. She will never know just how much I resonate with that sentence.
Maybe that’s what influences me to push the chair back and reach for her.
Surprise flickers across Meg’s face, her expectation for me to whip my pants down and feed her my hardening cock fleeting.
That’s not how this is going to go. That’s not how I may or may not have imagined this moment more than a few times.
Dragging her up onto my lap, the chair groans in protest but I pay it no mind. Cupping the back of Meg’s neck, I yank her mouth towards mine, pausing just before contact is made.
“You’ve never kneeled for a man before. Don’t start now.
” I just about note the flare in her blue eyes before closing the rest of the distance, a long-awaited kiss detonating between us.
The past year of rivalry, the sly comments and air of superiority we’ve thrown each other’s way becomes a collision of teeth and tongues.
Meg shifts her hips, a small sound escaping her that locks inside my mind for later use.
Fingers clutch my shirt, her lips skating over mine before our tongues clash again.
Her mouth is spiked with the taste of the punch, pushing back against mine with an insistent hunger that matches the one coiled tight in my gut.
Her hips shift, tentative at first, then growing bolder as she feels me responding beneath her. The harder I get, the more confident she becomes until I can’t take it anymore. My hands fly to her hips, stalling her movements.
“Are you sure you’re not too drunk to consent?” I ask hoarsely, another wave of desire shooting through my shaft when Meg bears down on me.
“I’d decided this was happening before I left my dorm. Getting you alone was easier than expected though.” Her expression is set, mouth swollen and curved upwards, eyes flashing with icy blue clarity. She’s a minx, and that’s all I needed to hear.
“Strip and get on the desk.” Lifting her from my lap, I cross the room in a few long strides to lock the door.
By the time I turn back, she’s naked, and fuck me, she’s stunning.
Years of training have given her an athlete’s build, the outline of her abs catching the lamplight.
I glimpse her ass as she pushes up onto my desk and leans back, arching slightly at the cold surface.
Her brown hair pools around her head, her eyes locked on me as I race to shed my own clothes.
I almost fall, getting my foot stuck in my pant leg but I recover in time to see Meg’s thighs spread, revealing her completely hairless pussy.
She wasn’t lying. She did plan on seeking me out tonight long before she started drinking.
Swallowing hard, I stroke my rock-hard shaft, retrieving a condom from my desk drawer.
Meg watches me openly, ensuring the rubber is pulled into place before I approach her.
Of all the women downstairs, of all fantasies I had for tonight, the sight before me was one I thought would be the last to actually happen.
I marvel at her, running my fingers along the indent at her sides.
Once I reach her hips, I sharply drag Meg down the desk so her ass is practically hanging off.
Her squeal quickly turns into laughter, and I know she’s more than simply tipsy.
In the real world outside of this room, Meg would never look at me with such delight. She’d scorn and call me a sexist pig, all for trying to give my team a fighting chance at nationals. It doesn’t matter anymore. She’s won, and now, she wants to revel in her victory over me.