Jaime
JAIME
“We look good enough to eat, ladies.” I smack my freshly painted lips together, completing a last-minute inspection of my makeup in the mirror by the front door. “Let’s start our senior year with a bang!”
Sasha snorts and raises her eyebrows, tucking a strand of long auburn hair behind her ear. “Two doses of sexual innuendo in one breath? Are you planning on getting laid tonight, ?”
I shoot her a look that says I won’t be dignifying that response with an answer. Abi whoops beside me, snapping a group selfie before opening the front door of the Hive, our sorority house, and leading us out into the cold night air.
Our senior year. The last year of college. Excitement bubbles in my stomach, but I squash it down. While everyone else is going to be emerging from their college chrysalis, ready to start the next chapter of their lives, mine is already DOA. Not that you’d know. Not that anyone knows. I’ve learned to live with it. There’s no other choice.
And that’s without factoring in that the news station hasn’t gotten back to me. Even though I walked out of there convinced I’d never hear from them, it turns out an inkling of hope had hidden somewhere deep in my chest.
Not anymore.
Pushing the smile back on my face, I smooth down the skin-tight silver of my vintage Hervé Léger, inspecting the shimmer coating my arms and legs, the golden flecks offsetting the rich brown of my skin perfectly. Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I thank the hair gods for the way the new caramel ombre through my relaxed and blow-dried waves turned out. I feel like a million dollars. I mean, I’m worth a hell of a lot more, but you get what I mean. No matter what happens after graduation, I plan on enjoying this year to the max.
I lift my chin, a little extra spring in my stride as we lead the way down the winding path, the rest of our sorority sisters laughing and chatting behind us. Reaching out, I take Sasha’s hand and squeeze. I can tell she’s nervous. Not just because she has an important role to play tonight, but because of who she’s going to have to face off with.
It's the fraternity’s turn to host the first welcome back party—a Franklin West tradition—and although this is the fourth one I’m attending, it’s the first where I’ll be wielding my power as vice president of the Beta Epsilon Deltas, or ‘Bees’, as we rebranded ourselves back in sophomore year.
The old white dudes who founded the university were either as misogynistic as you’d expect, or completely clueless when they gave the sorority a name that spelled out ‘bed’. After a year of being called sluts and bedbugs, Sasha, Abigail, and I decided to try and put an end to it. If nothing else, the Bees and the Hive will be our legacy after we graduate.
Of course, the teasing hasn’t stopped, because most boys are stupid and immature, but it’s a hell of a lot better. It doesn’t help that the Alpha Psi Deltas, or Psi-chos as we call them, are so much more than your typical bunch of frat boys. Almost everyone at Franklin West is rich, but they’re a different brand of entitled assholes. And the worst of the bunch is Alex Rainer, their president this year. They call themselves the Wolves, and for some, like him, it couldn’t be more appropriate.
My stomach tightens at the thought of one Wolf in particular. Of broad shoulders and kind brown eyes. Of a quiet moment in the dark that lit a spark inside me I’ve been trying to extinguish ever since. Taking a deep breath, I squeeze Sasha’s hand and she gives me a small smile.
“What up, bed bugs?” Someone shouts from where they’re loitering outside the Wolf Den, having a smoke.
Some other Wolves howl and laugh, but I toss my hair over my shoulder and lift my chin. “Idiots.”
“That’s for sure,” Sasha mutters.
Abi makes a sort of growling sound as we climb the steps to the large wooden door that matches ours. “I hate them.”
A laugh bursts from me, loud against the evening air. “You’ve had sex with at least four of them since freshman year, so you can’t hate them that much.”
She scowls at me, her blue eyes crinkling, and I stick out my tongue, righting my dress one final time as Sasha pushes open the heavy door.
“Come on, ladies,” she says, her nervousness disappearing behind a bright red smile. “No point prolonging the inevitable.”
It’s always a little trippy going into the Den. It matches the sorority house identically in layout, from the circular entrance hall to the bedroom layout on the three floors above. Thankfully, they’re decorated completely differently. Where ours is calm pastels and metallic accents, the leather and mahogany of the Den reeks of toxic masculinity strong enough to make my nose wrinkle.
I expected the Wolves to be waiting, although now I’m not sure why. They’re such preening assholes. Of course, they want to make an entrance.
I roll my eyes before clapping my hands loudly, the sound echoing in the empty foyer. “Come on, boys! Let’s do this thing!”
Sasha elbows me but I just prop a hand on my hip and grin as the doors open and the Wolves file in looking like they’re trying to film some sort of TikTok. I’m half tempted to look around for a phone set up somewhere. Either way, I’m sure they think it looks way better than it does.
As much as I try not to look, my gaze gravitates to him. Even when they’re all wearing nearly identical designer black suits and white shirts, he stands out. He always does.
He looks great in his suit. The shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the smooth brown skin of his broad, muscled chest, toned from years of lacrosse. Taller than all of them at around six four, when I finally reach his eyes, I’m not surprised to find his attention already on me. His hair is a little longer than it was at the end of last year, more than a solid inch of tight curls on top of his head. I preferred it shorter. Not that I have any say in matters when it comes to Zak Aldridge.
“Welcome to the Wolf Den,” Alex Rainer booms, dramatically sweeping his arms out to the side. “It is my honor as president of Alpha Psi Delta, to receive you at our inaugural event of the year.”
It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes again. These aren’t his words, though. It’s all part of the tradition that started back when Franklin West was founded in the eighteen hundreds. His bright blue eyes roam over Sasha, a little too much like an actual wolf, and I sway a little closer to her.
“Thank you,” she says, sounding more confident than I know she’s feeling. “We are humbled and blessed to be in your presence and look forward to reciprocating your hospitality next week at the Hive.”
“That’s it,” Alex says, turning to his Wolves. “Let’s get this party started!”
Predictably, they all start howling, and I shake my head. Somewhere, music starts up, and the atmosphere shifts, kicking everyone into gear.
Even though I try to look anywhere else, my gaze finds Zak and I press my lips together to suppress my smile. Three years ago, we stood on opposite sides of the Hive entrance hall as freshmen pledges, excited and awed by the formality of the opening parties. I remember it like it was yesterday, the way his soft brown eyes met mine, his wide grin just on the charming side of goofy. Those dimples . . . He looked like trouble then, and he still does.
I look away.
Zak was a moment of weakness a lifetime ago, and one I can never let myself repeat.
“Let’s go get a drink,” Abi declares as everyone starts filtering into the living room and toward the bar they have set up.
Alex saunters over, giving Sasha a salacious grin and ignoring me and Abi completely. “Enjoy the party, ladies.”
“Oh, we will,” I say, looping arms with Abi and heading into the party. It’s only as the crowd swallows us, I realize Sasha isn’t following us. “Shit! Sasha.”
“She’ll be okay,” Abi says, tugging me toward the counter covered with drinks. “She can handle Alex Rainer.”
I huff in response. Sasha’s tough, but Alex is a slimy fucker who hangs the underwear of women he’s slept with out of his bedroom window. Grimacing, I pour a couple of shots and hand one to Abi before knocking my own back. I’ve perfected the balance of knowing how much alcohol is required for Dutch courage to survive a party knowing that Zak is here, and not so much that I give in to temptation.
I’m pouring a round of vanilla vodka and Coke when Sasha finally appears beside us looking more than a little shaken.
“That went well,” I say, pressing a glass into her hand.
She gulps it down and shudders. “Douchebag.”
“Yep,” Abi and I agree.
“You’ll get wrinkles if you frown that hard,” Abi says, leaning into Sasha. “What’s up? You’re supposed to be having fun.”
I raise my eyebrows, staring into my drink so I don’t say something I can’t take back. Sasha doesn’t really do fun. I love her to pieces, but she works way harder than she plays.
“I am having fun.”
I snort. “You need to tell your face that.”
“Come on.” Abi takes our glasses and places them back on the counter. “Let’s dance.”
Grabbing our hands, she tugs us to where people have already filled the makeshift dance floor. I make a beeline to Trey, the DJ, requesting one of our favorites, and the squeals Abi and Sasha make as they recognize the song lift my heart. For the first time since I started getting ready for tonight, I relax.
Closing my eyes, I inhale and throw my hands in the air, letting the music envelop me. Despite the ominous feeling that’s been growing in the pit of my stomach since the end of the summer, I still have high hopes for this year. There’s still a chance I might hear back from the other stations I applied to, and if not, I’ll just have to investigate other avenues.
It's strange. Sometimes, I can see my future so clearly. Owning my own network, the world at my feet. Other times, it’s dark and uncertain, hidden in shadows just outside my grasp. I’m trying to carve out my own future—one that I’ve chosen—but so much has already been decided for me. I can’t think like that, though. I can’t let the sinking feeling drag me down or it’ll consume me.
When I open my eyes, they meet his.
Leaning against the wall at the edge of the dance floor, Zak lifts his bottle of beer in a salute and smiles. It’s a smile I feel in my core. A smile I’ve spent three years shielding myself from. As I watch him lift the beer to his lips, his eyes never leaving mine, all long muscled limbs and dimples, it takes me a hot minute to remember why.
But when I do, my smile becomes a little more forced. Zak Aldridge is gorgeous, funny, and sweet, but he can never be mine. I walked away from our kiss three years ago with plans to never look back. But he won’t let me. Every year he tries to get closer to me, and every year it gets harder to say no. I can pretend that our kiss meant nothing—did nothing—to me, but we both know I’m lying to myself. There was no denying the spark. The way we fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Every time we’re in the same room, those feelings stir in my belly, rising and filling me until I might burst. It’s why I can’t let that happen. If I let Zak close, if I open the door just a little, I know I won’t be able to hold back.
And that’s exactly what he’s waiting for.