Lily
Iquestion my sanity all the way to the Shark House.
If I’d been alone, I likely would have turned right back to hide under my covers all weekend.
All week, actually—up until the sharks officially lose their stupid game, just like they did for the last year.
But Liv and Jack are practically skipping, excited for their first legacy party, so I begrudgingly tag along at the rear of the trio.
I kept them in my room as long as I could, so we arrive at eleven, which is a little early by my estimation, but the ground floor of the villa is nonetheless packed.
It’s warm enough for people to still hang out by the pool. I stare at it and grimace at the memory of dragging an unconscious body to the edges.
“It was drained and cleaned,” someone says, as though reading my mind.
I turn to find Nate, smirking as he approaches with two drinks in red cups.
I can’t deny I’m surprised; I would have thought the legacies too fancy for plastic. The wyverns certainly didn’t lower themselves to drinking beer like normal college students.
He hands the spare cup to Liv, who takes it instinctively, though she’s too shocked to be able to do much except gape at him open-mouthed.
“Welcome,” he tells us—or her, specifically. His gaze barely encompasses me and ignores Jack altogether. “Snacks on the left, drinks on the right, and party favors upstairs if you’re in the mood.”
“What kind of party favor?” I reply suspiciously.
Nate tears his attention away from Olivia to roll his eyes at me. “Whatever you’re in the mood for.” Then he’s back to Liv. “I can find you some wine if you’re not into beer.”
“Oh, beer’s fine.” She dips her lips to the cup. “Thank you.”
I make a mental note to lecture her about accepting drinks from dodgy characters later, though frankly, I don’t think Nate would lower himself to spiking beverages. And if he had, he wouldn’t have offered it to her in front of us.
“Let’s find those drinks,” I grumble. “I’m going to need one if I’m supposed to handle a houseful of sharks.”
“Oh, you’ll handle us just fine,” Nate retorts, lifting his cup. “Later, love.”
Arm hooked in the crook of Olivia’s elbow, I walk into the dark lounge, my memories of last year at the forefront of my mind.
The last time I was here, some guy snogged me right here, and I got to my knees by the beer station, before reluctantly wrapping my lips around Cross’s cock.
Fuck.
At least it’s easy to find the drinks: they’re set up at the exact same table.
I help myself to a shot of tequila and down it in one go before pouring a beer out of the keg.
“You came!” Dez cries, looking absolutely gorgeous in pink and black, with tiny leather shorts and a cropped top over a mesh playsuit.
Her eyes are heavily made up, her lips glossy pink.
She hugs Liv and me, waving to Jack. “You’re going to love it here,” she proclaims. “They have a sick game room with VR headsets, multiple screens, the works.”
Jack’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“I mean, they only play Call of Duty and other stupid shooting games, but the setup’s a dream.”
She leads the way to one of the rooms on the ground floor, where a handful of guys play against each other, taking turns.
The furniture alone’s incredible: high-back leather reclining swivel chairs that look like they might be comfortable enough to sleep on.
I wouldn’t have believed it possible if I hadn’t witnessed it, but Jack approaches the jocks. “Room for one more?”
He doesn’t even stammer, apparently in his element.
The players don’t bother sparing him a glance. “Sure, man. We’ll add your name once this game’s over.”
Dez laughs, tilting her head. “Let me show you the rest. You’ll love the workshop.”
A few doors down from the gaming room, the studio’s a large room with a huge floor-to-ceiling window that must let in so much light during the day.
There are a couple of aisles, several long workbenches, tools hanging on the far walls, and a furnace either meant for metalwork or glassblowing—I can’t tell.
“I think I hate them,” I state.
I hadn’t truly seen the point in their stupid private houses until now. Thinking back to my roommate, complaining when I dare spray-paint a few pieces in her absence, I’m positively green with jealousy.
All the stations are cleaned up, but the faint smell of paint hangs in the room. At least they’re using this beautiful space.
Dez laughs. “Only the best for them. You should see the studio we have at the Wyvern Den. The sharks’ most impressive setup is their gym, of course, in the basement. I’ll spare you that tour, though.”
Next, she shows us a study with leather armchairs, a fireplace, several rows of books, and I genuinely wonder why the sharks ever bother with the library. I’d never leave their house in their shoes.
“I dread to think how much they pay for their stay here,” I say, remembering the outlandish cost of the dorms at Rothford.
“Nothing. Or rather, their parents pay a family Heritage membership, and the house is one of the perks.”
I groan. “No one gets more free shit than people who don’t need it.”
“Wait until you see the music room. And they have no player this year.”
The room has a bloody grand piano and a harp.
I’ve finished my drink and definitely need a second by the time we’re done with the mini tour.
The lounge is considerably more crowded; I even spot Claire, tucked under Keller’s arm as always. She waves us over, and we join her after refilling our cups.
“This place is insane,” I tell her.
“Oh, it’s nothing compared to the wyverns’ den,” Dez assures me.
I’ve only been once, but I agree that the wyverns’ place feels more luxurious, more mature somehow. The sharks’ place is incredible, but it makes me think of a bachelor pad—or a regular fraternity.
“Or the Vesper Tower,” Claire weighs in.
I drink my beer, trying not to picture my tiny dorm room or Henrietta Jameson, my annoying new roommate.
No wonder Claire and Dez both chose to move in with their boyfriends.
“You should visit sometime,” she tells us.
“Can we visit?” Olivia questions. “I thought the houses were super private, and us mere mortals were persona non grata other than invite-only parties.”
Claire winces. “True enough, but that’s mostly at night. I mean, the vespers are super private, but with a bit of notice, I can definitely have my friends around.”
She looks up at her prince charming with shoulder-length golden hair. “Of course. Whenever you’d like.”
They’re so sweet I throw up a little in my mouth. I’m pretty sure she could ask for the moon and he’d say the same thing.
“You’re not trying to steal my guests, now, are you?”
I tense before turning. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Cross walks up to us in dark green chinos and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, open over a tank.
“‘Evening.”
Everyone greets him except me, too busy avoiding his probing stare.
Maybe because I shamelessly stalked him all day, maybe because of the bet I agreed to yesterday, or simply because he looks like that, I’m having a hard time being this close to him.
“And they’re not your guests. I invited them,” Dez tells him.
“To my house,” he argues. “With my stamp of approval. Speaking of, where’s the hobbit?”
It takes me a moment to realize he means Jack, but Dez is quicker. “In the game room. He’s a bit too skinny for a hobbit though.”
“Should have guessed.” He smirks. “Happy I let your little boyfriend with the grownups?”
“Ecstatic,” I mumble.
He knows I demanded Jack’s presence simply because I assumed he wouldn’t grant that request. I should have guessed that Hector would choose to be contrary and let him in just to annoy me.
Or to get me here.
“Lily loves your studio,” Dez weighs in unprompted.
I can’t deny it. “Who even uses it?” The smell tells me that at least one person does, but I can’t begin to guess which shark hides artistic inclinations.
“Nate, mostly,” Cross says, “Though Markus sometimes shows up when he needs more room than what he has in the wyverns’ den.”
I find the thought offensive. “I can’t believe you have such a large professional studio just for a couple of students.”
Cross shrugs. “It was set up a few years ago, and we haven’t had any reason to redesign the room. There’s always one or two artists amongst us.”
Why would they convert the room, when they already seem to have space for everything else?
“You know,” Cross drawls slowly, “I’m sure Nate wouldn’t mind sharing the studio if you wanted to work there.”
I snort. “And what would that cost me, exactly?”
His smile tells me everything I need to know. “I’m sure we could come to an arrangement.”
“No, thank you,” I reply primly, making everyone chuckle.
“I see empty glasses. Can’t have that in our house.”
The group migrates to a bar in the lounge rather than the table with the keg and a few bottles.
Keller chuckles as Cross steps behind the bar. “You’ll serve us yourself? I’m honored.”
“Not all of us keep bloody servants, posh prick.” Cross roll his eyes. “So, what will it be?”
“Wine, if you have something drinkable here. Or do you keep the good bottles upstairs?”
“What’s upstairs?” I ask.
Dez’s tour only covered the ground floor, but Nate also mentioned the first floor.
“Trust me when I say, you don’t want to know,” Cross tells me, turning to Keller. “Red or white? I have a decent Chablis chilling, and I had a good Bordeaux at dinner, so it’s open.”
“The Bordeaux, if you please.”
I opt to go along with the experts, and the wine’s so good, I don’t even want to guess how much it cost.
I look around at the throng of people chatting, dancing, laughing, and realize I’m having a good time, despite the stress.
As the host, Cross’s often called away to replenish snacks or handle a drunk idiot, but he comes back every time, checking on our drinks.
Markus and Dez only stay an hour or so before disappearing, but Claire and Keller stay with Olivia and me.
We gravitate towards the pool, even though nothing could induce me to take a dip—not only because it’s the middle of October.
I don’t think I ever can see this pool without picturing Charlotte drowning.
That said, their patio furniture is ridiculously comfortable, and it’s a nice evening, so we lounge in the reclined chairs while chatting.
“It’s starting to get late,” Claire says, looking at her boyfriend with a glint that betrays that statement.
She looks like she’s thinking about something positively wicked.
I have to agree, and I yawn for good measure. Checking my phone, I see it’s already one in the morning. “God, yeah—I’d better get back to the dorms.”
I vaguely consider checking up on Jack, but he appears just as Liv and I stand, stumbling a little.
Cross was of the belief that no guest should ever have an empty glass—not to mention everything I drank before we switched to wine. I’m not completely hammered, but I’m unsteady on my heels.
“There you are!” Jack yells, clearly far more plastered than us.
“Hey,” I wave. “I was wondering how you were doing.”
“Great!” he rasps, throwing his hands up for good measure. “I am great. And you are too! So beautiful.”
To my shock, tripping twice on the way, Jack throws himself at me, engulfing me in a bear hug, which freezes me on the spot. We’re friends, but we’ve never been tactile. I don’t think I’ve ever hugged him.
He’s not done either. The drunk idiot further baffles me by pushing his mouth onto mine.
Oh, fuck no. That’s like being attacked by a pungent, enthusiastic puppy. I push against his chest a little too hard, and the idiot falls backward into the pool.
Fuck.
“Jack!” I scream, concerned.
Thankfully, he bubbles back up to the surface and swims easily.
I sigh. “What a bloody idiot. Why would he do that?”
“I mean, he’s always had a crush on you. It’s pretty obvious.”
I stare at Liv, gaping. “What? Ew. No.”
“Lily, I love you!” he chants, swimming happily.
I groan as my friends laugh at my obvious misery—or at Jack’s nonsense, I can’t tell.
“I’m gonna go now. Yep, that’s what I’m gonna do.”
“Wait! Wait for me—” Jack hollers, thankfully incapable of dragging himself out of the pool fast, so I take the opportunity to make my escape.
We’ll have to have a conversation about this later, where I firmly shove him back in the friendzone where he belongs, but not while he’s this out of it.
I rush while walking around the pool. To my dismay, Jack swims towards me, and seems to remember how hands are supposed to work, pressing his against the tiles to drag himself out.
“Lily!” he wails, getting to his feet.
Fuck. I really don’t want to do this now.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know we’re friends, but you’re just so beautiful and—” He takes a step towards me.
I cut him off, palms up to keep him at a distance. “Jack, please stay right there. I like you a lot—but as a friend, and nothing else. Understood?”
“I know.” He doesn’t really seem to understand. “But we could be more! We like the same things. We fit.”
I groan. I so don’t want to have this discussion at one in the morning, while tipsy, with him so drunk I’ll have to repeat myself anyway.
And frankly, I hate to hurt him. How can I explain that I’m in no way, shape, or form attracted to him? It’s like kicking a kitten.
“Jack, I’m sorry, but—”
My words die on my lips when I’m pulled by the wrist, and fall against a hard, warm surface. I only have half a second to recognize the set of amber eyes looking into mine when Cross presses his lips to mine in a moment that lasts longer than an eternity.
Oh.
Oh.
I push up to my toes, seeking more, as my insides clench and shiver.
When he straightens up, I find myself seeking the mouth again, demanding more.
He chuckles, allowing a quick peck that sends tendrils of arousal all the way down to my clit, before turning to Jack.
“Sorry, buddy. She’s mine.”
I’d like to say I take the development maturely, but I laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all.
Jack storms off, and it only occurs to me as I watch him go that he might think I’m laughing at him.
Shit.
“Ugh,” I groan. “Why did you go and do that?”
“You’re welcome,” the smug prick retorts. “Besides, you owed me a kiss.”
I laugh again. “And a couple of blowjobs, too. Do you also want those now?”
“Strangely, I’m not particularly fond of vomit as lubricant. You’re wasted, darling. Let’s get you to bed, yeah?”
“I very much resent the implication,” I argue, chuckling again when Cross lifts me up like I weigh nothing.
Before I know it, we’re past the partiers, up several flights of stairs, and into the room I only remember too well.
“Are we going to shower again?” I mumble before yawning.
“As much as you could use it—in the morning. Come on, then.”
He lowers me onto the comfortable bed and tucks me in under the covers.
I should probably protest. I should probably make my way to my room.
Instead I close my eyes and let myself fall asleep.