Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Fuck. Me. - Wyatt
“So I’m your wingman tonight?” Chase asks, slapping me on the back and gripping my shoulder.
I glance across the street to the palatial Phi Mu Phi house, waiting for Grace to come out the front door. Girls are beginning to stream out in large groups, making their way over to our house for tonight’s mixer.
“Yeah. One of us always has to be with Grace. I don’t want any of those asswipes in the betting pool to get close enough to even sniff her, let alone bother her.”
“Does that rule apply to me? If you get shot down, can I make a move if she seems interested?”
I jerk my head to stare at him. Is he serious? Chase wants to shoot his shot with Grace?
“Bro. I’m kidding,” he says quickly, letting his whistle fall against his lifeguard T-shirt and throwing out his hands in a stop motion. “No need for that look.”
“What look?”
“The look that says if we were on the ice, you’d be dropping your stick and gloves and punching me in the face.”
I snort. “I didn’t look at you like that.”
“Sure you didn’t.”
For a moment, an uneasy feeling sweeps over me. But as soon as it settles there, I realize what it is. I mean, what’s the point of entangling Grace with Chase? I’ve already agreed to fake date her. We’re supposed to be a couple—starting tonight.
Unless she liked Chase, and they started dating. That would solve Grace’s problem equally well and spare me from the whole fake-dating charade.
“You’re not her type,” I blurt out.
Chase barks with laughter. “Oh no, you’re definitely not wanting to punch me.”
“I don’t want to punch you.” Not really.
“You’re more than interested, Jacobs. You’re already invested.”
I take a swig of water from the bottle I’m holding. “I’m invested because she’s nice and she’s suffered enough at the hands of Rob James.”
“I think it’s more,” Chase says, flashing me an obnoxious grin.
“Shut up.”
He chortles, and we greet the first group of girls that arrive from across the street.
There’s at least ten of them. Tall girls, petite girls, curvy girls.
All different perfumes hit my air space as they breeze by, dressed in swimsuits and shorts or cropped T-shirts that say “Lifeguard” on them.
I feel some appreciative looks, and I smile back, welcoming them to the house.
Chase chats them up as he opens the front door.
More brothers are inside waiting to escort them out back to where the DJ is set up to spin for the night.
I turn my attention back to the sorority house, where more girls come streaming out. Apparently, their president was serious when she assured ours that we could expect a very “enthusiastic” turnout from her house. At least that’s one of the few things I remember from chapter on Monday night.
The door opens again, and then I see her on the front steps, the porch light illuminating her silky blonde hair.
When I see her smile, I can’t help but smile back.
Grace is walking with a group of gorgeous girls, but she easily stands out from them.
She’s the only one wearing a long-sleeved top, and the only skin visible is her long, toned legs, shown off by a pair of denim shorts.
Fuck. Me.
As she crosses the street and draws closer, I can’t keep my eyes off her.
The satiny hair. Her lean, athletic body.
The curve of her breasts and the way her top is zipped down, revealing just a hint of the black lace bra she’s wearing.
I force myself to think of things Professor Dickhead has recited about the ancient Romans, or else I’m going to have to figure out ways to hide a hard-on in these stupid swim trunks.
The girls are talking and laughing as they walk up the steps—except for Grace. She looks anxious, her lower lip drawn between her teeth, her eyes locked on the door straight ahead. Disgust fills me.
There are so many things I like about my fraternity—like the fact that we don’t haze, for example.
That’s a huge one. I’m sorry, that stupid shit doesn’t do anything to build brotherhood, so we don’t do it.
We do believe, however, in building brotherhood with trust and respect, and I’ve made some good friends here, like Chase.
We work hard to raise money for our chosen philanthropy, and I like having a social outlet outside of hockey.
But seeing the look on Grace’s face—and knowing how she suffered because of that shitty post and now with a handful of assholes participating in that bet—makes me so damn angry. No girl deserves to be treated like that.
And seeing that trepidation? The hesitation in her eyes to go into a space I belong to?
I hate it.
And I can’t wait to quit.
“Hey, Grace,” I say.
She blinks, and I know I’ve broken her from her thoughts. She turns toward the sound of my voice, and when her eyes land on me, a look of relief passes over her face. “Wyatt,” she says, heading straight for me.
Her friends stop around her. She introduces all of them to me, and I introduce all of them to Chase.
“Ladies, this way,” he says, opening the door.
“I’ll be right there,” Grace says to them. “I’ve got to talk to Wyatt for a minute.”
“You sure?” Maddie, a pretty brunette, asks. I see she’s skeptical of leaving Grace alone with me.
I seethe some more over what Rob did. All her friends distrust us, and I can’t blame them.
Grace nods. “I’m sure.” The girls follow Chase, and she turns to me.
“Your friends are fine going with Chase,” I reassure her. “He’s a good dude. And his friends in the house are solid. He hates Rob and his bag-of-dicks friends as much as I do.”
That makes Grace laugh, and I’d do anything to keep that smile on her face.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She absently tugs at the whistle around her neck instead of touching her favorite necklace. “I think I should be asking you that,” she says.
“What? Why?”
She looks at me seriously. “Wyatt, are you sure you want to go through with this? Last chance for you to bail on our arrangement. I mean it. I know this is crazy and I came up with it when I was pissed off. I don’t want to hold you to anything you don’t want to do.”
There’s the out. Right there for me to take. I could be Grace’s wingman tonight. Escort her home. Tell her I’ll see her in class on Monday and walk away from the idea of pretending to date her. I could be back on the market for an occasional hookup and focus on hockey.
I swallow. The logical answer is to tell her she’s right. Fake dating is stupid. Are we really going to do this for a month just to teach a jerk a lesson?
“It’s okay to say no,” Grace says, filling the silence between us. She stares up at me through her long black lashes. Real ones, not the fake ones a lot of girls like, and her deep blue eyes shine with sincerity.
And with concern for me. I don’t know if any girl has ever looked at me the way Grace is right now.
“Are you trying to weasel out of being my girl?” I ask.
She blinks. “No, I just thought you mi—”
I fold my arms across my chest. “No such luck. I struck a deal with you. Thirty days. I’m not backing out.”
A lightness appears in her eyes. “So you’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. And I can’t wait to see Rob lose his shit when he sees me hitting on you tonight.”
Grace exhales. I laugh. “Were you holding your breath?” I ask.
She nods. Then a teasing smile plays across her lips. “I’m an artistic swimmer. I’m good at holding my breath, remember?”
I rake a hand through my hair. She tilts her head and studies me. “What?” I ask.
“I’ve never seen you in person without your baseball cap on,” she says thoughtfully. “And I know the backward baseball cap is a microtrope and all, but I really like the way you look without a cap on.”
“A microtrope?” I ask. “What language is that?”
Grace chuckles. “A romance-book one.”
“Is it good or bad?”
“A lot of girls like reading about a guy wearing a backward baseball hat.”
“That’s a thing?”
“It’s definitely a thing. I noticed your hat, of course, but I like you without it, too. You have great hair.”
I begin to laugh.
“What?” she asks.
“Of all the things girls have noticed about me, you’re the first to tell me I have great hair.”
She blushes, the pink color sweeping across her cheekbones.
“Come on, Grace, let’s go out back. Do you want anything to drink?”
“I don’t really drink,” she says. “Because I’m training, and I like to be in control, you know?”
“Are you a control freak?”
“I am. It’s a blessing and a curse.”
“Well, if you want to drink tonight, you’re safe with me. I’m not drinking. Same reason. Training. I’ll watch out for you if you want a couple. I’ll see you home, too.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“No big deal.”
“No, it is, Wyatt. Because I trust you.”
And with that, she steps past me and walks into the house.
I follow Grace through the fraternity, my gaze taking in the view from behind. Her body is both graceful and strong, the mixture of a dancer and a swimmer, and I’ve never seen anything like it. There are muscles and soft curves, and my throat goes dry as I study her.
Ancient Rome was founded in 753 BC beside the River Tiber.
There. Whenever I lust after Grace, I’ll force myself to review notes from my history textbook.
“Here,” I say, moving close to her to open the door to the backyard. As I lean in, that sweet scent of vanilla and honey wafts over me, mixed with a hint of chlorine.
Then I think of her wet and in the pool an—
NO, YOU DIPSHIT. STOP THAT.
Ancient Rome was founded by Romulus and Remus.
I’m going to have that textbook memorized in the next week at this rate. I’ll make an A-plus in a subject I suck at.
“Thank you,” Grace says, stepping past me.