Chapter 3
Chapter Three
SINCLAIR
T his house is nothing like I thought it would be. I’ve watched enough movies and shows to get a general idea of what a frat house typically looks like. Older and a little run-down. Full of guys who are all slobs and can barely keep the place clean. Beer cans stacked everywhere and liquor bottles tipped over, spilling their contents onto the floor. There should be a couple sitting on top of the pool table, making out, and loud music playing and beer pong being played somewhere.
But there’s none of that here at Alpha Alpha Omega—God, what a fitting name, right? The interior is immaculate, with plush, oversized midnight-blue velvet couches and glittering chandeliers hanging above us. Portraits of past members line the walls, some of them photographs and the older ones are actual paintings. There’s not a single red Solo cup in sight. Everyone is clutching an actual glass and they look expensive, reminding me of my mother’s Baccarat highball glasses she never let any of us touch when we were growing up. She was always too afraid we’d break them.
No one is afraid in this house, though. Everywhere I look, someone has a beautiful glass in their hand, filled with a brownish liquid that tells me they are definitely not drinking beer.
What the hell kind of frat party is this anyway?
“It’s so quiet in here,” I murmur close to Elise’s ear.
She sends me a quick look before speaking in a hushed tone. “I feel like I’m in a library.”
Huh. This party is a real rager.
“Well hello. What are your names?” We’re greeted by a tragically beautiful, dark-haired woman who’s watching us with the deepest brown eyes that immediately make me think of sadness, hence the tragic thought. She has a smile on her face, her lips slicked in the deepest ruby red lipstick shade I think I’ve ever seen. She’s dressed in all black and there’s not a single logo on display, but I can tell her clothes are expensive. She even smells like money—meaning her perfume is a deep, rich scent that I know is pricey.
“I’m Elise, and this is Sinclair.” Elise points at me before flashing that disarming smile of hers at the woman, whose lips don’t shift whatsoever.
“Were you invited?” the woman asks, her tone cool.
Elise lifts up on her tiptoes to try and look beyond the woman’s shoulder, where the rest of our group is already mingling with the guys. “We’re with them.”
The woman doesn’t even bother looking in the direction Elise is pointing. “You’re underage.”
Elise’s expression turns crestfallen. “Well, ye?—”
I nudge her in the ribs extra hard, which makes her stop talking, thank God. “I know practically every man in this room.” I rattle off a few names, most of them obscure ones because why would I state the obvious ones? Everyone has heard about them and she’d think I was lying. “I went to school with them. ”
Her right eyebrow arches perfectly, her disbelief obvious. “And where exactly did you go to school?”
I tilt my chin up and say with as much pride as possible bleeding into my voice, “Lancaster Prep.”
And with that answer, she appears duly impressed, which was my plan. “Ah. Well, then. Welcome. My name is Yolanda. I’m the housemother. Would you care for something to drink?”
Well, that was easier than I thought it would be. “Please. Whatever everyone else is having.”
“Same,” Elise offers weakly.
Yolanda’s head inclines toward us. “Will do.”
She turns on her heel and hurriedly walks away, off to fix our drinks, I suppose. Elise’s shoulders sag the moment she’s out of sight.
“You knew just what to say.” Her voice is tinged with the faintest hint of awe. “I was panicking.”
“You almost agreed with her about being underage and she would’ve kicked us out.” I make a scoffing noise, shaking my head. “What frat cares about how old the partygoers are?”
“I guess this one is different.” Elise tilts her head back, taking everything in. “This house is massive. And so clean.”
“Here you go.” Yolanda appears before us again like magic, a drink in each hand. We take them from her, the both of us murmuring our thank yous. “Enjoy yourselves.”
She’s gone before we can say anything else, and Elise and I share a look before we each take a sip from the glass.
“Oh God,” I choke out once the liquor hits the back of my throat. It burns going down, settling warmly in my stomach. “That’s strong.”
Elise starts coughing, drawing the attention of pretty much everyone in this house, and all I can do is stand there, patting her on the back awkwardly, sending an apologetic smile at everyone staring, and they all look away from us. Some of them roll their eyes. A few of them even laugh. At Elise. At us .
I don’t like any of them. This house—this fraternity—sucks.
“We should leave,” I tell my friend once she’s composed herself. “This isn’t our type of party.”
“No, see that’s where you’re wrong. I think it’s definitely your type of party considering you know everyone here. I’m the sore thumb who stands out.” Elise sets her glass on a nearby end table, wiping her hands together.
“I don’t really know them. I just know of them. That’s a big difference.” I very much kept to myself at Lancaster Prep and never really felt like I belonged there. It doesn’t help when the most popular, influential Lancaster calls you out for your flaws and harasses you for a solid year.
“Hey, are you okay?” A tall, golden-haired god is standing at Elise’s side, his hand on her elbow, his voice full of concern as is his expression. His cheekbones are sharp and his jaw square and it appears he’s been carved out of granite. “Do you need any help?”
I’m about to tell him to leave us alone but then I catch the starstruck look on Elise’s face and the way her eyelashes flutter. “The drink—it was just—so strong.”
“Ah, whiskey will do that to you. Would you like something else to drink?” His tone is gentle, as is the glow in his hazel eyes, and I press my lips together so I don’t say anything to ruin the moment. I don’t know him at all. His face isn’t familiar, and I can tell Elise is struck dumb by his good looks and attentive ways. I get it, I do.
“Do you have any Trulys?” she asks as he steers her away from me and they both start to walk.
“No, but we’ll find something you might like.” He sounds amused at her Truly question. I watch them go, about to trail after them because I don’t want to be left alone in this house and I know Elise wouldn’t mind.
But then a strange feeling spreads over my skin, making every hair on my body stand on end. Someone’s watching me. I can tell. And while it’s the tiniest bit creepy, there’s also something intriguing about it. Who’s watching me? Is he as handsome as the man who just basically swept Elise off her feet?
Slowly I turn in the direction where I think the person watching me is standing, anticipation making my movements slow. I lift my head, my gaze searching, landing on the last face I expected to see.
August Lancaster.
Seriously?
We stare at each other from across the room. He’s sitting on one of those plush couches, his curious gaze locked on me. He doesn’t appear disgusted by my appearance, which throws me a little because I’m not used to him studying me with…God, what is that? Interest?
No freaking way.
His gaze shifts, raking over me slowly, taking me in and for the briefest, strangest moment, I…I like it. My skin tingles everywhere his gaze lands and when it finally returns to mine, I see it. A flicker in those familiar blue eyes that my body automatically responds to with an unfamiliar, clenching sensation between my thighs.
I’m captivated by his attention, my lips parting, my nipples actually hardening behind my bra and I stand a little taller, pushing my hair over my shoulder so it’s trailing down my back. Drift my hand down my front like I’m…what? Some sort of seductress set out to entice August Lancaster? The bully of my high school life? The horrible boy who made my life absolute torture?
Clearly, I’ve lost my mind.
A huff leaves me as I turn on my heel and start walking. Fast. I’m disgusted by my response to him. I have no business thinking that way. He’s horrible. A menace. A goddamn monster if I’m being truthful so what the hell was that reaction I had? Is there a secret part of me who wants to be accepted by him? Do I want him to find me attractive?
Maybe. And God, it kills me to even contemplate that thought.
I’m not even paying attention to where I’m going as I move through the cavernous house, my vision blurry. My thoughts hazy. All I can think about is that I need to leave. Get out of here and get away from this boy—man—who would most likely toy with me to get what he wanted and then leave me in the gutter somewhere out in the cold. All alone and crying over him yet again.
Ugh, my thoughts are dramatic and ridiculous. I can’t help it.
I blindly push past a cluster of people, then another, ignoring the way one of the girls snaps, “Hey!” when I barely run into her.
“Sorry,” I mutter, coming to a brief stop so I can polish off the rest of the liquor that’s in the glass I’m still holding. I drink it all in one swallow, ignoring the burn in my throat and waiting for the warmth to coat my stomach, which happens in seconds. Giving me the comfort and the absolute strength that I need to get the hell out of this house and away from August.
I spot the front door that we just walked through only minutes before. It’s heavy and darkly stained, with a small square window that’s covered in two strips of hammered iron. Looks like something straight out of medieval times and I wonder just how old this stupid house is. I’m reaching for the door handle when I hear a voice. The voice.
His voice.
“In a hurry?”
It’s deep and settles all over me like syrup poured on my skin, sweet and sticky and stopping my progress completely. Hanging my head, I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly before I turn to face him. My nemesis.
The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.