Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
AUGUST
I ’m minding my business in the front living room of the frat house on a late Saturday afternoon, quietly mulling over my life decisions and wondering if I’ve completely lost my mind. Why do I feel this way? Maybe it’s because I’m currently spying on two idiot freshmen talking about their date plans for the night when normally I wouldn’t give a damn what these fools are doing.
“She called you out on your shit, huh? I told you Elise would tell her.” The one guy with the light blond hair is a bit of a dunce, but not as bad as Tim.
“Elise promised she wouldn’t!” Poor Timmy. He sounds completely butt hurt.
“They’re roommates and that chick is Elise’s best friend. She tells her everything.”
Tim groans. “Great. You think they talk about me?”
In his fucking dreams they talk about him.
“They definitely talk about you. I’m sure Elise told her everything that happened between us today too.” Oh that guy now sounds incredibly smug.
“What happened? ”
“You know what happened.” I get the sense that they’re both watching me, looking for some kind of reaction, but I keep my gaze focused on the book that is currently sitting open in my lap. The very book that I’m not reading and have no idea what it’s about. I just pulled it straight off the bookcase and cracked it open.
“Oh right.” Tim drawls the two words out. “You fucked her.”
His voice dropped about ten octaves when he said that last sentence, but I could still make it out because it’s quiet this afternoon in the frat house. I’d guarantee about ninety percent of the guys who stay here are still sleeping right now because they all got shit-faced last night, and I’m jealous.
But I’m too curious to leave. What if they say something about Sinclair and I miss it?
Fuck, I’m pathetic. Almost as bad as these two imbeciles.
“Was she any good?” Tim asks.
“Does she need to be any good? As long as they’ve got a tight pussy, that’s all that counts, right?” They both laugh and even high-five each other, and while I would normally agree with his assessment, I sort of feel bad for the girl they’re talking about. Elise? I have no idea who she is, but what they’re saying about her is pretty fucking awful.
Again, I’ve lost my mind. Since when do I care about some unknown woman’s feelings? Never. Until now.
Wait. I do know who she is because they just said it only moments ago. She’s Sinclair’s roommate. At least, that’s who I assume they’re talking about because who else is Tim going to the game with tonight? God, like we’re still in high school and holding hands while watching a football game and shit. Talk about boring.
I abhor football. It’s a ridiculous sport. I don’t care that my cousin used to play it once upon a time and that his sister is going to marry some big quarterback star who comes from a football legacy family. It still bores me. I can respect the hustle and the determination it takes to get there, but do I want to watch a bunch of men run into each other on a field while throwing a ball?
No.
“Think I’ve got a chance getting into Sinclair’s panties?” Tim asks his friend.
I see red. Burning, flaming hot red.
“At the rate you’re going?” I’m hanging on his friend’s every word, unable to breathe as I wait for him to finish his response. “No.”
I exhale, pressing my head against the back of the chair.
“We’ll see.” Tim sounds abnormally confident. Who knew he had it in him? “I got her begging me to take her to the game tonight. I think she wants me.”
Imagining Sinclair wanting this fool is laughable.
“In your dreams, bro.” His friend laughs, though it’s more of a braying sound and reminds me of a donkey.
“I bet I’ll be able to get her on her knees in front of me by the end of the night,” Tim starts, and I can’t take it anymore.
Slamming my book shut, I leap to my feet and turn to face them. “Are you taking them to the suite?”
They both go deadly silent, sharing a look before Tim speaks first. “What suite?”
“The box suite that the frat has.” I keep my voice calm. Measured. Inside, I’m raging. Furious. Ready to pull this guy apart. But I refuse to react. “Best seats in the stadium.”
They share another look, his friend shrugging before Tim turns to me once again. “We didn’t know about it. And we already bought tickets.”
“In the student section for ten dollars?” When they both nod, I wonder how these two got into our frat in the first place. We do have certain criteria. Meaning we don’t let just any dickhead into our club. “Those are terrible seats.”
“It’s where all the action is,” his friend protests .
“What’s your name?” I ask him.
“Rafe.”
“Well, Rafe, you’re fucking wrong. All of the action happens in the suite. Free food and booze. Excellent view of the field.”
Their eyes light up and Tim starts nodding enthusiastically, which is what he usually does. “How do we get tickets?”
“I control all of them.” That’s a lie. I just happen to know the person who doles them out and he always gives me however many tickets I want—which is usually none since I never go to the games. But I do go to concerts and other events at the stadium. “And first year members rarely get a chance at them.”
They both drop their heads, their sadness eminent.
“But I’ve decided to make an exception for you two,” I add.
Their heads jerk up in unison, the two of them wearing matching grins. God, they’re easy to please.
“No way,” Tim breathes.
“Are you serious?” Rafe asks.
I hold up my hand. “Don’t say another word and the tickets are yours.”
They both press their lips together, nodding. Solemn and quiet—just the way I like them.
“I’ll make sure they’re available at the will call office. Don’t even bother sitting in the student section. You’ll impress your—” I choke on the word a little “— dates by taking them to the suite.”
I can tell Tim is dying to say something. Probably thank me profusely and slobber all over me like the annoying golden retriever that he is, and I point at him, holding my index finger out as a warning. He gets it, remaining silent, and a trickle of satisfaction runs through me.
I’ve got them where I want them for the night.