19. Priestley
PRIESTLEY
In the harsh light of day, the previous night comes back to me.
Getting swept up in the romance of an amusement park at night, something I’d previously only witnessed in cheesy movies.
A handsome guy by my side, looking at me like I was the most interesting thing in the world.
Kissing me on a Ferris wheel with gaudy lights smeared across the horizon.
Taking me back here, lavishing attention on me.
I open my eyes, noting the arm squished under my head. The body behind me moves and a bicep flexes. Parts of my body that like to disconnect from the logical thinking part of my brain stir.
Will throws his free arm over me and groans against my neck.
“Morning, Rosie.”
I shouldn’t like that, I really shouldn’t.
“I have to get up.”
“Why?” The arm tightens, loose enough for me to wriggle free, but tight enough to give me an excuse to stay put.
He starts stroking my belly and I resist the urge to purr like a kitten.
I put my hand on his to stop it moving. He retaliates by kissing the back of my neck.
This time I can’t stop a groan from escaping.
“You could get up,” Will whispers into my neck, planting kisses along my shoulder. “Or you could stay here and fool around for a bit.”
My hand is still firmly placed on top of his to stop it from travelling any further down.
My phone buzzes. Or someone’s phone buzzes. It’s enough to snap me out of my trance.
Will lets me go easily enough and I try not to think about the fact I’m naked right now as I look around for my phone.
When I find it—on the floor in my hastily discarded pants—one of the many obscure college sports-related news alerts I have set has pinged.
“Shit.”
“What is it?” Will sits up in bed, the blankets leaving his bare chest exposed.
“We lost to Stanford at Indian Wells.”
He blinks at me like he doesn’t understand.
“Indian Wells is a prestigious tennis tournament,” I explain. “Princeton were there this weekend representing the Ivy League. Stanford is our closest rival and they beat us in the final round.”
“Oh … sorry?”
“I thought you’d be more sympathetic.” I huff as I search my drawer for clean underwear. “Aren’t you an athlete?”
The way he rubs the back of his neck and looks down sheepishly shouldn’t be doing things to me right now. “Yeah, but I don’t play for BC anymore. Sure, I want them to win games, but it’s not my problem if they don’t. Is your brother on the tennis team?”
“No.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to take a shower and then head over to the frat house to ask them what the hell they were thinking, and check on Jamie.”
“Why are you going to the frat house to chew out the tennis team?”
I roll my eyes. I don’t have time to explain every little detail to him.
“Because the majority of the tennis team are a part of the frat.”
He rubs a hand over his face. I get the feeling he’s keeping something in that might offend me.
“Again, you’re not the president there anymore, right?” he says instead.
I sigh. He doesn’t understand. Why would he?
“Listen, William, I don’t mean to be rude but—”
“Got it. You want me to leave.”
“Last night was fun—”
He holds a hand up. “I’ll talk to you later. You’re obviously not in the same mood you were five minutes ago.”
What’s that supposed to mean? Can I call it progress if I keep that in?
I’m surprised when Will pauses to kiss me before he puts his pants on. “Call you later, Rosie. Go easy on your frat boys, yeah?”
As soon as I reach Alpha Sigma Psi house, a wave of nostalgia threatens to drown me. I never thought I’d miss this place. Those guys drove me crazy. Incompetent, lazy, hygienically-challenged morons.
Some kid I’ve never seen before opens the door.
“Who are you?” he asks.
I try to remain composed. There’s no reason why this pledge should know who I am. But don’t they have a picture of me anywhere? Don’t Nathan or Ben ever talk about me? Use me as a shining example?
“I’m Priestley Rosenthal,” I offer, giving him a chance to redeem himself. All I get is a blank stare.
This kid actually looks like he’s going to try to stop me from entering. I push past him easily and make my way to the living room. I’m about to enter into a practiced tirade when I notice that Ben is curled up on the couch with a blanket around his legs.
My stomach drops.
From the first day Benjamin Harris turned up at the fraternity house, I felt a certain responsibility to mold him and stop him from doing stupid shit.
He reminds me of Jamie. Now he’s the vice president of the fraternity and captain of the tennis team and—though he’d never admit it—I take some credit for those achievements.
He may not have liked me much while I was his president, but he certainly flourished, and that’s the main thing.
“Are you sick? You look like shit.”
I know it wasn’t a very nice thing to say, but when I’m worried about someone, I default to attack.
“Hello, Priestley. It’s nice to see you, too.”
“What happened? Why did you guys let Stanford win at Indian Wells?”
Archer steps into the room. As always, Big Mouth has something to say. “Maybe if you’d deemed tennis important enough to keep playing, we might have won.”
I ignore him, focusing on Ben. “I thought you guys had it covered with that hot shot from Germany?”
Ben’s face flushes, but then, he blushes so easily. Just like Jamie.
“And Ben’s obviously sick.” I add. “Look at him, he’s probably got a fever.”
“He’s not sick,” Archer says. “It’s a broken heart.”
I take another look at Ben, my stomach drops. Poor Ben. He looks crestfallen. In all my time as his fraternity brother, I never saw him in love with anyone—maybe he had a crush on Nathan, but that was puppy love. This seems different. This runs deep.
A stupid, primal desire to protect him bubbles up and I have to stop myself from growling who broke your heart?
Keeping my voice level, I ask, “Who?”
“The German hot shot,” Archer says.
Ben looks mortified. Luckily, Nathan jumps in and saves him any further embarrassment.
“Okay, that’s enough, leave Ben out of it. Priestley, what are you doing here?”
It takes me a moment to drag my eyes from Ben. That protective instinct taking over. I remember why I’m here—the other person I’m supposed to be protecting.
“I am part of the alumni. Are you suggesting I’m not welcome here anymore?”
Nathan rolls his eyes.
“Of course not, it’s just—”
“I’m looking for Jamie. He does live here, doesn’t he?”
“Not yet,” Archer says. “He’s still a pledge so he’s not officially—”
I glare at him until he wilts.
“He’s at the library, with Travis.”
“Who the hell is Travis?”
“Texas Travis,” Archer says with a smile. I don’t return it. Idiot.
“They’re friends. Travis is a freshman, he plays on the tennis team with us. He’s a nice guy.”
I have all the information these idiots are going to give me so I nod and turn to leave.
“Is that it?” Nathan calls after me. “You don’t want to stay a while and catch up?”
“I’m very busy,” I call over my shoulder. “Some of us have work to do …” A smile touches my lips as I add, “And rivals to beat.”
I try not to think about Will in my bed. Wondering if he stayed in my apartment long after I left. If he may even be there when I get back.
I should text him and tell him he better not be. On second thoughts, he’d probably enjoy that.
I head straight over to the library, finding Jamie there with the guy I’m assuming to be ‘Texas Travis.’
Travis is a lanky blond with a dopey smile and big blue eyes. Jamie’s staring at him while he talks. Love hearts in his eyes.
That warm smile that had been on Jamie’s face drops the second he sees me walk in.
“Priestley, what are you doing here?”
“I still go here,” I remind him.
“I know, it’s just …” he stammers.
“Who’s your friend?”
He blushes.
Before he can say anything, his friend gets up and holds his hand out for me to shake. “My name is Travis. Pleasure to meet you.”
The southern accent is charming. As are the manners. I take his hand and give it a warm shake. Still, I hope my eyes convey the message, Hurt my baby brother and I’ll destroy you.
“Is something wrong?” Jamie asks. “Did Dad call?”
I don’t miss how Jamie calls Father ‘Dad.’ It does not mean they’re closer, just that Jamie was raised differently, in different schools, and with different nannies.
“No, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to check in on you, see how you were doing.”
He gives me a confused frown. “I was just about to meet my friends at the coffee shop.”
“I can go ahead and tell Joelle you’ll catch up with us when you’re done,” Travis offers.
Jamie looks at me with big eyes. I’m not sure what he wants.
“If you’d rather meet your friends, it’s fine.”
“No, no, of course not. I can meet up with them later.”
I heave a sigh of relief. At least he has friends here, which is more than can be said for some of the schools he attended before.
“Shall we go somewhere we can talk? Are you hungry?”
He shrugs. “I could eat.”
The diner is blessedly quiet. It’s hard enough to hear Jamie with how quietly he speaks when there isn’t outside noise.
“How’s school?” I ask.
“Fine.”
“How’s pledging going?”
“It’s fine.” He shrugs.
I search his face for telltale signs of lies. I don’t see any. I also try not to get frustrated with him the way Father would for his basic answers.
When I look at him, really look at him, my chest clenches with love. This is my baby brother—the only other person in the world who understands what it was like to grow up with our parents. The baby I’ve been trying—and failing—to protect since the day he was born.
“Travis seems nice.”
He turns a deep, beetroot color.
“Boyfriend?”
“He’s straight.”
“Oh.” Poor Jamie. “Is Joelle his girlfriend?”
He snorts. “No way. Joelle only likes guys who can crush beer cans with their faces.”
“How did you meet them?”
“At a sorority party. Joelle takes an Intro to Psych class with Elias. She’s from Texas, too. Elias thought they might get along.”
“Elias is the German hot shot?”
Jamie nods.
“A little presumptuous of him.” I take a sip of my coffee. It scalds my tongue.