Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
BAILEY
Chad:
Why does your house always smell so funky?
Me:
As opposed to the sweet smell of sweaty jocks and testosterone?
Chad:
Exactly
Me:
Lucas is obsessed with scented candles. Sometimes his choices are … not great
Chad:
Another mystery solved
Ismirk as I pocket my phone and finish packing up from class. Since getting my number, Chad has been texting me on and off for days. None of his messages are for any reason or all that flirty, but every few hours, I check my phone and there he is.
His plan here is still unclear—whether he wants to get laid, if he’s luring me into a false sense of security over this dumb game—but the way these nothing-messages are making me smile is ridiculous.
I’m smarter than this.
I don’t get giddy over guys, especially immature ones who are only going to make life difficult.
There’s an impromptu meeting happening in the living room when I get home, and when Lucas glimpses me sneaking in the front door, he silently beckons me to join them. My default reaction is to groan, but I hold off.
Make an effort, Bailey.
I tuck my bag beside the couch and take the spare spot next to him.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Plotting how to get back at Sigma.” He looks far too excited. “We’ve gotta make them pay.”
I shift in my seat. “That sounds … ah …” My phone vibrates in my pocket, and the timing almost makes me laugh. I wouldn’t put it past Chad to have cameras in here. Why, yes. I do doubt how ethical he is.
Funny how that works when you show up at someone’s bedroom window and scare them half to death.
I’m itching to pull my phone out and check my messages, but with Lucas right there, it’s too risky. So instead, I tune in on what Charles is saying.
“Since Zeke refused most of my offers to de-escalate this rivalry, we’re stepping it up. If you can’t reason with them, rumble with them. We’ve got to give Chad Doomsen a taste of his own medicine.”
My stomach flips at his name and then sinks when everyone around me starts to mutter it, the name drenched in distaste.
“Now, we need to come up with ideas that aren’t dangerous but will show them they’re idiots to try and mess with Rho Kappa Tau.”
“We could tie all their bedroom door handles together so they can’t get out,” someone says.
Charles shakes his head. “We’d need to be in the house to do that.”
“Superglue all their shit to the ceiling?”
“A glitter bomb?”
“Hot sauce on their toothbrushes?”
“The whole ‘fish in the air vents’ bit?”
Jordan is madly taking note of the ideas as Charles nods. “These are a start. I think most have been covered at some point, but they’re classics, so if there’s nothing better—”
“We could combine them?” My mouth moves before I can stop it, and I end up the sole focus of ten of my brothers.
But Chad’s thing about the smell in our house has given me an idea.
“If you zip-tie the trigger on an air freshener can, it’ll go off continuously.
Throw a few of those in the house, and take the doors out of action.
They’ll turn on the fan to clear the smell, which we can cover with glitter, and when they go to clean it up—bam. Vacuum is superglued to the ceiling.”
A stunned silence follows my words.
“Damn, Bailey,” Lucas says. “You’re a criminal mastermind.”
Was that going too far?
Charles points my way. “Yes, that. That’s what we’re going to do.”
“Still need to get inside for that,” Jordan points out.
“We’ll work out the details. But those Sigmas will be washing glitter out of their asscracks for days.” He rubs his hands together. “Good meeting. Everyone think about logistics and put ideas in the team chat. The Kappa chat, not the Greek one. Do not mix them up.”
That would be embarrassing, detailing our whole plan for all of Greek Row to read.
I make a mental note to change the colors of the chat or something because I’m not going to be that idiot.
Especially when, as the meeting wraps up and some of my brothers slap my back over the idea, it seems like I’m making progress with them.
“What are you doing later?” Lucas asks.
“I’ve got an assessment due soon, so I’m going to finish that up.”
“Ah, okay. Right.” He nods like the question was totally casual, but he’s not meeting my eye, and suspicion starts to creep up my spine. “Maybe we could grab a coffee tomorrow?”
“Uh, maybe?”
“Okay.” He lets out a relieved breath. “Happy studying.”
Is Lucas … asking me out? Well, why not? No way am I the only queer guy in this fraternity. But more importantly, has he somehow guessed I’m gay, or is his interest coincidental?
I’m about to suggest that maybe we can go grab takeout together later when my phone vibrates again, and suddenly, seeing whatever dumb thing Chad has texted me this time is more important.
“I’ll catch you later?”
Lucas agrees, and then I’m off, sliding my phone from my pocket.
But instead of Chad, it’s my family chat.
Mom:
I don’t think we’ll be able to make it up there this weekend
Dad:
YOU can’t make it up there. I’m still fine to go
Mom:
We’ve been over this, if I’m going to her birthday, so are you
Dad:
But she’s YOUR mom. Why am I being punished?
Rachel:
Sorry, Dad, you knew what you were getting into
Me:
I second that ^^
Rachel:
Of course you do, big brother
Dad:
Dammit, Bailey, you’re supposed to be on my side
Me:
I don’t remember reading that fine print
Dad:
Fine. I don’t think we’ll be able to make it up this weekend
I kick the bedroom door closed behind me and close the conversation.
I love my family, but I’d been hoping for another message from Chad.
Sure, I could always text him first, but I’m not sure where I’ve landed on trusting that he’s actually interested, and I don’t want to get too invested.
I’m a smart guy, and while my brothers would maybe, probably, not care about my being gay—hell, maybe not even about me hooking up with a Sigma—they will care it’s Chad. He’s really made a name for himself.
I open back to our messages and scroll up … and up … and up? Geez, how many messages have we sent in only a few days? It probably doesn’t help that I lay in bed texting him until midnight last night.
Yikes. What was that I said about not getting invested?
Even as I tell myself to close out of the messages, I can’t. Instead, I snap a photo of my desk, textbook lying open, and send it to him. My gaze strays to my window, and I remember him sitting there the other night. All dark hair and strong, stubbled jaw and happy eyes.
Another hour passes to radio silence, and I want to shake myself for being so stupid and texting first. I can’t concentrate on my work, and every minute I spend trying to ignore my phone eats at me. Yeah … this isn’t good.
Then, an hour and thirteen minutes later, my phone vibrates.
Chad:
What up, buttercup?
I force myself to wait a few minutes before replying.
Me:
Studying, you?
Chad:
Just about to shower this sweat and testosterone off me
Me:
Otherwise known as Eau De Sigma?
Chad:
The patron smell of my people
I smile as he texts again.
Chad:
So … tomorrow is Friday
Me:
Finally covering days of the week in class, are you?
Chad:
Well for that, I’m not going to finish my thought
Me:
Aw … did I hurt your feelings?
Chad:
You did. I’ll accept an apology—this time. Next time you’ll need to kiss me better
Me:
You’re ridiculous
Chad:
Say ‘sorry, Chad’
I’m laughing as I type, Sorry, Chad.
Chad:
That’s better. Now. Friday. The end of the school week, the start of the sacred days of debauchery
Me:
Your weekends are a stark difference to mine
Chad:
They don’t have to be. Let’s hang out
Me:
For a night of debauchery?
Chad:
Wow, I never expected you to be so forward. But fine. If that’s what you want. I guess I’ll let you see my D
Me:
I don’t think that’s a great idea
Chad:
Afraid you won’t compare? I get that a lot. Don’t worry, I’m completely average and unremarkable
I snicker.
You’re hung like a horse, aren’t you?
Chad:
Guess you’ll have to complete a thorough inspection to find out
Me:
Not happening
Chad:
Why, do you want a dick pic instead? What kinda guy do you think I am?
Me:
You’re actually going to try and tell me you’re not the dick pic type?
Chad:
Never sent one. Hand on heart
Me:
Uh huh
Chad:
Not for a lack of offers though. I’m more than happy to share my junk around but no one’s ever interested
Me:
Are you offering them a completely average and unremarkable dick pic? Because that could be your first problem
Chad:
Shit. That’s where I’m going wrong
Me:
Might I suggest giving it a name? “You wanna see my Pee-wee Herman” will probably get you at least one yes. Bonus points if you dress him up with a bow tie
Chad:
… Pee-wee Herman
Me:
He’s a comedian. Tell me you’ve heard of him
Chad:
Now I’ve looked him up, I have. Are you sure this is Bailey Prince’s number? Because I gotta tell you, if I’m texting some eighty-year-old horndog who STILL said no to a dick pic, I’m about to get some self-confidence issues
On a total whim, I turn on my camera, mess up my hair a little, and try to take a selfie that isn’t completely horrible. Luckily, shadows are my friends.
Chad:
Damn, princess. Now I really wanna see you
I stare at his words for so long, he writes back before I can.
Chad:
But I won’t push. I get it and I’m sorry. I really am trying hard not to think about you
That confession fills me with conflicting emotions. On one hand, he’s thinking about me, and that swarms my gut with butterflies. On the other hand … he’s trying not to. What if he succeeds?
And knowing that replying with anything other than “good plan” would be stupid and unfair to the both of us, I can’t help typing out, I’m trying hard not to think of you too.