Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
CHAD
Two weeks pass in a mash-up of training, classes, work, drinking, and texting Bailey.
He still hasn’t agreed to meet up, and I’d think he was totally not interested if he didn’t keep messaging me back.
Sometimes he even texts first, and there’s nothing that makes me happier than when his name lights up my screen.
Plus, tomorrow, we’re both going to be at the same charity event.
Every now and then, the college puts on these swanky as fuck parties.
I get to put on a suit and get done up to the nines, and I feel like a million bucks.
Normally we’re the ones volunteering to work at these things while houses like Kappa show up with pockets full of donations, but as part of the football team, some of us scored invites in order to draw a crowd. College football for the win.
But until then, I’ve got the whole afternoon off. I’m caught up with doing the bare minimum for school, and I’m thrumming with that uncontrollable need to have fun.
I leave my room and thunder down the stairs.
“Yo, Zeke?”
“In here,” he calls from the living room.
“Do we have any latex tubing lying around?”
He thinks for a moment. “Think we used the last of it for that beer bong the other weekend. Why?”
“Prank idea.”
Zeke holds up a hand. “That’s all I need to know. Why don’t you call Raymond? He’s at work today. He can bring some home.”
“Good idea.”
I organize for Raymond to grab twenty feet of it as well as the insert of a mop bucket and then send Carter out to buy as many water balloons as he can get his hands on.
By the time Raymond gets home, Carter, Robbie, and I have filled up a wheelbarrow and five buckets of water balloons, and we leave some of the other guys to keep working as we carry them around the front.
“What’s the plan?” Robbie asks.
“Let’s thread the tubing through that wringer part.”
“Huh?”
I grab the mop bucket and detach the little circular part you squeeze the mop in to wring it out. “This.”
“Following.”
“Then we’ll need the pledges to hold either end, while you and I alternate pulling it back and launching those balloons at Kappa House.”
Robbie’s broad smile has an evil tinge to it. “Think they’ll clear the whole street?”
“Only one way to find out.”
From where we are on the front lawn, we can see all the comings and goings at Kappa House. There are only seven houses on both sides of the street, so I think we’ll make the distance easily.
The only things missing are lounge chairs and beer. Robbie and I duck back inside to fix that oversight, and by the time we make it back to the front, everything is set up and ready to go. I drop my recliner on the lawn and flop down on it, kicking out the footrest.
“Robbie, you’re up.”
He starts to direct the guys when I glance down at Kappa House, wondering if Bailey is there. What are the chances he’ll be the first person we see outside? Or that he’ll need to go somewhere while we’re bombing them?
I subtly get up from my chair and move closer to the house, out of earshot of the others. Then I hit Call.
“Chad?”
“That was fast,” I say, trying not to get all twisted at the sound of his voice. “You were waiting by your phone for me, weren’t you?”
“Considering you’ve never called me before, that sounds plausible.”
“So here’s a completely unrelated to anything and totally random question: What are you doing right now?”
“Studying … you’re not going to ask me what I’m wearing next, are you?”
“For someone who doesn’t want anything to happen between us, you’re quick to encourage me flirting with you.”
“What … no, that wasn’t—”
I glance back at where they’re set up and cut through his adorable rambling. “Listen, I’m gonna need you to stay in for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Excuse me?”
I debate how much to tell him. On the one hand, I want to have fun and drench some Kappas; on the other, I don’t want him to be one of them. But if he warned me about a prank, the first thing I’d do is tell the rest of my house.
“Chad?”
I clear my throat. “Can’t say. Just trust me?”
“Fore!” Robbie shouts, and I glance back in time to see him launch. The water balloon shoots out way faster than I imagined and sails through the sky. It totally misses the guy crossing the Kappa lawn and explodes on the road, but it makes the distance.
The guy glances our way in confusion, but the pledges are already readjusting their aim while Robbie reloads.
“Chad?”
A peel of laughter leaves me. “The front yard isn’t safe today.”
“Is this where I remind you land mines aren’t what I’d call ‘harmless fun’?”
“Geez, stop. I’ll never live up to your high opinion of me.”
He sighs. “Go have your fun.”
“I will. And I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”
I quickly hang up before he can reply, because the last thing I want is for him to say he doesn’t actually want to see me. That’s a way to break a dude’s heart.
I join the others, and we spend the afternoon shooting the shit and shooting the shitheads.
“Fuck off, Doomsen!” The Kappa dude bolts for the house, a large wet spot on the back of his shirt.
That’s at least the third time I’ve heard those same words today, and aww, they warm my soul.
All in all, it’s not a bad way to spend the afternoon.
Bonding with my brothers, throwing back some beers, and enjoying the late afternoon sunshine.
A long sigh comes from behind us, and I tilt my head back on the armchair to see Brandon there with his hands on his hips. “Did any of you put your half brains together and bother to check if there are Kappa bitches with latex allergies?”
I share an oops look with Robbie.
“Blame the pledges,” I say.
“What the hell did we do?” Raymond asks.
“Why would I do that?” Brandon asks. “Those idiots do what you tell them to.”
“Exactly. Autonomy and all that. Take this as a teachable moment.”
Brandon lifts his eyebrows at me.
“Fine. Does anyone in their house have a latex allergy we should know about?”
“No. And you’re lucky they don’t. This way, only Zeke will have to deal with Charles’s bitching. I would have been pissed to have to hear about it as well.”
I wave my arm at him. “You’re welcome.”
“Wait,” Robbie says in a voice that makes it clear he’s about to ask something stupid. “Are you saying I have to check in with you before I fuck someone? Because I gotta say, dude, asking a chick I’m banging if she has a latex allergy is a mood killer.”
My phone vibrates against my thigh as a message comes through, so I block out Brandon and Robbie’s bickering.
Bailey:
Thanks for the head’s up. Kinda feel like a traitor now though, which I blame you for completely
Me:
Hey, you made your choice. Now you have to live with it. Does make me happy though that you put me before your brothers
Bailey:
Yes, because that’s what happened. You do realize if I’d told them to be careful, I would have had to mention how I knew and that would have opened up awkward questions for the both of us
Me:
The golden rule: deny everything!
Bailey:
Not so sure that’s healthy, Doomsen
Me:
Funny, my doctor says the same
He doesn’t text back, which isn’t unusual for him. Just when I think we’re getting into some friendly banter, he disappears on me. It’s like he only writes back for exactly as long as he needs to, then leaves me hanging.
Does he realize that’s making me want him more?
There really is something to this playing-hard-to-get thing.
And Bailey Prince has it down to an art.
The dean at West Haven U is heavily involved with philanthropic endeavors that will make him look good to the board. This year, the focus is on literacy program scholarships for kids who’ve had it rough, and out of all the things he’s normally raising money for, this one isn’t so bad.
We had an away game an hour from here, so by the time the bus gets back and I head home to change into my suit for tonight, I’m sore and almost wishing I could stay in.
Almost.
Then I picture stealing Bailey away tonight, and some of my energy comes surging back.
I’m not a star player by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m good enough to have been invited tonight.
Dean Hutchins uses athletes as draw cards to entice as many donors as possible, and while a lot of our house are there to be put on display and schmooze people with money, most of the guys from Kappa are those people with money.
Usually I spend my night wooing all the old ladies or screwing with members from Kappa, but tonight, I’m going to be on my best big-boy behavior.
Because technically Bailey is one of the people I’m supposed to schmooze, and I’m surprisingly up for the challenge.
Other parts of me are up for the challenge as well, but it’s getting ahead of itself there.
While I’d jump through hoops to hook up with the guy again, after his texts ranging from vaguely interested to flirty, I’d settle for an actual conversation.
Then I’ll try to get into his pants.
Bailey’s told me that we shouldn’t, but until he tells me that he doesn’t want to, I’m going to keep seeing where this thing goes. I’m nothing if not an opportunist, and there’s no way I’m gonna let a potentially mind-blowing hookup slip through my fingers.
After I’m dressed, I hunt down Zeke, and we head over together.
The event is being held in one of the old houses on campus, where the dean entertains his most exclusive guests.
It’s the type of place that has a fireplace taller than me, polished hardwood floors, windows so large the curtains have probably been there since before my grandparents were born, and textured wallpaper covered in patterns.
The first person we see when I walk in is Ms. Olsen, and Zeke nudges me.
“Your cougar has been waiting.”
“She always is.”
I joke, but I love her. She’s seventy or something with lavender hair and a sharp tongue.
“Old lady Olsen,” I say as I approach her.
She pulls me in to kiss my cheek, the scent of her musty perfume washing over me. “Oh look, it’s the frat boy. Been to any keggers lately?”
“Frequently. How’s knitting club?”
She sniffs. “Actually quite enjoyable.”
“What?” My laugh is too loud for the room. “You’ve actually started going? I thought—and this is a direct quote, by the way—‘I will only consider knitting if I have great need to utilize the needles for murder.’”
“Turns out there’s a distinguished gentleman who runs the class and has specific taste in woolen blankets. Ask me how I know.”
I pretend to shudder. “In my mind, you leave these parties and head home to bake cookies.”
“I’ve never baked a cookie in my life. Except that one batch I tried with pot in it.”
“Let me guess, the seventies?” All her stories revolve around the sixties and seventies, and I’ve gotta say, people think the youth of today are wild—we’ve got nothing on the boomers.
“Last month, actually. In the seventies, I was pretty enough that I didn’t have to bake my own cookies.”
“Maybe your knitting gentleman will step up.”
A satisfied smile crosses her face, and I wish I could bleach it from my memory.
“Better be careful, Chadwick—”
“Still just Chad—”
“—I’ll make an honest man of him and have to rescind my offer to be your sugar momma.” She wraps her arm through mine, and I pat her hand.
“Somehow I’ll …”
My eyes lock on Bailey, who’s already watching me from across the room. He’s wearing a matching suit in a dark blue check pattern with a black shirt, and he looks … fucking edible.
He’s all long thin legs, smooth jaw, and bedroom eyes.
I lick my lips, and a smirk twitches on his.
“Huh.”
I jerk my focus back to Ms. Olsen. “What?”
“I get it now.”
“Get what now?”
There’s a playful twinkle in her eye that worries me because when she has that look, I don’t know what will come out of her mouth next.
“Why you never took me up on my offer. I mean …” She waves a hand over her long gown, and for someone in their seventies, she does look good. But as much as I might like her, I’m not that kinda dude.
“Your point?”
“You’re a homo.”
My eyes snap wide, and I quickly look around. “You know, I don’t think the people across the room heard you.” Even though I joke, I’m a fraction worried what her reaction will be. She’s normally cool, but you never can tell who’ll turn out to be a dick and who won’t.
“Relax, Chadwick.”
I snort but don’t bother correcting her this time. Apparently, Chad is too douchey of a name. “I take it you’re not gonna start trying to convert me to Christianity?”
“Please. Sodomy is a good time.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
She lifts a perfectly lined eyebrow. “Now who’s trying to convert whom? You know, your beau reminds me of a young man I met at Woodstock. Beautiful, regal-looking … with a gorgeous Asian girlfriend who welcomed me into their relationship with open arms. Hell of a weekend.”
Whenever she talks about Woodstock, I have my doubts. “What happened to the wild hippy who tried to recruit you into a cult?”
“Died, I presume.”
“And the tall blond who you could have sworn was a Danish prince?”
“Even if I knew, I couldn’t tell you.”
“Uh-huh.” My gaze roams back to Bailey. His head is bent as he talks to Lucas.
Ms. Olsen pats my arm. “Go enjoy your boy. You’ll have to introduce me later.”
“Not a chance.” I kiss her goodbye. “I’m trying to make a good impression here.”
She laughs as I leave her and make my way toward Bailey. I’m stopped a couple of times, by the dean, and some donors, and members of the faculty, but thankfully Bailey doesn’t move from his spot.
And the closer I get to him, the more my brain starts to go completely fucking blank.