Chapter 8
Ryker
L ater that night, the Elite house is filled with drunk people I don’t know, blaring music, and utter chaos. It may be a Wednesday night, but I guess no one really cares.
I grab a beer from the kitchen and join Holland and Patrick in the living room where a couple is making out on the couch. Well, more like dry humping. I scan the room for Mason but he’s not here, and Logan’s at his girlfriend’s dorm tonight according to the text I received about an hour ago. Him and Adrianna have been dating since they were in high school. They’re practically inseparable.
The stench of cheap beer and sweat linger in the air as I walk through the crowded rooms and small hallways searching for Mason. He tends to get himself into trouble, a lot . Honestly, Holland should really be the one babysitting his cousin, but it seems like he might already be wasted.
I don’t drink too much, but I’ll have the occasional beer when we go to the bars or at a party, maybe do a shot or two, especially when I’m stressed. Like right now .
I’ve never been big on the feeling of being out of control. I enjoy being aware of my surroundings. I’d also rather not wake up feeling like I got hit by a bus.
Amidst the sea of dancing bodies and laughter, I spot Mason. He’s got a girl pressed up against the wall, her head tilted to one side while he kisses and sucks on her neck. His hands are wandering all over her body and she looks like she’s loving every second of it.
Mason’s hand squeezes the girl's breast and then moves to the back of her head, pulling her hair so hard she yelps a little.
I make my way over to them and clear my throat loud enough so he’ll hear me.
Mason pulls away from the girl, her face is flushed, and she looks slightly embarrassed. I would feel bad if not for the fact that they were literally just tongue fucking against a wall during a very crowded house party.
“Oh, hey man. I was just-” I look behind him to the girl who is slightly trembling.
“Can you give us a minute?” The girl looks to Mason, then back to me and nods, adjusting the strap of her top that had fallen down her arm. With one more look, she waves shyly, walking down the hall and disappearing around the corner.
“That’s Candace. She’s-” I don’t let him finish because I don’t give a fuck who she is.
“Dude, what did we talk about? No hooking up with girls at the parties. Especially when there’s alcohol involved. If we get written up again, they’ll shut us down.”
Mason looks down at the ground, avoiding my gaze. He knows I’m pissed.
Last year, the Elite had a big scandal, and it hasn’t quite been forgotten yet. One of the juniors hooked up with a girl at a party near Halloween. Apparently, the girl was really drunk, and the junior knew but still took advantage of her.
Turned out the girl was the Dean’s stepdaughter. Needless to say, the situation didn’t end well. The school took it really seriously, as they should, and threatened to shut us down if anything like that happened again.
Since then, all the guys have agreed that we can do whatever or whoever we want on our own time, but there would be no hooking up if there were drinks on the premises. Of course, some of the guys griped about it, but we can’t risk getting the Elite shut down.
Mason nods, his face resembling a sad puppy. I pat his shoulder. “Come on, I think Austin and Teddy set up beer pong.”
Austin and Teddy are freshmen. They’re cool guys, much less annoying than most of the others.
Two rounds of beer pong later and I’ve had it. I’m more drunk than I’ve been in a while, and I hate it. I want to go to bed, but there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep with all the noise. It’s not even midnight and I’m exhausted. I make my way over to the now empty couch and plop down, resting my head on the back.
Patrick lands next to me a few seconds later, draping his arm around my shoulders and disrupting my alone time.
“Done already?” he mocks.
“Yeah, I’m ready to call it a night,” I say, running my hands down my face.
“You okay?”
“I’m good,” I lie.
The room is starting to spin, and I know I need to lay down. I stand from the couch, slapping a hand on Pat’s shoulder a few times before stalking up the stairs to my bedroom.
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After my shower, I feel a lot better. I no longer feel like I’m on a boat, and my head feels less full. I yank on some athletic shorts and finally lay down.
My thoughts are racing, and oddly enough, I’m not thinking about my father and our talk. I’m not thinking about his disappointment or his veiled threats.
What I am thinking about is a feisty brunette who clearly despises my very being. I honestly don’t know what possessed me to agree to such an asinine arrangement with her.
When Professor Whitely brought up the partnership, my first reaction was to tell her ‘Fuck no’. But then I thought about it, and I came to the conclusion that this could work for me, and seeing how badly Gwen wanted to fight Professor Whitely made me want it even more.
Gwen’s obviously smart, and she knows what she’s doing. She might be able to help me get my grade up and get my father off my back.
When she argued with me in class on Monday, she ignited something in me. No one has ever talked to me like that, especially a woman. Most of them throw themselves at me. But Gwen? She basically told me to fuck off, and it was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
I hate to admit it, but Gwen is beautiful. She’s all long tan legs, brown hair, and crystal blue eyes wrapped in this fiery personality. She’s one of those girls that doesn’t even have to try, she’s just naturally gorgeous, and I bet she doesn’t even know it.
An image of her wearing that light blue blouse that perfectly showed off her tits and the jeans that looked like they were painted on plays in my mind. Her bright blue eyes looking big and innocent. And that mouth. Fuck, why does her stubbornness and hatred toward me turn me on? My dick twitches in my pants, begging for release.
I shake my head, attempting to get rid of the image. No, I can’t go there. Not with Gwen. She hates me, and I’m not so sure how fond I am of her.
I just want to get this project over with so I can pass this stupid fucking class and move on with my life, move on from my father. I can’t afford to be distracted.
I’m really not a dick. I may be hardheaded, and I know I can be an ass sometimes, but I’m not evil. I respect women and yeah, I have the occasional one-night stand to let off some steam, but I always make sure the woman I’m with is satisfied. See, respect. I do admit I have a problem with authority due to my father and the emotional trauma he’s caused me, but I’m pretty even tempered.
But when Gwen ran into me in the hallway, I was worked up about the meeting with my dad and I was in a shit mood. I could have reacted better, but it was too late. Plus, for some weird reason, I kind of like pissing her off. Her face gets all red and her nose scrunches up; it’s pretty cute.
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The next day goes by slow, and I haven’t heard from Gwen yet, which I guess isn’t surprising. The arrangement isn’t ideal, and I know she doesn’t understand why I even agreed to it. But this is the only way to get my dad to back the hell off. I just need to pass this class, and I need Gwen’s help to do it.
I had a few boring classes this morning and now I’m sitting in the kitchen at the Elite house with Patrick, Mason, and Holland, as Pat, Holland, and I stare into a bowl of… honestly, I’m not even sure what this is. It smells putrid, and it looks even worse, but Mason made it, and I don’t think any of us want to tell him it looks like puke.
Holland looks at me and I shrug, moving the sludge around with my fork. Mason looks like he’s about to jump out of his seat with anticipation. He’s clearly very proud of himself. Pat clears his throat before asking the question we all want the answer to.
“So… what is it?” Mason’s face falls slightly, looking a bit confused.
“It’s beef stew. What, you can’t tell? Look,” Mason points to a big block of something in Pat’s bowl. “That’s beef.”
Pat picks it up with his fork and examines it before setting it back in his bowl. Mason looks around the table at Holland and I and then back to Pat.
“You’re not gonna try it?”
“I’m really not that hungry. I actually have to uh… I have to study,” Pat says, pushing away from the table and standing. Mason watches as Pat takes the bowl full of slop over to the fridge and sets it inside. Mason looks back at Holland and I expectantly.
“Yeah, I’m actually not that hungry either. But thanks for making dinner, bro,” Holland stands from his seat next to me, pats Mason on the shoulder, and sets the bowl in the fridge. Those fuckers left me alone.
Mason watches me, seemingly waiting to hear what excuse I come up with. “And you? I assume you’re not hungry either,” he looks disappointed. I look down at the bowl one more time before ultimately deciding that I care more about my health than Mason’s feelings.
“It was a great attempt, but I think we should let Pat do the cooking. Sorry, bud,” I don’t even bother putting the bowl in the fridge because I know I won’t be eating it. I toss the contents in the trash and set the bowl in the sink.
As I make my way out of the kitchen, Mason calls after me.
“You guys are so ungrateful. I slaved over a hot stove all day to make you dicks dinner!” I shake my head and chuckle to myself. Such a drama queen.