Chapter 5
TROY (EARLIER THAT NIGHT)
“Duuuuude, you're already beautiful. Can we puh-lease get out of here?” Ethan's voice carries through the bathroom, drowning out his knocking.
“I said two minutes!” I shout back. The house is loud as fuck tonight.
Downstairs, everyone is having a quick drink before we hit frat row.
We usually host a party the final night of the first week which turns out of hand, but tonight's the first night and it's tradition to go to an equally terrible and amazing frat party.
Our parties are pretty small and fun, and they feel fucking tame compared to frat row.
I can hear Tara laughing loudly outside. I look into the mirror, into the same eyes she has—ice blue. We're close in age and look so similar that people used to assume we were twins.
I put more gel into my hair, trying to nail that messy just-got-out-of-bed look. When I'm happy enough with it, I spray another burst of aftershave and exit the bathroom.
“Fucking finally!” Ethan pops his head out of his room when he hears me leave.
“Can't go downstairs on your own, Shortcake?” I affectionately call him Strawberry Shortcake because of his red hair, not because he's short. Guy's somehow taller than me, and I'm 6'1.
He stands shaking his head. “I would, man, but have you been down there? They're all over each other.” He shivers. “It's like a couples retreat.”
I shrug. “If they're happy, I'm happy.”
He claps me on the back. “I am so proud of you. I thought you'd still be more upset about Alfie banging your sist—”
“Finish that sentence, Ethan!” I shout after him, chasing him downstairs. He rushes into the lounge and hides behind a sofa where Alex and Freddie are curled up together.
“Protect me! He wants to hurt me!”
The others look at us without surprise.
“Brother dear, are you trying to hurt poor innocent Ethan?” my sister asks sweetly from the other couch. At least she and Alfie aren't curled up together, but his arm is placed possessively over her shoulder.
I snort. “That boy has never been innocent, and that depends. Are you sorry?” I ask Ethan.
He pops his head up, yells, “I have done nothing wrong!” before ducking back down.
“Alright, children, time to head out.” Freddie stands, pulling Alex up with him. “The night isn't getting any younger.”
I check my watch. It's already past ten, and the frat houses will be in full swing by now. Tara jumps up from the couch, tugging Alfie along with her.
“Come on, let's go! I want to dance. This is going to be so fun!” She's practically bouncing with excitement. My sister, the eternal optimist.
We grab our jackets. It’s still warm enough to walk, one of those perfect September nights in Colorado, where the mountains are silhouetted against the starry sky and campus is alive with energy. The air has that crisp edge to it, warning of the winter to come, but for now, it's perfect.
As we spill out onto the sidewalk, I hang back slightly, watching the others walk ahead.
Freddie and Alex hand in hand, Tara now on Alfie's back demanding a piggyback ride, and Ethan beside them showing something on his phone to Alfie, probably trying to convince him to take some obscure shot he read about online.
“You coming, Troy?” Tara calls back, her voice carrying in the quiet night.
“Yeah, yeah.” I jog to catch up. “Someone's gotta keep you all in line.”
The walk to frat row only takes about fifteen minutes, but it's enough time for Ethan to get us all singing some terrible pop song at the top of our lungs. Lights from the houses ahead pulse against the night sky, and the distant thump of bass grows louder with each step.
Senior year. Last first week. Last time we'll all do this together.
I push the thought away and focus on the night ahead. No point getting sentimental now. We've got a whole year of memories to make first.
Ahead of us, the Alpha Si house is already overflowing with people, red cups in hand, music blaring.
Let’s get fucking wasted.
The party’s already in full swing by the time we arrive. Within minutes, I lose the guys when one of my course mates pulls me aside.
“Troy! Tequila time, baybay!” Jared yells, already slurring.
I force a grin. I fucking hate shots.
“Of course, my man. Let's fucking go!” I hoot, setting off a chorus of hoots from the surrounding guys.
“I knew you'd be down. Everyone is such a fucking pussy tonight—nobody wants to drink with me.” He spits into an empty cup.
I fake-laugh, say something equally douche-y in agreement. While he’s turned away, I pour him a full tequila shot and myself a glass of water. Nobody notices.
When he turns back, he frowns at my glass.
“Dude. What size do you call this?”
Before I can bullshit my way out of it, he’s already grabbing the bottle and topping up both of our shots to the brim.
Great. Fucking fantastic.
Jared disappears in search of another victim, and I finally scan the crowd.
That’s when I see her.
Delilah Greer.
I spot her from behind—neat black bob, tight jeans, and a leather jacket.
And, not to be an asshole or anything, but she has a fantastic ass.
How the hell did I never notice how toned she is?
Maybe because every time I was with her this summer, she was glowering at me like she was plotting my murder.
I should keep walking. Find someone who doesn’t actively loathe me.
But, well, that wouldn’t be nearly as fun.
I move up behind her, leaning down slightly—just a little. She’s probably 5’8”, tall for a chick.
“Holy shit. If it isn’t my favorite girl, how are you, Mittens?”
Delilah Greer spins around, her eyes narrowing the instant they land on me. I hadn't expected to see her here. She looks good—pissed off—but good.
“You’re looking…well, like yourself.” She sneers.
I bark a laugh, leaning in again.
“Come on, Mittens, play nice.”
Her friend excuses herself. I think I recognize her, short and blonde. God, I hope I haven’t slept with her and forgotten.
Delilah looks at me, and yeah, I was expecting an eye roll.
But she doesn’t back away from me. We’re inches apart.
And holy fuck, she smells incredible.
Vanilla and…leather? I don’t know what it is, but it’s sexy as hell.
“Hawkins, this is me playing nice.” She folds her arms.
I tilt my head. She’s not usually at parties. I’m sure I’d remember seeing her around.
Or maybe all that summer-long bickering just rewired my brain to be hyperaware of her. Every move, every look, every time she walks into a room like she doesn’t care who’s watching even though she absolutely knows we all are.
I take a sip of my beer, slow and deliberate. “So… are you stalking me? I swear I’ve never seen you out before. Do you leave the cave?”
She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Please. I’m just shocked you managed to tear yourself away from your fan club. Thought you'd be too busy signing yearbooks or disappointing young freshmen women with their first college experience.”
I laugh under my breath. “Ouch, Lilah.”
“And for the record,” she adds, tone flat, “I do go out. Occasionally. When I need to.”
My curiosity spikes. The way she scans the room isn’t aimless. She’s looking. For someone, or something.
I try not to step closer. Try not to block her view just to be a dick. But I can’t help myself.
“Oh yeah? What do you need tonight?”
She looks me dead in the eyes.
“An orgasm.”
I nearly choke on my beer.
My entire brain turns on—well, the left side—and heat pushes straight to my dick.
For a second, I just stare.
Because holy fuck.
Something about the idea of this uptight, sharp-tongued woman completely losing it…
Yeah. My body reacts immediately.
I tense my biceps and give her my signature fuck-me eyes.
“Well, sweetheart, you have my Instagram. It would've been quicker just to message me.”
She doesn’t even blink. Instead, she looks at me with actual disgust. Ouch. I don’t think a woman has ever looked at me like that before.
And I should hate it. I should walk away and chat with anybody else.
But I don’t—because it means she sees through the act. She’s not impressed, not swayed, not seduced.
She’s a challenge.
And I like that. I like that a little too damn much.
“If I wanted a sexually transmitted disease, maybe. But no.”
Jesus Christ. I’m about to fire back, but then—she scans the crowd. And locks onto Jared.
Jared. Fucking Jared.
“I think he will do,” she says.
No. Absolutely not.
“Oh, god no. Not him.”
She arches a brow. “You know him?”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah. He's my friend.”
She tilts her head slightly, actually interested now. “Then shouldn’t you be wingmanning? Isn’t that, like, bro code?”
“Fuck no. I'm protecting you here, Mittens. He's a dick—don't have sex with him,” I say. “Please,” I add.
She laughs, like I just told the funniest joke in the world.
“And who should I have sex with, then?”
I exhale dramatically, pretending to survey the room.
“Well, if I'm out of the question, then I guess...” My eyes land on a terrified-looking freshman. “Him. He looks like he'd be delicious.’
She follows my gaze, unimpressed.
“Not my type.”
I pretend to be shocked.
“What? I would've thought he'd be perfect. I'm assuming you're like a female spider—you eat your lovers after milking them?”
She lets out a short laugh before catching herself. Her lips press into a thin, unimpressed line.
“You are an ass, Hawkins. I don't even know why I'm speaking to you. You’re probably going to take credit for this party or something soon.” She crosses her arms, voice dripping with disdain.
I blink, thrown for a second. “Wait, are you still upset about that AC thing at camp? That was months ago.”
“Yes, that 'AC thing,'” she mimics, eyes flashing. “Where I spent three hours fixing the system on a Friday night when no engineers could come, and somehow you got all the credit.”
“I didn't ask for any credit,” I say, genuinely confused by her intensity. “People just assumed—”