Chapter 12
Steph
Then
“Ipromise, this is exactly what you need,” Katie says, as she drags me towards the huge white colonial on fraternity row.
“I don’t know … I’m really not in the mood for—”
“Shut it!” she snaps, cutting me off. “I’ve listened to you cry over that loser for almost an entire year. And after the crap he pulled on you last weekend, he does not deserve any more of your tears. So you better get in the mood.”
The party appears to be in full swing as I observe the crowd of party-goers who’ve spilled out onto the front lawn amid the accompanying debris of red solo cups and empty pizza boxes.
I also spot discarded articles of clothing and even a random shoe—a purple stiletto with the heel hanging loose.
Music thrums from the open front door, and while the bass is impressive, it’s nearly overshadowed by the clamor of voices from the crowded lawn.
A group gathered in a semi-circle on the driveway shares hits off a bong, and I’m hit with a wave of nausea as the pot smoke drifts to me on the late summer breeze.
I can’t be here.
The crowd, the music, the drugs. It’s all too recently familiar.
“Katie,” I sigh, pausing on the sidewalk.
“No, Stephie. I mean it,” she says, spinning towards me with her hands on her hips. “You need to forget him. We’re in college now.” She waves her arm towards the house.
“I know, but—”
“No buts! Come on, we’re on to new beginnings, girl.
” She steps into me, placing her hands on my shoulders.
Her green eyes soften when she says, “You need to let loose for a little bit, okay? You can go back to being depressed tomorrow. But tonight we’re gonna go in there, we’re gonna get you some booze, maybe find some cute guys to dance with …
” She shrugs, dropping her hands from my shoulders.
“Okay,” I sigh again, resigning myself to this night. This party.
She grins, and I roll my eyes, but I allow her to pull me up the walkway and onto the front porch, gingerly picking our way through the chaos.
“And who knows?” she adds, shooting me a sly half-smile over her shoulder. “Maybe you’ll meet the love of your life tonight, and by tomorrow you’ll be saying, ‘Riley who?’”
“Sam.”
“What?”
“My name. It’s Sam,” the man yells, leaning in close to be heard over the music.
I’ve been trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone ever since Katie left me alone to go on the hunt for drinks.
I don’t know where this guy came from, but suddenly he’s hovering over me, invading my personal space.
“Oh,” I reply, attempting a retreating step, only to realize I’m now pressed up against the back of the couch. “Hi.”
He smiles at me, waiting. When I say no more, he prompts, “What’s your name?”
“Oh,” I say again. “Uh … Steph.”
“Nice to meet you, Steph. Is that short for Stephanie?”
His hot beer breath washes over me, and I cringe—at his proximity and also his lame attempt at conversation. What else would it be short for? Stephen?
“Yes,” I nod, glancing away. Where the fuck is Katie? She said she’d be right back with our drinks, and that was fifteen minutes ago.
“Are you … looking for someone?” Sam asks, a little dopily. Clearly, the dude is farther along than I am in the drinks department.
“Yeah,” I answer. “My friend. She went to get us drinks.”
He casts his head from side to side as though searching for her, though he has no idea who I’m referring to. Then he shrugs and grins. “Well, I can help you out with that. Come on.” He tilts his head towards the kitchen and the location of the kegs.
“Oh, umm, no thanks. I’ll just wait here.” I bite my lip, and he zeroes in on it. Shit.
“Nah,” he insists, taking my hand. “Your friend’s probably still over there anyway; there’s a line for the keg. But guess what?”
“What?” I ask, glancing around once more for Katie. Damn her.
He leans in close again, as though to impart a secret, and I sigh internally. “I have a hook-up.”
He stares at me, waiting for me to ask, so I do. “A hook-up?”
“Uh-huh. One of our frat pledges is manning the keg.” He shrugs with a pleased smirk. “I can bypass the line.”
“Oh, that’s … cool,” I say, because it’s obvious he wants me to be impressed.
“So you’re a freshman?” he asks, and I nod. “I’m a junior.”
I nod again, not wanting to engage with this guy any further, but too polite to walk away. Plus, he still hasn’t dropped my hand, a fact he’s reminded of a moment later when he gives my arm a tug, saying, “Come on. Let’s get you that drink.”
“You can’t be serious!” I exclaim, with a chuckle.
Sam holds his hands up as though to ward off my disbelief. “Swear to God, she pinched my ass,” he says.
I shoot him a skeptical look. “Really. Mrs. McNie? The librarian at Trinity Hall?”
He nods. “The one and only. I was doing research for my astronomy paper, and she just came up to me and …” he spins around, stumbling slightly in the process before gesticulating at his behind.
And I have to admit it does look extremely pinchable.
“But she’s got to be in her late sixties,” I argue.
He shrugs, giving me a sly smile and smacking himself on the ass. “These buns of steel appeal to all ages, baby.”
I throw my head back and laugh—a real, genuine one—for the first time in a long time. And it feels good.
Sam grins at me, clearly pleased to have elicited such a response.
I won’t deny that I’ve made him work for it, not having wanted anything to do with him or anyone else only a few hours ago.
But Katie was right, a couple of drinks did do me some good.
She’d reappeared eventually with my long-awaited beer, only Sam had already procured me several by that point.
She’s since flounced off with one of his frat brothers, leaving me alone with him once more.
And … I’m actually having fun.
“Finally!” he says, pointing at my face. Some of his beer spills over from his plastic cup and dribbles down his hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“What?” I ask, though I know he’s referring to my smile. My laughing.
He shakes his head. “Turns out you can smile.”
“I can,” I agree.
“Good. I thought you were a total bitch at first.”
I’m not surprised, nor am I insulted. That’s basically what I’d been going for. “And yet you still wouldn’t leave me alone,” I counter dryly.
He shrugs, his gaze dropping to my chest. “You’re hot.”
Heat rises to my face at his words, and I know I’m blushing.
I down a big gulp of my beer to avoid looking at him, but he steps in close, once again invading my personal space and forcing me to look up into his face.
It’s something he’s apparently very fond of doing—hovering over me—only this time I don’t attempt a retreat.
No, this time, I stare up at him and allow myself to notice how attractive Sam actually is.
It’s different than Riley as he’s less jock, more preppy, but attractive nonetheless.
He’s got dirty-blond hair cut short, with high, sharp cheekbones, a defined jaw, and full lips that are almost feminine in their poutiness.
I lick my own lips as I imagine what it might be like to kiss him.
The thought is followed almost instantly by a sharp sting of pain right through my chest, but I shove it down.
Down, down, and away.
Riley’s not the person I kiss anymore. He’s busy kissing someone else. And there’s no reason for me to feel bad or guilty about imagining doing so with Sam.
“What happened?” Sam asks, running a hand along my arm. He’s very touchy-feely. “Where did you go just now?”
“Nowhere,” I say, shaking my head as I feel the sting of tears.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
He stares down at me intently. He has brown eyes, like mine, though much darker—a deep coffee to my warmer milk chocolate. It’s strange not to look up like this into grey ones so pale they’re nearly silver.
“You look sad.”
I turn my face away, squeezing my eyes shut. My head spins a little at the motion, but Sam steadies me, gripping tighter to my arm. He’s remarkably perceptive for a drunk frat boy.
“I’m going through a breakup,” I finally offer, knowing he’s not going to let it drop.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, then slides his other hand up to run a finger along my collarbone.
The touch raises goosebumps on my skin.
Do I like it?
I think I might.
He’s close, really close. Is he about to kiss me? Yes, I think he is. We’re breathing the same beer-scented air, and … it’s not entirely unpleasant. Not anymore.
When his mouth closes over mine, I don’t fight it.
It’s short, and it’s … fine. It’s fine.
Oh God.
I kissed another man. And maybe it’s too soon, or maybe it’s because I’ll never be over Riley, but … it’s just fine.
No sparks.
But maybe I don’t need those. Maybe I don’t even want those anymore, because I know full well the sparks can eventually burn.
I kissed another man, and maybe it’s exactly what I needed.
That sharp knife of pain twists in my chest once more, but I grip Sam’s shirt and pull him into me for another kiss.
This one is open-mouthed, with little finesse.
Okay, it’s downright sloppy, but fuck if I care.
It’s done what I needed it to do—shoved the pain away again down deep where I can ignore it, at least for the time being.
Sam’s hardened cock presses against me, and he growls into my mouth before breaking the kiss. He looks down at me with hooded eyes, darkened with lust, and says, “Wanna know the best way to get over someone?”
I bite my wet lip and nod.
He smirks. “Get under someone else.”
So, when I follow him up to his room a short time later, I do exactly that.