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End of story.
8
Demi
Sydney throws open the front door to the house and yells over her shoulder, “Now this is what I’m talking about!”
There’s a massive off-campus party in full swing on Spring Street. It’s only one of many happening tonight. There are six players who live at this residence, including Rowan. This particular group of guys are well known for their out of control victory celebrations. I expect total craziness to ensue since the Wildcats football team crushed their opponents this afternoon on the field. It’s nine o’clock, and this place is already standing room only.
Sydney throws her arm around my neck and pulls me close before blazing a trail through the thick crush of bodies. Music pumps, reverberating off the walls and inside my skull. People are drinking and laughing, cutting loose after a long week of classes.
Not only is Western University renowned for its rigorous academics, it’s also known as one of the top party schools in the country. The students here like to blow off steam as much as they study. Maybe more so. I’ve never been much of a partier. As you might suspect, Sydney is more of a social butterfly than I am. She’s the one dragging me out most weekends. It’s not like I don’t enjoy going out, but I’m just as content to order a pizza and watch a movie in my pajamas.
Maybe I’m too aware that most of the student body knows who I am, and my behavior is a direct reflection of my father. I make it a point to never get trashed or out of control. Those are the last things I need making its way around campus or getting back to Dad. Most of these kids don’t have to worry about their parents finding out about what they’re up to. They’re able to live by that old adage of—what happens at college, stays at college.
Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for me. Dad is on campus as much as I am. Probably more. It’s easier for all concerned if I stay out of the limelight. I’ve gotten burned in the past when girls have gotten jealous and spread rumors that I was screwing around with some of the football players, which is precisely why I keep everything strictly platonic with them.
In true Sydney fashion, she plows her way to the front of the beer line and grabs us two red cups of golden frothiness before shoving one in my hand. We tap the rims together.
“Salut!” she says before rather impressively downing the entire container in one thirsty gulp.
I raise my brows and take a dainty sip.
“What?” She swipes the back of her hand across her lips. “It’s been one long-ass week.”
Even though Ethan made a point of showing up at the game, Sydney still isn’t talking to him. We’ll have to see how this one plays out. Although, I have my suspicions as to what will transpire. These two are like Kourtney Kardashian and Scott Disick. They can’t be together, and yet they can’t be without one another.
“I’ll be right back, I’m going to grab another one,” she says.
As she turns away, I shout, “Hey, I don’t want to carry you home tonight. You’re like dead weight when you pass out.”
She flashes a grin before returning in record speed. “I needed that first one to take the edge off.”
Mission accomplished. The edge has clearly been taken off.
When a song that has been playing all summer long comes on, Sydney whoops and throws her hand in the air before moving her body to the rhythm. Several guys in the vicinity take notice. Unable to resist joining her, I follow suit and let the beat flow through me. One song bleeds into another, and we dance in the tiny bit of space we’ve managed to carve out for ourselves. When a pair of male hands wrap around Sydney’s waist and spin her away, I peek around to view the culprit. Her shoulders tighten, and all the lightheartedness she had managed to find in the music drains away, leaving a pissed off Sydney in its place.
I should have known...Ethan.
“Can we talk?” His voice is barely audible over the chatter of people and music pumping around us.
Emotion flickers over Sydney’s face before she shrugs. “Is there really anything for us to talk about?”
It feels like we’ve reached the point in the evening where I should make myself scarce. I’m not looking to referee this conversation.
Sorrow fills his eyes as his face falls. “I’m sorry, Syd. I was a jackass. I care about you, and I’m not ready for this to be over.”
She takes a tentative step toward him before tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re better off as friends. All we do is fight when we’re together.”
