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Molly’s hands tug at my jeans, unfastening the button, and I close my eyes as her warm lips wrap around my cock.
Afterward, she doesn’t say a word, and neither do I, when she wipes her fingers across her swollen lips. Molly stands, pulling her dress down to cover her body as much as the scrap can, and she leaves the room.
I lie there, on a bed that isn’t mine, and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes more before wandering out into the hallway. The party is still going; the floors are getting messier and messier by the minute. A group of three drunk girls holding hands walks by.
“You guys are my best friends,” the shortest of the three says.
One of them is wearing a blue sweater, her eyes bloodshot as she stumbles down the hall, nearly tripping over her feet. “I love you both!” she replies, her eyes filling with tears.
Drunk girls are there, crying and being “best friends” with everyone . . .
Logan appears at the end of the hall, a crooked smile on his face and a drink in each hand. He offers me one, but I shake my head.
“Yours is water,” he says, holding the red cup between us.
I grab it, bringing it to my nose to smell the liquid. “Erm, thanks.” I take a drink of the cold water and ignore the way Logan is silently judging me for drinking water.
“The house is packed, man,” he says to me, clearing his throat with a grimace. “This cheap vodka burns like a bitch.”
I don’t say anything, I just let my eyes roam around the hall as we walk toward the stairs.
“Oh, hey, I saw that Tessa chick go into your room,” he says from behind me. I turn to face him.
“What?”
“She went in there, with Steph. Steph’s sick, puking in the bathroom.”
“Why would they go into my room?” I raise my voice. I could have sworn I locked it. No one goes into my room. Sick or not. They especially don’t go in there to throw up on my things.
He shrugs. “Don’t know. Just warning you.”
Logan disappears into the crowd as I head toward my room. Steph knows better than to go into my room—why didn’t she warn her little tagalong?
I enter in a huff, and sure enough, standing next to my bookshelf is Tessa. I immediately notice that her hand is on my oldest copy of Wuthering Heights. The worn pages show its use to me.
“Why the hell are you in my room?” I say to her. She doesn’t even flinch. She gently closes the book in her hands.
“I asked you what the hell you are doing in my room?” I repeat, just as harsh as the first time. I cross the room take the book from her and toss it back onto the shelf where it belongs. She still hasn’t answered me; she’s standing there, near my bed, with wide eyes and a closed mouth.
“Nate told me to bring Steph in here . . .” she whispers. She waves her hand in the direction of my bed. Steph is passed out on the mattress, and I’m not happy about that one bit. “She drank too much, and Nate said—”
I’ve heard enough.
“I heard you the first time,” I calmly interrupt her.
“You’re a part of this fraternity?” she asks, her voice curious and a tad bit judgmental. Not that I’m in any way surprised by this. I’m used to being judged, especially around rich kids with haughty attitudes. I don’t think this girl is rich, though. Her dress looks like it came from a consignment store instead of a department store, which surprises me, for some reason.
“Yeah, so?” I step toward the nosy girl, and she backs away, hitting the bookcase in the process. “Does that surprise you, Theresa?”
“Stop calling me Theresa,” she snaps at me.
Feisty.
“That’s your name, isn’t it?”
Sighing, she turns away from me. I glance over at my bed as she attempts to leave the room.
“She can’t stay in here,” I say to her. No way is Steph sleeping in my bed all night.
“Why not? I thought you guys were friends?”
How sweet . . . how naive.
“We are, but no one stays in my room.” I cross my arms over my chest and get a good look at her. Her eyes are following the tattoos inked onto my arms. I like the way she’s looking at me, trying to figure me out. It’s exciting, even—to be examined in this way . . . she’s intrigued, and it’s obvious.
She seems to snap out of her staring fit.
“Ohh . . . I see.” She snorts. “So only girls who make out with you can come into your room?”
I can’t help but smile at the little feisty freshman. Long blond hair and killer curves hidden underneath that hideous outfit . . . but something about this girl irritates me on a deeper level than Steph does, or even Molly. I can’t put my finger on it, but she’s getting under my skin pretty quickly and I need to put a stop to that.
“That wasn’t my room. But if you’re trying to say you want to make out with me, sorry, you’re not my type.”
I smile and watch her face twist into embarrassment and anger.
“You are . . . you are . . .”
I feel uncomfortable as she fights to find the insulting words.
“Well . . . then you take her to another room, and I’ll find a way back to the dorms.”
Me? She’s so sure of herself it’s pissing me off more and more by the second.
She wouldn’t actually leave Steph in here. Would she? She opens the door and walks through it.
Damn, she has more balls than I thought. I’m slightly impressed. Annoyed—but impressed.
“Good night, Theresa!” I yell to her as she slams my bedroom door.
I take a visual sweep of the room, seeing what else has might have been disturbed. The mirror on my wall catches my attention, mainly because the man standing in it is barely recognizable. I don’t know who I’ve become in the last few years.
But more surprisingly, I don’t understand where the stupid smile now on my face has come from.
I’m used to bickering with obnoxious people during these parties. Why did I enjoy this so much more than usual? Is it because of this new girl? She’s not my usual prey, but she’s fun to toy with.
The noise from downstairs fills my room, and with Steph in my bed, I have nothing to do. I will have to get Nate to carry her out of here—and drop her in the hallway, if need be. Surely she’s slept in worse places. I find myself thinking about Tessa and her attitude. The way she stubbornly placed her hand on her hip and wouldn’t back down from me.
