“Of course she can. She’s a Pi. The queen of them, in fact. You sorority girls dish out revenge like it’s a slice of icebox cake.”
“We do, but she’s more of a raging bitch than the usual,” Wynter concurs. “Denver’s okay. She’s always nice when I see her in the elevator in our apartment building. Denver rooms with Zach Bradley, and Addison was crowing over ‘catching’ him all summer.”
“Who’s Zach Bradley again?”
Shay sips his drink. “The dude kissing Denver.”
“Ohhh.”
I watch as Denver sags into the guy who, even with my limited interest in the sport—I’ve interned at Uncle Conor’s NHLteam but I was mostly interested in the admin and not the game—shrieks “hockey player.”
As do the other occupants in the booth, including, shit… the guy who dropped me off at the country club on Friday night.
Though I lock eyes on Alec, he doesn’t notice me. His focus splits between Dyers, who’s swaggering in like he owns the place, and Zach, who’s mauling Denver’s mouth. It’s impossible to hear what Zach’s saying as he draws her closer into his arms, but I can’t deny his protectiveness is super cute.
I’m not saying he’ll chop off someone’s hands for her, but it’s clear to anyone with a pair of eyeballs that he’s in love.
It’s not like everyone’s love language is body parts.
“Denver’s the only person I’ve met who ever said ‘fuck you’ to the Pies.”
Turning away from the brewing fight, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“She’s a legacy and because she doesn’t fit the size 0 demographic, on invite-only night, she and a bunch of other maybes were shepherded into this tiny closet?—”
Shay asks, “What? Why?”
“The Pies put microphones in there and if anyone sounded too desperate, they weren’t invited to pledge.”
I gape. “See, this is why I hate sororities.”
“Honestly, this chapter is makingmehate sororities. I’m barely around the house anymore. I was going to live in, but the first time I met Addison, we didn’t get along because she’s toxic as fuck. So, I paid my dues when I transferred, but I’m thinking about leaving next year.”
“What happened with Denver?”
“She got an invitation to pledge and then she told the president to go fuck herself and swanned out of the house. It was hilarious.”
“I knew your standards were low, but I had to see it with my own eyes.”
“Ooh, boy, they’re going to fight soon,” Wynter declares as Zach cracks his knuckles at Dyers’s insult.
Whatever was said, the whole table bursts out laughing and their chatter reverts to hissing that’s hard to eavesdrop on.
I return to my convo with Shay and Wynter, but a sharp squeak of a fork across a dish yanks my attention away from them.
Mason Drake growls, “She’s not wrong, Dyers. On assists alone, he wipes you out. Youarea counterfeit version of the main manandyou need to let go of Addison right this second. You’re hurting her.”
Which is when I see it—a mark. Red. Shiny. Not a mark, in fact.
A brand.
A crown.
Small enough to hide beneath a watch, but Dyers isn’t wearing one…
“Seems unwise of him.” When Wynter glances at me, I murmur, “Look at his left wrist.”
Her eyes widen. “Holy fuck. Is that a brand?”
