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Drake shoves his hands into his jeans pockets, his eyes on the crowd in front of us. “Tuck was a mess last weekend. I was almost embarrassed for him. Last night wasn’t any better.”
“He’s been partying over at Delta Sig so much it’s like he doesn’t care if he plays hockey anymore.”
Tucker and I have always been closer to Drake than the other guys in our house. His father, Carter Donovan, is my dad’s best friend, one of the few people he trusts. We spent a lot of time at each other’s houses when we were kids, went to the same schools, and played on the same teams.
Our fathers made sure we were close. Drake is like a brother to us, and even though we’re not blood-related, he is family. I can talk to him about anything.
“Yeah, I see that,” Drake says, shaking his head. “I tried talking to him earlier, but he said he was fine and that I had nothing to worry about.”
“Same for me,” I admit.
“Maybe we need to stage an intervention at the house or something.”
I cock my head in his direction. “He’s not a drug addict.”
“No, but he’s definitely partying way too hard for how early we are into our season. He needs to save it for after we win another championship.”
Losing playing time has taught me a valuable lesson. For the longest time, I thought we were invincible. We got away with bloody murder, our father’s connections and money enough to settle the issue every time. The dean cracking down made me see what we were doing was wrong and needed to stop, though Tucker still needs help in the class he’s failing.
“I’ll ask Parker to talk to him,” I offer. “He has a way of getting into Tuck’s head.”
“If he would listen to anyone, it’s you,” Drake shoots back.
“He just needs to blow off some steam. I’m sure he’ll be back to normal by the time our suspension is lifted.”
“He looked like shit at practice. All the drinking is fucking with his game. I thought he was gonna fall flat on his face during the shooting drills.”
I nod in agreement. “Yeah, his game could use some work right now.”
As we approach Kappa’s Kisses for Cancer booth, I stop dead in my tracks when I spot the hot redhead from the cafeteria. She’s standing inside the kissing booth Tucker and I helped build. Four other girls stand next to her, all of them wearing short, tight dresses. Most of the girls look terrified of kissing complete strangers for money. I can’t say I blame them.
Jemma fidgets nervously with the seam of her dress. The garment does little to cover her delicious body, and I wish she would tug a little harder and rip the damn thing off. Her huge, perky tits are popping out of the top, her nipples hard and visible from a distance.
I lick my lips and remove my wallet from my back pocket. “You want in on this?” I ask Drake.
He already has his money in hand, dangling it in front of me. “Hell, yeah.” His eyes are fixed on the sexy-as-fuck raven-haired girl next to Jemma. She reminds me of a model, her complexion flawless, her body toned and sculpted like a well-made work of art.
Even though I’m not the type to pay for sex, I’ll hand over every cent in my wallet for the chance to kiss Jemma. I wasn’t sure I would ever see her again, and now I have a shot with her. Well, maybe that’s a bit of an understatement. But at least this puts her in my crosshairs once more, hopefully without Shannon cockblocking me again.
I run a hand through my hair, pushing it off my forehead. Jemma locks eyes with me, and she studies my face, watches my every move. Abby Gale, the president of Kappa Delta, asks us to form five single file lines, splitting the guys up based on who we want to kiss. Drake is next to me, dead set on kissing the dark-haired chick with nice tits and legs that seem to go on for days.
“No tongue,” Abby tells us. “And don’t be pervs.” The arrogance in her voice, and the condescension in it, grates on my nerves.
Girls like Abby are the reason I have never been a fan of sorority chicks, a reminder of why I stay the fuck away from them. They’re too high maintenance, a royal pain in my ass. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve hooked up with my fair share at frat parties. But the aftermath is not worth it. The girl in Tucker’s economics class is the reason we got busted. She’s a sister at Zeta Beta.
I’m the first in line, the first to kiss Jemma. Or at least that’s what I hope. For all I know, she’s kissed a hundred guys by now. So, I better make this one memorable.
