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“Does he know that’s on the table?”
I nod. “Not like he’ll stick around long enough to take it.”
“I wouldn’t discount him,” she counters. “Preston said he’s had a crush on you for a long time. I have a feeling Drake will work his ass off to get you.”
I hope he does.
Chapter Nine
Taylor
Dressed in heels and short skirts, Bex and I command attention. We tower over all of the girls we pass on the sidewalk and even some of the guys. As usual, Bex looks one hundred percent uncomfortable in women’s clothing.
She tugs at the short skirt riding up her long legs, and her face twists in frustration. “Why did you make me wear this, Tay? I feel like Julia Roberts in the movie Pretty Woman.”
“I guess I should start calling you Vivian Ward,” I say laughing. Because that was Julia Robert’s name in that movie.
She cocks an eyebrow at me. “You’re fucking weird. Good thing you’re my best friend.”
We walk from our dormitory to Greek Row where hoards of drunken people pour out from the massive Victorian homes. Thankfully, we’re headed one block over. Though, when we get there, the street where all the athletes live isn’t much better.
Drake’s house has high pillars, a long covered porch, and like the others, a lawn littered with trash. Crushed plastic cups are scattered along the walkaway up to the stairs. Unlike the frat houses, no one is standing outside to collect money or hand out cups. But the porch is equally as crowded, leaving Bex and me with little room to squeeze through the front door.
Once inside the house, I spot Drake. It’s easy to find him in a crowd. He must be close to seven feet tall, his arms ripped with muscle and covered in dark tattoos. My stomach churns when I see him talking to other girls. Standing next to Tucker Kane, he lifts a red Solo cup to his mouth looking bored with the conversation.
Why am I so jealous right now? I’m the one who told him we can’t be together. Our relationship is only a secret because of his reputation. So, why do I feel like I’m the one who’s suffering here? Probably because no guys are throwing themselves at me like these skanks are with him. Not like that would make a difference. Unwanted attention from the wrong guys won’t fix the nagging sensation in the pit of my stomach.
“Help me find Preston,” Bex says, slipping her fingers between mine.
She leads me through the living room. An oversized sectional couch with an ottoman at the center is covered with couples making out. We find a similar situation in the dining room. People are even hooking up on their table. Ugh, have some decency, people.
When we reach Drake and Tucker, my throat just about closes up. Or at least it feels like it might when Drake’s blue eyes meet mine. I’m paralyzed by the desire written on his face. He looks at me like he could devour me in front of everyone. Like he’s thinking about bending me over the dining room table.
I lick my lips, not realizing what I’m doing until I hear one of the girls make a snarky comment. Apparently, these hookers think they’ve claimed Drake for the night. What they don’t realize is that he’s already mine.
Back off, bitches.
Instead of approaching me, he leans back against the wall in the dining room and tilts his cup to his mouth, his eyes fixed on me. He knows the rules. Keeping our distance is crucial if we’re going to make this behind-closed-door friends-with-some-benefits relationship work.
“Hey,” Bex says to the guys. “Have you seen Preston?”
Tucker runs his hand through his blond spikes, a sexy-as-fuck look on his handsome face. If he doesn’t make it pro, Tucker sure as hell could model. Of all the guys, he seems to rely the most on his looks. Shockingly, I don’t see his twin brother anywhere. They’re usually together with Drake somewhere close by.
“He’s in the kitchen with Jamie and Shannon,” Tucker says.
“Shannon’s here. Let’s go see what she’s up to,” I say to Bex.
Shannon is the perfect excuse for me to walk away. I can’t stand seeing Drake acting so fucking cool and unaffected while I’m dying on the inside. This whole encounter is awkward. The blonde bombshell on Drake’s right hasn’t stopped grilling me since I laid eyes on him. Her dress is so short, I swear I can see her ass cheeks.
Stephanie Carter, the redhead with big tits on his left, hasn’t stopped trying to touch him. I hate her with a passion. She’s one of the biggest whores on campus. I’m surprised she’s not hoeing it up on Greek Row instead. When she drags her fingers down his tattooed arm, I want to punch her in the face.
