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“Besides.” He lifts his eyes to mine, and some unfamiliar emotion swirls in their depths. “You don’t want or need my protection, remember?”
Mentally berating myself for not leaving the minute he showed up, I scoop my phone from the table and throw it into my bag, desperate to escape before he can get in another dig. Spending time with Jordan Keller is bad for my self-esteem.
“This has been fun,” I lie, pushing away from the table and tossing my trash in the closest bin. “Guess I’ll see you Monday.”
“Yeah,” he shouts at my retreating back. “See you around . . .”
15
One of only a handful of structures that predate the university, the three-story redbrick Colonial housing Omega Pi fraternity is situated on the outer edge of Greek row, nearly fifty yards from the road at the end of a private drive bordered by huge oaks on both sides.
Nicole and I arrive after dark, but instead of using the front entrance, she drags me through the shadows to the side door and keys a code into the pad, letting us into the deserted house. We don’t see another soul as we cut through the tidy kitchen and down a flight of stairs to what looks like a sports bar in the finished basement.
All twelve of the remaining contestants, plus Jeremy, cluster in groups of two or three, either talking among themselves or studying the shelves filled with assorted trophies and other sports memorabilia.
“Listen up, guys!” Nicole draws everyone’s attention to her. “Kennedy’s here. Let’s get this party started!”
In the blink of an eye, all the attention shifts to me.
Elijah doesn’t waste time approaching. “Can I get you a drink?” He nods to his red plastic cup, a trace of alcohol on his breath.
“Nope,” Nicole jumps in, answering him before raising her voice. “Listen up, everyone. Kennedy has her own cup. And no one but she or I is allowed to fill it. Got it?”
A disappointed rumble goes around the room.
“Can I talk to you?” I grab Nicole’s arm, pulling her aside before I lose my temper in front of everyone. “What happened to no alcohol?”
“Hey, I got you covered.” She hands me a blue plastic cup. “Soda’s in the fridge.”
I swallow a scream, ready to bail on the whole fucked-up evening. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it! You promised no alcohol!”
“See, that’s the thing.” In classic Nicole fashion, she flashes her patented puppy-dog eyes and backpedals. “I didn’t actually promise.”
“You implied!” I’m about three seconds from marching back up the stairs and heading home.
“Fine, I implied.” She huffs and launches into an explanation. “In my defense, I tried to get them to agree to a dry party, but we’re talking about frat boys, and let’s face it, their antics are legendary. Who am I to tell them what to do?”
My eyes widen as I gape at her.
“But . . .” She holds up a finger. “I am doing everything I possibly can to make sure you don’t end up with a roofie cocktail. Trust me, it’ll be fine. I’m here. Jeremy’s here. Nothing bad will happen. I promise.”
“Says the girl who lost the list,” I whisper through clenched teeth. Shaking off my irritation, I glance from her to Elijah.
He flashes a shy smile and nods toward my blue cup. “That’s smart. I wasn’t planning on spiking your drink, but I can’t speak for anyone else.”
I sigh as I glance around the room at all the eager faces. “Nicole’s always got my back.”
“Not always.” The sound of Jordan’s voice sends a jolt of electricity skittering down my spine and my stomach plummeting to my toes.
He ditched the faux-hawk, but he’s here. Shiny piercings, heavy eyeliner, and all.
“I guess—” I choke off the rest of the thought as Jordan turns his back on me.
Without saying another word, he shoves past Elijah, knocking the drink out of his hand. He has every right to say I told you so, but directing his irritation toward Elijah makes no sense, and it doesn’t explain why he bothered showing up when he obviously isn’t happy to be here.
Elijah shoots daggers toward Jordan’s retreating form. “What the hell’s up with that guy? He looks at you like you bought every last bottle of hair gel on campus.” He turns back to me with a thoughtful expression. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you broke his poor pitiful heart.”
“What?” I sputter, wishing I had something in my stupid blue cup to distract from his line of questioning.
