AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter One
Idon’t like college parties.Especially the ones that are thrown by fraternities.
My problem with these parties has nothing to do with alcohol. I have an extraordinary place in my heart for a girl’s night that includes two bottles of wine and homemade drinks while binge watching TV shows. What I do hate is the excessive quantity of people that clump together in a small place. It seems like all of Moss University squeezed into this house. I’m a minute away from suffering a claustrophobia attack when I’ve just crossed the front door.
The fraternity—whose name I can’t remember, but it sounds like it was gotten out of a movie—threw this party for no reason at all. Just because they could, because they own half of the campus. They don’t need a theme or a special occasion. It’s not even the beginning of the lacrosse season because that won’t happen until next semester. College students don’t need a reason to go to a party when they sign up for everything that offers free alcohol.
I wonder, however, who the fuck throws a party on a Tuesday night when most of us have class tomorrow morning. I’d understand if it was later in the week, maybe a Thursday or a Friday, but it’s Tuesday.
The smell of marijuana, sweat, alcohol, and a different mix of perfumes fills my nostrils, making my face contract with disgust. The music is so loud that it rumbles inside my head, hammering and threatening to break my skull with a steady beat. I don’t think someone can hear what the others are saying without shouting or reading their lips. Though, as far as I can see, they don’t want to talk. They want to find a hookup that’s attractive enough to get a room upstairs or even a car.
The proof is in front of my eyes. Three couples sit on the couches kissing and getting it on like there’s not half of the campus surrounding them.
It’s like I walked into the intro of a porn movie.
Shaking my head, I try to forget that I’ve witnessed a couple of mouth inspections that were not from a dentist and continue my way into the house. My eyes scan every inch of the crowd, searching for someone in particular.
I notice that people are staring at me. Some of them are frowning like they’re about to ask who the hell invited me or if I’m even old enough to be here. Technically, I am old enough to be considered an adult, but I don’t have the age to consume or buy alcohol. In a way, I understand their reaction. I’m not dressed up to go to a party. Hell,dressed upis not even close to my description.I’m a whole mess.
I’m wearing a Yankees’ hoodie that’s twice my size and belonged to my brother, James. The logo is washed out, and you can barely see the white letters, but I don’t care. Underneath, I’m wearing a sports bra, but I don’t plan on showing it to these drunk college kids. Black leggings hug my legs, and I wear a pair of dirty and wet Vans. I don’t have any makeup, and my hair hasn’t been touched in two days—a bird’s nest tied in a high ponytail sits at the top of my head.
In my defense, I wasn’t planning on coming. I wouldn’t have if my housemates paid attention to their goddamn phones. I was studying for a big chemistry test that I have tomorrow, and my phone would not stop vibrating with the number of my friend’s mother. The strict Mrs. Moore is capable of hopping on an Uber and dragging her daughter out of the party, or worse.
The phone in my hand reminds me of what I came here to do. I concentrate on blocking the strange gazes while I zigzag my way through the crowd, searching for my roomie’s raven hair.
I spot her at the dining table that people use to playBeer Pong. There are two large groups of people surrounding the area. They’re standing at the side of the person they support and waiting for who will end up being the winner.
I already know the answer.
Ash Moore—one of my best friends and housemates—throws the small white ball, and it dunks into the red cup that belongs to her rival. From where I stand, I can’t see who she’s playing against, but I know it’s a guy. A guy with a tremendous ass, if I may add. His back covered by a black leather jacket isn’t that bad either.
Swinging her natural black hair, Ash lets out a victorious howl that can be heard over the music. She’s three cups away from winning while the guy still has to clear nine. A detail that puts the bets against him because the game starts with ten plastic glasses.
He has only made her drink once. Seeing the blackboard with the rules, it’s required a minimum of two beers to play, meaning that Ash has only consumed three times, and he’s on his ninth drink. By now, his aim has to be off, thanks to the buzz of the beer.
I don’t have doubts that she’s going to win because she’s the best. We both are. When we play in teams, there’s not a single person who beats us. Mostly because we’ve been practicing and dominating the art ofBeer Pongsince we entered High School —and that was almost six years ago.
You can say we were children the first time we played. Fourteen shouldn’t be the best age to start playing a game that involves alcohol, but we were ecstatic to have “big girl” experiences. I blame my brother for that.
James was a popular baseball player back in high school, which meant that his presence was always required at parties. It was a requirement for him to go, and I blackmailed him into taking me; Ash wasn’t left behind since the hip practically joined us.
That night we discovered that we were great at the game, and James saw us a small gold mine for bets. At first, he took us to win some money, then the direct invitations for us came. By the end of senior year, Ash and I had attended the right quantity of parties because our presence had become probably more important than any of the other popular kids at school. We got wasted that night, suffered from a hangover, and got our asses grounded for it.
But it wassoworth it.
“Ash!” I yell as I push away the people that get in my path.
Her rival makes his best shot, and the ball hits the border of the cup, bouncing three times on the table before falling and rolling to the ground.
He’s going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow; I think as I make a face.
“Hey, I know you.”
I stop walking, not because I want to. A big and strong hand circles my arm and prevents me from stepping towards Ash. I turn around and arch a brow. My confused expression breaks into an annoyed one when I recognize the owner.
Stanley McKinley.
The name itself screams “Golden boy”to the four winds. It carries a lot of weight when you mention it on campus. He’s a popular lacrosse player, the goalkeeper with the sharpest eyesight in the past ten years, or so they say. Tall as a pole of pure muscle with broad shoulders and muscular arms. His hair is a shade of sandy blond and contrasts his sun-kissed skin. He owns a pair of shiny green eyes that never stop glowing. Not only does he have perfect looks, but in addition to that, he has a 4.0 GPA and is probably richer than half of the world’s population.
